Novel & Cerita The Crown's Game Book

My twin sister, Bianca, tried to kill herself because I was better than her at school. Apparently, my success triggered her. So my parents sent me away from the Bellini estate. “Only until the college decisions come out,” Mother promised. “Then you can come home.” Behind her, my brother, Dante, helped Bianca choose her new armored Bentley. My boyfriend, Luca, stood beside them, holding Bianca’s favorite white roses. “If anything happens, call us, Valentina.” I did. A month later, a drunk man showed up at my door and wouldn't stop pounding. I locked myself in the bathroom and called my family again and again. Every call was declined. Near dawn, Mother finally texted. Sorry, sweetheart. We wer

Taking a breath, Brawen seemed to find it difficult to calm down. If God's Crown naturally disappears, there's nothing to worry about, but if it's stolen, I'm pretty sure, because how much god must that person be to be able to get the Divine Crown that is behind. Brawen that she did not know. Brawen glanced around. The Crown of God is created by Titania from eternal light, but around the royal palace is still bright as day and the flowers are still blooming and blooming, proving that the Crown God is still here, very Very close.

“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.

Chapter 40 : Battle for the Crown Phoebe’s POV The day had finally come, the day one of us would be crowned the Blood King or Queen, marking the end of the tournament. The air hung with the potent smell of sweat and blood, thick with unsettling anticipation. The raw, deafening roar of the crowd seemed to vibrate through my ribs, a chaotic sound that echoed through the tournament ground. My shoulders tightened, my hands and feet trembling uncontrollably. “We have to win,” Serene said in my head, her voice laced with fierce determination. I nodded in agreement, my heart pounding fast in my chest.

The great doors close with a sound like breaking bones, leaving me alone with the ache of this cursed crown and the weight of a kingdom built on graves. The crown itself pulses against my temples, its once-brilliant gold now tarnished to the color of old blood. It used to shine like captured sunlight, a beacon of hope and righteous rule. Now it hums with an endless network of hairline cracks, each fracture a spider's thread of corruption spreading deeper into the metal and into me. Each break is a reminder that nothing in this world remains unbroken: not thrones built on noble intentions, not bloodlines stretching back to heroes of legend, not oaths sworn under starlight with hearts full of

The crown isn’t just settling now. It’s waking up.

With gestures, not words. I sat on the bed slowly and unwrapped it. A new book. Thick, bound in leather, smelling expensive, old, and important at the same time. ‘The Silent Crown.’ I ran my thumb over the title and shook my head. He picked perfectly. Always perfect. His love may be feral, dark, filthy with hunger and violence—but his gifts? They were thoughtful. Personal. Intimate. I opened the book and started reading. Not because I cared about the story.

OURS. The word echoed through his mind with the force of a command, and Kael felt his careful control begin to crack. He glanced back at the common room. The innkeeper was watching him with narrowed eyes, perhaps wondering if this particular buyer would be trouble after all. The other patrons had returned to their drinks, unaware that the Crown Prince of Virelion was standing ten feet away, struggling not to shift and tear the entire building apart to get to whatever—*whoever*—waited below.

She walked inside. The game, as she had said once before, on a stage with unsigned papers and two thousand witnesses, was not over. It was just beginning. End of Book One Divorced by Dawn, Queen by Dusk Book Two: The Queen's War — coming soon.

“unlucky contestants…shelf two, book thirteen.” It sounded oddly like a personal note. My curiosity won out and I skimmed my fingers along the spines of the books until I chose one at random. I pulled out a medium-sized book, a deep shade of navy blue. Earthen twine was wrapped around the book, and there was a picture on the front. A middle-aged man with chocolate hair and dark eyes smiled up at me. The cover of the book read, “Arthur Zimmerman, Game 71.