The Crown Of Thorns Book Novels & Stories

Book 2: Crown of Shadows Chapter 41: The Reckoning The throne room fell into a silence so absolute it felt like the world itself was holding its breath. Courtiers who had been shouting moments before now stood frozen, the weight of their miscalculation settling over them like a suffocating blanket.

She was starving! The inn was quaint with yellow papering on the walls, blue glass lamps in the corners along with a huge bookshelf on one end filled with an assortment of books and writings. There were round tables spread throughout and a staircase leading up to the rooms beside the bar. Rose loved the reading chairs in the corners by the bookshelf the most.... she may spend a night or two snuggled up with a book in one of those huge chairs. A kindly man stood behind the bar and introduced himself as Mr. McGrath the innkeeper. He had been expecting us and had two rooms prepared and a staff room for our driver. Sean’s room would be connected to Rose’s by a door that locks on one side....

Never! He smiled with a proud glint in his eye as she lifted her head. One of the attendants offered a rough-looking black circular crown, the top spike in the center adorned with a massive black gemstone. Around the circlet's base are four long horn-like thorns. Nothing about the crown screamed glamor; everything about it roared status and dominance.

Elder Thunga, who was now the oldest and highest council member after Elder Theodore's departure, carefully took the crown which was placed on the throne It was said that the crown was sacred so anyone who held it must handle it with care or else, be cursed by the moon goddess herself. Elder Thunga, now holding the golden crown with both hands, gestured to Aiden to get down on his knees so the crown could be placed on his head and Aiden did as he was told. He dropped to his knees and Elder Thunga placed the crown on his head. Surprisingly, it was heavy and at that moment, it dawned on Aiden why alphas didn't walk around with their crowns on. Who would want such a burden?

With one swift motion, he pushed it aside, revealing a steel-bound safe embedded in the wall. Violet’s breath hitched. “Kael…” He entered a code — 0-1-1-3 — the date none of them dared speak aloud. The door clicked open with a muted sigh. Inside lay a single book. Its cover was blackened with age, corners charred, the title long faded — only a sigil remained, etched like a wound: a spiral of thorns bleeding into a crescent moon. Kael took it out carefully, as though it might bite. “Thorne wrote this herself,” he said, voice low.

Ceres (in awe): "I thought it would be… smaller." It wasn't. The crown stood almost a foot tall, its jagged edges formed from charred ivory and molten gold. Flames whispered within the bone, flickering just beneath the surface as if alive. Lady Ilven (reverent): "This is no ordinary relic. It was forged with the fire of the First Flame by hands who walked the void between this world and the next. The crown is a living artifact. A vessel of power… and memory." Thorne (stepping forward):

He bowed and was gone as quickly as he arrived, leaving the heavy satchel behind. I lunged for the bag the moment the tent flap sealed. I untied the cord with shaking fingers and pulled out the book. It wasn't ancient and brittle. It was a modern reprint, but the cover read: Healers' Lore: The Legacy of the Wounded Crown. It was a medical text, disguised as a historical relic.

Ancient black stone, cracked down the middle and wrapped in chains thick as my arms. Above it floated a crown. Shadow shaped into royalty. It was beautiful in the way a storm over open water was beautiful. Dark, shifting, edged in silver light. Points rose from it like thorns, or teeth, or the jagged peaks of a mountain seen in nightmare. The Crown. My blood recognized it. That was the only way to describe it. The burn on my palm flared. My knees weakened. A voice slid through my mind, soft as silk over a blade.

– Maureen Laurent The fireflies danced like fallen stars, their golden light weaving through the frozen air, casting a soft glow over the thorned arches and snow-dusted benches. Vuk’s magic hummed around us — warm, alive, impossible. And the crown… gods, the crown on my head felt like a dream made real: delicate flames shaped into roses and thorns, weightless but burning with gentle heat. I touched it again, fingers trembling, gasping as the lights shimmered under my touch.