Penelope Ward Books Novels & Stories

Penelope’s face crumpled like I’d struck her, and despite my anger, her pain triggered another unwanted surge of protectiveness that I had to fight down. Stop it, I commanded my wolf. She doesn’t deserve protection. She deserves prison. “She’ll understand that it’s a lie—” “It’s not. You’re not fooling anyone.” Other shoppers were starting to notice our tense conversation. An elderly woman lingered nearby, pretending to examine soup cans while obviously eavesdropping. A young mother quickly pushed her cart past us, her children staring with curious eyes. “People are watching,” Penelope said quietly, apparently having the same realization.

“Penelope.” But the girl was far gone, too intoxicated by her fangirl high. “I can’t believe this! I mean, I’ve read every one of your books , like, a hundred times. I memorized the dialogue of Crimson Shadows. Don’t even get me started on your main character’s monologue in Velvet Lies, oh my God, the way you crafted that line? Literal chills. Literal chills. And your artistry in…” Her words poured out in rapid-fire, unstoppable, each sentence crashing over the last.

The creature’s many eyes narrowed. The prison evolves. “Yes,” the Hollow King said softly. “And that terrifies you.” The creature recoiled violently. For the first time since emerging— it looked uncertain. Interesting. Very interesting. The mountain brightened around Eleanor. The bond deepened catastrophically. And suddenly she felt it— Blackwood. Not as structure. Not as prison. As memory. Centuries poured through her in fragments: witches carving runes into roots with bleeding hands, heirs crying alone beneath moonlit ceilings, Seraphine standing before the Hollow King while the world burned around them.

In a library filled with books she'll never ever read. She cupped her mouth and bent above the hole she had come up in. “I'm up already!” “So what now?” Wilkes asked. Him and Penelope were still oblivious of how she wanted to bring the bodies up. “Penelope,” Brie called out. “Come up, too. Your help will be needed.” Down in the cavern, Penelope and Derek exchanged glances. They did not like how Brie was making them feel. “Alright,” Penelope said loudly when Wilkes nodded in approval for her to go up. Slowly, she, too, held on to the sides of the ladder and with one foot on a wrung, she climbed up to the library.

"I don't want a single coin of the reserves, Penelope. I don't care about the gold or the banking shares. Slide the digital registry over. Let my thumbprint lock in Patrice's throne before the morning opening bells." Penelope slowly turned her head, her deep indigo eyes locking onto his haggard, intense features through the shadows of the library. The proximity of his broad body, caked in the rich, undeniable aroma of cedarwood and crushed mint, made her heart give a slow, beautiful thud against her ribs. Her defensive armor didn't reform; it remained wide open, allowing the ancient truth of their family to breathe.

She had disappeared and I was left with Penelope and a marriage that felt like a mistake from the very beginning. 'This is the life you were meant to have.' I told myself clearly and deliberately, trying so hard to convince myself that Penelope is for me But now, Seraphina is back. She is healthy and very lively. It is time to fix what has been broken. *** I found Penelope in the upstairs hallway the next morning. She carried a small stack of books, her hair pulled back, wearing that gray cardigan she usually wore on some mornings. She looked up when she heard my footsteps. "Jonathan."

Aurora screamed, and the forest echoed the intensity of her voice. ... Back in the castle, Penelope sat curled up in the library with a book. She tried to read but she couldn't concentrate. Her mind was far away. It was past noon, yet Aurora and Tyler hadn't returned. She told herself that they could be searching for Henry, which was why they hadn't returned to the castle. But there was a feeling of dread within her, a feeling that something bad would happen. She tried as much as she could to take her mind off it but after numerous failed attempt, she abandoned the book and left the library.

“You okay?” “Mm-hmm.” “You’ve been staring at that paragraph for ten minutes.” I smiled faintly. “Just thinking.” “About him?” she asked carefully. “About both of them,” I admitted. She sighed but didn’t push. We’d had this conversation too many times. It wasn’t until later, when the sun dipped behind the buildings, that Jessy gasped and pointed at the TV. “Oh my god, Haven—look!” The news anchor’s voice filled the room: “…and rising author Haven Thorne’s debut novel, The Glass Garden, continues to top charts nationwide…”

The silver thread glimmered like a dying star between my fingers as I pulled the final stitch. I had spent weeks carving a masterpiece out of a mess, breathing life into a gown that was little more than a hand-me-down from Nora, the chief maid. It was a relic of the royal palace, salvaged from the scrap heap of a life I was never meant to lead.

She wanted to hit the driver in the face, with her elbow and escape, but Penny's grip around her wrist had tightened. Penelope leaned close suddenly, her voice low and venomous. “You like the way he looked at you, don’t you? You think he wants you now?” She scoffed. “He doesn’t. He’s just toying with you, you little stray mutt. But I’m going to make sure you remember where you belong.” The car pulled into the long driveway of the estate. Gravel crunched beneath the tires, and Poppy felt like she was being led into a trap.