Quotes From Throne Of Glass Novels & Stories

“You can try again. Say I’m cursed. Lock me away in sacred rites and false stories. But the mirror is shattered now, and I remember. I remember her. I remember myself.” Fear slithered through the chamber like mist. “Do you mean to take the throne?” Vaelen asked, voice sharp as frost. Elara didn’t answer with words. She stepped forward. Raised her hand. The burn of the Dead Queen’s Crown shimmered like stardust. The mark beneath her skin ignited. And the roots of the sacred tree shuddered beneath her feet. “You already know,” she said. “I don’t need to claim what already answers to me.”

Her heart stuttered. Then she felt it. The throne was alive. Not sentient, not exactly—but forged with magic so old and feral it bore the memory of the First Queens. Their regrets. Their triumphs. Their blood. It wasn’t welcoming her. It was judging her. "Serena!" Elias’s voice echoed distantly, as if through water. He started to run up the steps, but a wall of light erupted between them, throwing him back. He hit the floor with a grunt, Theron catching him before he fell off the edge of the platform.

‎ ‎I go back to my throne, standing authoritatively as I stare at them all. ‎“I was chosen as Queen not because I’m perfect,” I continue, “but because I am unbreakable. Anita can burn villages. Calistra can plot from the shadows. But I will not fall. This kingdom will not fall.” ‎I stare down at them, at their downcast eyes and I know, deep down, that this isn't over. They'll try to bring up this matter again. Not until Anita is gone. ‎

His gold eyes were glazed, his chest still, his skin the color of winter frost as the silver blood I had given him leaked out into the dust, leaving him nothing more than a hollow shell. "Power demands a price," the layered voice of the First Queen echoed from the smoke, the words vibrating through my bones until I wanted to scream. "You will save them, Last Luna. But you will rule over a kingdom of ghosts." "No!" I shrieked into the void, the fire around my hands flaring out of control. The vision shattered like glass.

Selene raised her hands, conjuring walls of shimmering gold magic that formed a cage around herself, the debris of the corridor lifting to float as sharp, jagged shards. “Enough!” she screamed. “I am the throne!” Draven’s laugh was low, feral, and it reverberated through the air like thunder. “The throne doesn’t make you its master,” he said. “It only reveals who already is.” With a motion, Liora joined him, her energy wrapping around his, Silver between them like a beacon of fragile yet fierce life. The corridors shook, walls cracking further as the palace itself seemed to respond to their union.

The car drove slowly toward the bustling, sinful heart of New Haven. It was an empire that belonged entirely to me. I raised my right hand, wearing the ring of power. Looking at my cold reflection in the window, I curved my lips. A man’s love is worthless. Only absolute power never betrays.

And I can no longer retreat. I place my hands on the bedposts, looming over her without touching. — You want the fire, Tara? — I'm made of it. I stare at her. Long. Then I step back. I breathe. Slowly. — Fine, I breathe. Reign. But remember: when the throne burns, it spares no one. I take my jacket, without looking at her. I leave her there, in the cold light of the balcony, proud and still, a silhouette of steel and silk.

he flicked the back of his tongue, searching for the right answer with his index finger resting on his beard. ‎ ‎ ‎"two steps ahead." he lit up. A cruel satisfaction washing over his features ‎ ‎ ‎"Now what was that you were saying about slicing your throat son?" ‎ ‎ ‎My knees burned against the rough surface of the ground and rosettes blade still resting over my collar bone. ‎ ‎ ‎and then my phone rang, ‎ ‎ ‎the vibrations buzzing through the silent throne room. ‎ ‎ ‎"You have your phone with you?—" Alexander rose from his throne, tossing aside his infamous silver goblet angrily.

A disembodied voice echoed from within the dark fire—ancient, freezing cold, and dripping with mockery. > "You interfere too much, Archivist." > The silver-haired man simply smiled back at the flames. "And you interfere far too little." The dark voice let out a chilling laugh that rattled the surrounding bookshelves. > "Soon... the Seven Thrones will awaken. And when they do... even your precious Last King will fall." > The black flames abruptly snapped out of existence, and the library fell back into its eerie, profound silence. The Archivist turned his gaze toward the distant, unseen horizon where the Blackthorn Kingdom lay. His expression grew deeply thoughtful.