Royal Roads Novels & Stories

The town of Leonas is rather small overall but has a large impact on the kingdom. It is located centrally on the way out of the Kingdom so that almost everybody stops in at some point. It is kept small so that the King can more easily keep an eye on the town and not worry as much about things that are happening right under his nose.

The Royal Crimson Bar lived up to its reputation. Creatures of the night and humans mingled as they raised their drinks to the air and danced to the beat of the bustling music. The night hasn't yet reached its peak but humans flocked to this place without regard to the safety code the World Government established to protect them from the creatures of the night. Fifty years ago, the world dramatically changed after a phenomenon struck it with the revelation that the creatures of the night really exist and not some type of fiction that could be read in novels.

“You absolutely have a face. That is your I am about to do something horrifying and explain it badly face.” Ben nodded. “I have seen it before.” Eli leaned around Mara. “I think we should hear the plan.” “You are fifteen,” Mara snapped. “Almost sixteen.” “If you say that one more time, I will let Black Hollow raise you.” He shut his mouth. I looked back at Cassian. “What is the old throne road exactly?” He did not answer quickly. Of course. The hesitation alone made the room colder. “It was once a passage between the Lycan throne and the borderlands,” he said. “Kings used it during war. Queens used it during coronations. The dead used it when their bodies could not be returned.”

The bustling city is filled with smells and sounds that I had forgotten during the treacherous journey. The thousands of colours that paint my diverse kingdom and the equally diverse people who bring it to life and give it meaning. The ones who give me meaning. There are five main roads that point in the direction of each of our neighboring countries, a sign of peace amongst us, but the Pasiphaen route had been empty since the day of the massacre.

I guess it took its que from my life. We slowly approached the royal pack. Large trees covered our veiw of anything. Two large men stepped to each of our vehicles, checking inside. Once cleared, the SUV's continued onward. We trek up a winding path that seemed to stretch for miles. Nature rested on either side of the man-made road. I could smell water nearby but couldn't see it. I watched as large buildings came into view. People's homes, schools, and small shops lined our eyesight. I watched as the people of this pack stopped and looked at the cars that drove by, wondering who could be in them. It took almost another hour to enter into the space that the royal palace or packhouse stood. My

she said, getting all excited. Ellery turned her head slightly in her direction. “S’not that bad.” “Are you seriously telling me there’s something she knows about London that you don’t?” Cole asked. Ellery didn’t answer, so she took that as a grudging yes, and went on, “The name’s a corruption of Route du Roi, and it was the fashionable place for ladies and gentlemen to ride out during the Regency period.” “I’m not into rich people shit,” Ellery said.

“Still not great.” I came further into the room. “There’s something I need to tell you.” She waited. “My guys found a road today. It’s in the southern boundary, past the ridge. Hasn’t been used in at least five years. We’re going out tonight to take a look.” Something changed in her face. Not surprise exactly, it was more like recognition. “The road of thorns,” she said. I went still. “What did you just say?” “That’s what it’s called.” She said it simply, like she was telling me the sky was grey. “That’s what people who actually knew it called it. The thorns grow over the markers in the wet season. They come back every year.”

The wax pressed hard enough to crack some of the parchment fibers. Voices. Never faces. Words boomed in his memory, half‑understood. *Strike here. Leave these roads untouched. There are no attacks on the palace convoys. Hit the allies. Hit the rebels. Leave the crown’s routes alone.* Royal involvement, then. Not just one mask in a forest. An organized pattern. I pushed a little more light in, just enough to nudge at the shadows around those images. Another memory broke loose. This one clearer. Sharper.

I just got out of the shower when I heard a knock on my door, “Your Majesty.. I have a message to you from the king” Hudson, my personal guard said. “You may enter” I said, I had just worn my pants and I was still bare chested, he is a man so I didn't need to rush in my dressings. “The king have received an important message from the embassy” “And what is it about?” “I'm not sure, but he requested to see you now, he said that the matter is very urgent” “I will be downstairs in five minutes” “ Yes my prince” “You may leave now”

Short, plump and with a sharp tongue, Rosalie was feared by all her workers. The Wyatts were a family figure worth emulating. They held galas, helped the poor, donated a lot of money to charity. Mr. Wyatt even had a statue erected, at the centre of the town, in his honor. Rosalie's sharp tongue was always hidden whenever they were in public. Beyond the pearly gates of their mansion, she was always smiling-her white and neatly arranged teeth out for everyone to see. She was always dotting on her husband and son.