The Crown Of Midnight Novels & Stories

On the night when the moon was at its fullest, I washed away the disguise from my face, revealing my true, breathtaking appearance. Amid the howls of countless wolves, I stepped forward, one step at a time, ascending the path to the throne. Below the throne, Alpha Cael, High Priest Zephyr, and High Healer Lorian knelt on one knee, devoutly kissing the hem of my dress. I turned, looking out over the land I had conquered with my own hands. From this moment on, I was the one and only Alpha Queen of this world.

Something gleamed. A pedestal. Resting upon it lay an ancient crown. Forged from black metal unlike anything they had ever seen. Its surface looked almost alive. Silver veins pulsed beneath it like flowing blood. No jewels. No gold. Only a crescent moon rising from its center. No one stepped forward. Even Mason remained rooted where he stood. Elias whispered in disbelief. "...The Crown of Ash and Moon." Caius lowered his head. "So it truly exists." Damon muttered under his breath,

The moon responded. The ground seemed to hum beneath my feet. An elder stepped forward, holding the crown. It was beautiful. Silver, engraved with ancient markings, glowing faintly under the moonlight. “This night,” the elder announced, “we crown the Luna of the united packs.” Murmurs spread. Pride. Excitement. Expectation. I glanced at Adrian. Still nothing. The crown was placed on my head. The moment it touched me, the crowd erupted. Cheers. Howls.

Sanctioned means no one touches you—unless someone higher says they can. Caelric steps closer. “Where is the token.” The attacker’s eyes flick down, terrified. Soryn’s grip tightens, and the man whimpers. “Pocket—inside—” Caelric reaches in and pulls out something small. Metal. A coin-sized medallion. Even from across the room I can see the etching—too clean, too official. A crown shape. A vertical line through it like a blade. My blood turns cold. Caelric’s face doesn’t change, but his eyes harden into something I’ve only seen right before people disappear.

All of his hype comes from his brothers, how good-looking he is or horny people who like smut-filled books. His brothers are just as famous as him. His eldest brother, Christian Crown runs a few strands of clubs and hotels. The middle brother, Khalil Crown is the maker and designer of the Crown. A car luxury brand, which became as popular as BMWs, Teslas, Lamborghinis, Mercedes and other car brands in just its first year of being produced. Soon enough they became on the same level as Rolls Royce, Lambos and other luxury cars. I do have to admit Crown cars are sexy as fuck.

He licks his bottom lip and grins wickedly, exposing his top row of teeth. “The lass left, inna hurry at that.” Standing slowly, Roland pops the cork off the scotch and raises the bottle over his tipped-back head, chugging several mouthfuls with practiced ease. Lowering the bottle from his mouth with a satisfied ‘ahh’, having his fill for the moment. Walking away from me, holding the bottle by the neck in his hand, Roland glanced over his shoulder at me, heading for the stairs, “Perhaps I’ll take a midnight stroll in the woods. To keep a watchful eye on the dodgy lass. I would hate for anything terrible to happen, ye ken?”

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.'

Thick brown wings with dangerous looking talons bordering it flapped behind him, causing his brown hair to fly about his face. "'Tis nigh impossible, my liege. The crown never moves until the Lord is dead. 'Tis the way of things." Lord Vas let go of my hand and stroked his bare chin with it. "Aye Ferrin. So we thought, until this morn. Allow me to show you."He said and snapped his fingers. The sound of metal clashing against glass filled the air and i craned my neck in the direction of it. I sucked in breath sharply as did everyone else around me. A transparent rectangular box made of glass was being carried in by a man who seemed to have a problem with it, since it was moving. Not

Once, twice, it pulsed in perfect time with my wrist, the pale light radiating from it casting a thin line along the underside of his jaw. Aldren of Blackthorn looked down at his own throat, then back at me. For as long as it took to draw a single breath, those flat grey eyes betrayed something behind them—an emotion I would come to know very well in the years ahead but did not recognize at all that cold morning. “Ah,” he said softly. “What is that?” I demanded, my voice tight. “Give me your hand.” “Tell me what that is!” “It’s the Lycan Crown,” he said smoothly, “and it has been waking me at three in the morning for six long months, whispering a name that is not mine. Until three seconds ag

For a moment, I hesitated. Then, with shaking resolve, I placed the crown upon my head. The metal settled against my hair, cold and unyielding. I stood there crowned but utterly alone. Luna in title. Broken in truth.