Roman Crown Novels & Stories

The crown Liam mentioned was the one I had, the one my father gave me. “Nikolas? The crown you hold dear to belongs to Rose and not you. What belongs to you is the amulet,” Liam explained with a smile. “So, where is it?” “You have it?” Cullen asked with a frown. “Yes,” I mumble, “I have what they have been looking at all along.” “The crown?” Alpha Maximus asked, surprised. “Yes, I have the ruby crown.” I couldn’t believe it all along. I had what it was supposed to be from Gaels. But how if my father gave it to me?

"Fair enough. I guess that means I am wanted now" Dextus nodded and stepped aside for his prince to pass. Octavius donned the royal robe of purple, pulling the front close with the gold-thread cord that marked him Crowned Prince of Camelorn and slid on his finger the ring that held the signet. Dextus went ahead of him opening the door and stepping aside for him to go.

“I think I can teach her what it means to wear my crown.” By nightfall, Amara summoned her war council. Cassian arrived first, a bruise darkening his jaw. Then Dante — alive but ragged, fresh from a mission in Istanbul. Mateo stood near the back, silent, his loyalty uncertain since the blood oath had been broken. On the table before them lay a crown — the black crown Damien had once sent her, forged from fragments of soldiers’ skulls. It glinted faintly under the light. “This is what she’s after,” Amara said. “She believes the crown will make her sovereign. But a symbol without blood is just a decoration.”

Tori leaned towards Rowan who was just smiling beyond the steel bars as she touched the sigil of his Duchy on his right chest. Grasping her hand, Rowan's eyes met hers with just the steel bars separating them. "I present myself to you, Lady Victoria Rozenreff, as your knight and the official heir apparent to the Castaña Dukedom. With this title, I swear to protect you and the endeavors you will take. I will be your sword and shield against anyone who wished and will wish you harm." Without losing eye contact, Rowan brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles gently.

She raised it aloft, the symbol of royalty and the culmination of the coronation. "By the divine investiture bestowed upon me as oracle of the gods, I hereby crown you, Valeria Claire Romero, as the Queen of wolves!" Azura proclaimed, her voice resonating with the divine power she represented. In that moment, the hall filled with a hushed reverence, recognizing the sacredness of the occasion. Valeria, now adorned with the crown, was officially recognized as the chosen ruler. The royal coronation had reached its pinnacle, and a new era had begun under the reign of the crowned queen.

She finally realized his hand was already on her waist and that they were already dancing. "Uhm… a little, Your Highness." She said as she looked up at him, momentarily putting her predicament in the background. "Don't worry. I've got you," he assured her. As Roselle looked at him, she couldn't help but admire his good looks. He wasn't as otherworldly as Romeo but he still had the appearance that could break many female hearts. But wait… wasn't he Romeo's brother? Now that she looked closely at him, Roselle realized that Romeo had nothing in common with this man. Roselle then realised that the emperor and the princess had the same sapphire blue eyes and same blond hair as this crown prince.

Always tense and calculated, ready for threats. It feels bad remembering that and seeing the contrast. Roman has always clawed his way through any issue, and he never looked this relaxed. It’s so infuriating to know that this man is the one behind all this, and he’s happy. The only thing that they have in common is the circlet on their heads. Roman’s is bright gold, his crown. The one that this man is wearing is silver. He’s also a king. Or maybe that’s just what he considers himself to be.

The Lunari chair stood empty, draped in black. I looked around, I seen my father sitting at the head of the table, our king, a towering figure in both stature and presence, exuded an aura of cold, unyielding ambition. His eyes, sharp and calculating, gleamed with an insatiable hunger for power an appetite that could never be sated, no matter how many kingdoms he claimed or how many crowns he added to his collection. His face was lined with the marks of age and experience, but there was no softness in his expression, no trace of kindness or warmth. The people who looked upon him saw not a father, but a ruler, a king forged from iron will and relentless desire for control.

With his attire and the way he stood with the crown and staff in his hand, one could tell it was their warlord in flesh and blood. He stood among them in his full glory. A crown on and a staff which looked like that of kings of the ancient times. "All hail the king of old!!". "All hail the king of old!!". The crowd chorused with their heads bowed onto the floor, hailing their warlord who stood with a hand folded into a ball at his back, and his face looking cold with no emotions in them. They bowed their heads and the king olor with his daughter, princess Lucy kneeled bowing as they sang praises hailing their warlord.