Royal Crowns Novels & Stories

Royal Wedding Micah sat in front of the dressing mirror, her swollen eyes covered with makeup, her brown hazel eyes drained of life, and her face masked with contour. Her long black hair was brushed and styled into a sophisticated low bun; a hairpin, which extended as a veil, concealed her face but was transparent and easy for the eyes to peer through. Micah was wearing a white gown with red color tints at the bottom of the dress. Heavy necklaces rested on her chest like a burden, and a black diamond earring dangled on both sides of her ears.

I looked up and admired the Hall. The summit was being held in the Hall of Accord. The Hall of Accord stood like a crown upon the brow of the city, a towering bastion of stone and ancient craftsmanship. Its sheer size dwarfed the surrounding buildings, each of its walls forged from colossal slabs of granite veined with silver and obsidian, shimmering faintly in the sun. Spires pierced the sky like the spears of titans, while vast banners emblazoned with the sigils of long-forgotten kings and enduring alliances fluttered high above the battlements. Massive archways, wide enough for a war host to pass through, marked the hall’s entrances, their keystones carved with runes older than the city

And that too so easily. "I don't want to regret anything in my life, Alex" She pecked his lips. "Let's get ready fast or else, my princess will kill us," Alex mumbled and took a new parcel to Clara. She was so happy to see a long red gown and he had the same colour tie to match his suit. His efforts always made her special. Both got ready and came down so quickly. Rachel wore a red and black gown which was sweeping the floor and she looked like a Disney princess in real life. She jumped and hugged her mom and dad with a huge grin.

the shaman said, and the crowd cheered. The High Council head, Herbert, strode toward us, head high, his helpers carrying two crowns on pillows. The crowns were simple, forged from steel — but these ancient pieces of iron had belonged to the very first royals of the North, and they were priceless. The moment the crown settled on my head, I felt different — stronger, more powerful, sharper. I could see Leona felt the same, lifting her chin high, basking in the glory. “Hail to the King and Queen of the North!” Herbert exclaimed, and everyone bowed low.

'Until then, I trust no one. Elly--aka--Levara's gaze moved forward, the doors leading toward the Emperor's private wing were getting closer, her footsteps remained calm and elegant and her expression remained that of the beloved Crown Princess. But beneath that composed face, a single promise burned fiercely.

The crowns would be brought to his parents and anyone else who wanted one, but it’s been awhile since he’s sat down and made a crown for another person. Carlos wants to make Ricardo’s crown perfect, building it up with honeysuckle, hawthorn berries, and orange blossoms while his own consists of an array of flowers he likes. Ricardo’s is particular, on the other hand. He doesn’t know what else to give him, but this is a sign of affection and his heart swells when he admires the finishing piece.

His intervention made Prince Russel stop from flirting with Lady Rosalia. "Brother! I was not expecting you." Prince Russel frowns at the sight of his eldest brother. "And I was not expecting to see this either." The Crown Prince looks down at Lady Rosalia who was clinging to Prince Russel. "Seems like you're with a mistress. Quite despicable Russel, aren't you married not too long ago?" "My business is not yours to judge! So what do you want from me?" He asks straight to the point. The Crown Prince smirks as he suggests, "If you do not care for your real wife, then do you not mind if I take her in as mine? I'll take care of her, unlike you."

​Lyra stared into the shadowed hollow beneath the throne, her gaze snagged on the relic the old texts simply called the Bone Crown. For generations, they had passed down the names like heirlooms—a curse, a prison, an ancient piece of iron that kings feared and Bearers died to carry. But none of them had ever understood its true shape. It hadn't been forged to rule or to break; it had been hammered into existence to kill whatever was currently looking back at her through the dark. And somehow, through some cruel trick of blood and momentum, she had just dragged it back to the land of the living.

Representatives from every major house, minor lordships, merchant guilds, and artisan collectives had gathered to witness what many suspected would be the most significant coronation in living memory. At the ceremony's heart stood a dais carved from single piece of midnight-black stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Upon its surface rested a crown that defied every convention of royal regalia—not gold or silver, but crystallized shadow that held depth and complexity like captured starlight given form. The crown seemed to pulse with subtle energy that made the air around it shimmer with barely contained power.

“The crown is mine.” I bent a little lower eyeing the way she held him, placing his head on her laps. I ignored their display for an instant, squatting down to grasp the blood coated crown. The piece was an original gold one, with ten slops around it and by the sides were transparent pearls forming a bridge at the start of each slops. “Could someone get a friggin’ fucking ambulance or do you want your new King to be marked as a murderer?!” I suddenly yelled, bringing out a white handkerchief from the breast pocket of my suit. Erasing the stains of blood from the part of the crown it touched, I positioned it on my head.