Servant To The Crown の小説・ストーリー

After all, some of my servants are watching and losing my composure can be a headlune whuch the nobles can use to attack my reputaion and my position as the crown pribcess of this whole empire. 'I'm so full. As expected, steak is just too tasty. It suits my palates well'

All this while peasants toil to pay their rent and feed their children. We heard of the rigid rules. The bows and curtseys. The formalities for no other reason other than the luck of one’s birth. The consequences of breaking these rigid rules. The maids in town gossiped for months about the servant whose tongue was cut out for daring to address the crown prince without invitation. He allegedly belonged to the Alpha of Lunar Storm. The story goes that the servant’s niece had recently been sold to the the Crown Prince’s house after his brother died of an illness. She was sold at market and his Alpha was unwilling to purchase her so that she could stay. The servant was tasked with being the man

The quarters are a hive of activity even at night and once they sense my advance, they bow. They do not know whether I am king or not. However, they know that I am not a mere guard. “Um—” “Where is the woman who was brought some days ago?” I ask. “Woman—the consort?” The servant asks. “Yes.” I state. A woman rushes towards me, and she bows. “Your majesty.” She announces and every servant in the space falls to the floor, knowing that I am king. “You are?” I ask. “I am Damsey, your majesty. I am the head of the oil and pipes.” She put forth, bowing.

Damon drifts toward center ice and stops at the logo. I follow. For a moment, we stand where the game began. Where so much between us almost ended. “Funny,” he says. “All that fighting over who gets the crown.” “And?” He looks at me fully. “There was only ever one.” The words hang there. Not competitive. Not sharp. Certain. Only one crown. And it doesn’t belong to one king. The arena lights dim slightly as the crew prepares to clean up. I feel his hand brush mine. Not by accident.

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."

For ten years, I was Vincent's blood bag and his sharpest blade. I offered my rare blood to sustain his ancient power. I offered my loyalty to secure his throne as the Vampire Lord of this territory. I thought my devotion might earn me the eternal embrace of the turning. Instead, I received the announcement of his marriage to Lilith. A princess from a powerful European vampire clan. He said it was a necessary alliance. He said my blood was still precious. But when the sanctified silver tearing through the car,he used my body as a shield, to ensure his bride remained unblemished. That's when I knew. I was never his lover. I was just a consumable resource, a blood bag to be used and discarded.

She sat on her throne with an impious grin on her lips as the guards dragged a servant girl by the arms roughly into the throne room and threw her at her feet. “Please!” the servant pleaded with tears streaming down her face. She got up from her throne and approached the servant with a malignant glint in her eyes. She stopped in front of her and squatted to her level. A queen didn't go down for anybody but this one, she was ready to make an exception.

Is… is the room shrinking? “Well, yes I guess I do... knights are supposed to be serving under a liege or a lady of an important House, right? But since you are the crown princess of this kingdom, I think it’s kind of a given that I should be swearing fealty to you in the future when you are going to become the Queen,” he elaborated. And it was laughable, really.

They were the stewards of the land, entrusted with the welfare and prosperity of their people. As the ceremony reached its pinnacle, the crowns themselves were brought forth, symbols of authority and unity. Kendrick's crown was studded with precious gemstones, reflecting the strength of his rule, while the Faith's crown was adorned with delicate filigree, symbolizing her wisdom and grace. The king's crown was placed upon Kendrick's head with a regal solemnity, a weight that he accepted with a sense of duty and honor. The queen's crown followed, its gentle placement a reminder of the delicate balance she would bring to the kingdom.

The car doors swung open in unison, and a stream of figures in black poured into the banquet hall. Beneath their jackets, the subtle outlines of guns hinted at danger, a chill of menace in the air. A bodyguard with utmost respect opened the door of the central stretch limo. William Vincent, the iron-fisted ruler of Northland's shadowy corners, clad in a sleek black trench coat, walked over the glittering carpet of broken glass towards me. He was the man behind the mysterious calls, my mentor in all things firearms, my ace in the hole. William dropped to one knee before me, indifferent to the shards of glass slicing through his pricey pants.