Roman Crown Novels & Stories

I scrolled down and started reading the article. 'A curious announcement from the royal house of Medora, a kingdom north of Scotland. The king announced today that a contest will be held to find the crown prince a wife. Medora is known to be secluded, with not much news coming in and out of the country. They announced a test will be put online for whoever has any interest in becoming a queen. It does not matter what your nationality is, as long as you are above eighteen years old.'

Whatever noble refinement he had spent years cultivating shattered like cheap glass. Sebastian let out a short, contemptuous laugh. His polished, hand-made leather shoe came down, pinning Lorenzo’s palm to the floor with agonizing precision. "The head of the family? Lorenzo, you seem to have forgotten who anointed you to that seat. In this city, what I bestow, I can reclaim whenever I please." Pinned and helpless, Lorenzo twisted his head, staring up at me with eyes saturated in pure venom. "Joanna, you make me sick. I can't believe how fast you crawled into the Don’s bed."

Isabella smiled, “I’m here for Ro, we have an important event.” The nickname slipped out so naturally that Aria almost missed it. “Ro?” She regretted asking the second the word left her mouth. Isabella smiled. “Roman.” Oh. Of course she called him that. Why was that annoying? She’d known the man for less than a week. “He hates attending these things alone,” Isabella continued lightly. “Though I suppose you wouldn’t know that yet.” The words were harmless.

The woman glowed, happiness on her face, tears in her eyes, as she thanked her Alpha King. When Rodarh came down from the podium and joined his fellow Alphas, he walked straight to Ratinus. "I have a crown now, you see. I'm a leader now like you are." He bragged smugly. Ratinus snorted, "That crown is too small for your enormous head, Rodarh. To hold that crown to your head, you will need to attach two ropes for the side and tie them together under your chin." Rodarh glared at him, "You're a mean son-of-a-bitch, do you know that?"

It was something that made him feel sad, and thankful in a way. "Is Lord Alex a werewolf?" Roxanne found herself shaking her head even though she had promised herself she wouldn't. Ariel's tone had softened and with it, so did her anger and annoyance. She was overreacting. "This ring isn't just any ring Roxanne. What's the crest of the royal household?" Roxanne smirked. "Which one?" She had all of them memorized. "The Lycan king's." She frowned and cocked an eyebrow up at him. Why was he asking her such a cheap question?

“I want you honest.” She turned to Vow again. “And what happens if the Crown lies?” There was a beat of silence. Then—for the first and last time—Triarch Vow spoke. “If the Crown lies,” the voice rasped through the hood, genderless and sharp as glass, “then the city burns.” Later, in a room without screens, without files, without exits—he handed her a coat. Black. Fitted. Cut like armor. “You’re inside now,” Domenik said. “You dress like it.”

Roman slowly turned his entire body to face me, his grey eyes tensing as he analyzed my features in the moonlight. "You are playing an incredibly dangerous game, Cora," Roman whispered, his large hand reaching out to cup my cheek. "I am playing to secure my survival, Roman," I whispered back, actively controlling my respiratory rate. "If I return from Baltimore with Arthur's head, you will be the undisputed queen of this syndicate," he murmured darkly. "I do not require a crown, Roman," I lied seamlessly. "I just require you to honor your parameters." Roman leaned down, his lips brushing softly against my cheek in a rare, surprisingly tender physical gesture.

I repeated, “I thought our blood was the same as anyone?” Luke shook his head, “He’s talking about your ancestral line. They are noble houses that you might descend from. Roman obviously has a higher percentage it’s something like 98% whereas I am a mutt and come in about 52%. Roman rolled his eyes, “Luke exaggerates, I am only 94%.” I blinked, “You have 94% pure royal blood?” Roman nodded, “Cian, of course, has a higher concentration at 99%. There is no one alive with a higher percentage, and therefore he is king.”