The Golden Throne Novels & Stories

Not human. Not wolf. Something divine. Something terrible. The First was climbing out. THE CHOICE Auren staggered to his feet, eyes blazing with golden light. “We have to leave! Now!” Kael grabbed Aria’s arm. “I’ll carry you if I have to.” But Aria was no longer looking at the rift. Her attention was locked on the throne—the floating, impossible throne forged from Gate-light and ancient bone—still cracked, still unstable, still pulsing with the last remnants of her divine touch.

Her Throne has never been shook before. The Third Throne, the West: ruled by Morrigan. She and Akasha are close friends. The second woman in the council. Her feminine rage is not to be tampered with. The Fourth Throne, the south: ruled by Atticus. He's the only friend I have in the council, the only one who's ever shown care and understands the pain I passed through, and certainly the only one who speaks in my favour anytime Marcellus objects me. The ladies are neutral, painfully.

*** In the center podium of a beautiful large room filled with dazzling brilliance with walls plated with platinum, its decorations only of the variations of gold and white, stood majestically a throne. This throne could be seen to have been carved meticulously from the finest of gold, and on top of it was a scepter carving with lifelike imagery of a fountain running around it, showing a depiction of the holy waters. Before this lovely white throne was a conspicuous red sword placed in a red sheath, leaving a glaring contrast from the surrounding white yet holding a certain match with a surreal charm that couldn’t be denied. Before this throne sat a being whose apparel flowed to the floor, a

Emilia's POV The three thrones continued to rise. Silver. Gold. Black. They emerged from the fractured earth as though they had been waiting beneath the First Reality since the beginning of time. Every chain surrounding the Sleeper trembled. The Unmakers retreated. Even the First Queen stepped back. For the first time since she had appeared... Her smile vanished. Wesley stared at the golden throne. The Sleeper looked toward the black one. And somehow... I knew the silver throne belonged to me.

On the day my fiancé, Raphael Moretti, and I were supposed to get our marriage license at city hall, I dressed with care. But by noon, he still hadn't shown up. Aurelia De Luca video-called me. "Sofia, where are you? Raphael's been waiting for you all day." Panic hit me. "Weren't we signing in Palermo?" Aurelia frowned. "It's Taormina, Sofia. Everyone's been waiting for a long time." I drove straight to Taormina. When I arrived, no one was there. When the video connected, Aurelia was crouched on the ground, laughing hard. "Sofia, don't tell me you actually went. We're already on Lipari. Raphael's setting up the wedding venue to surprise you." I left my car at the port and took a boat to Lipa

Or that it was a resting place for her kind. They finally entered another room, this one smaller than the others, but with high, vaulted ceilings, and natural light pouring in. This room had stark, stone floors, and in its center sat one remarkable piece of furniture: a throne. Mounted high up on a pedestal, at least fifteen feet high, sat the wooden throne, a chair which was extra wide, with arms that sloped upward, and a back that angled on a triangle, coming to a point in the middle. Beneath it, on its corners, sat two golden lions, designed to look as if they were holding up the chair.

Large windows of glass and red curtains stayed open, letting the cool wind travel inside. Larice glanced forward at the end of the throne room that elevated the empty seat of the Emperor. The golden chair, with red and white fur on the backrest, rose the highest among the elegant seats on the sides—all had rested above the curved, marble-tiled stairs. Behind the seats stood a red-painted wall, revealing a huge symbol of a golden phoenix at its center. Everything was gold and red. Even the round chandeliers above them screamed of wealth and power.

“There's a huge stained-glass window behind the throne itself. The throne was made of uhm gold and on the backrest of it was a howling head of a dire wolf.” It's decades since I last saw a throne that looked exactly like she was describing to me, but I let her rummage through her head for details that she could remember about the throne room. “Uhm… there's a pillar, four on the left and the same number on the right. I couldn't exactly remember the surrounding carvings, but there are dire wolves around it.” She snapped her finger. “And then the double door that leads inside the throne room was a double door. I've never seen such a huge door that was made from strong iron and gold, while it ha

“The throne is cursed? Is that what you were trying to say?” “Yes, miss. No one touches the throne even if it’s to clean it. It was engraved and molded by what is known as “hellfire”. It is of pure gold and burns anyone who touches it mistakenly or intentionally and the burn would never heal. Only the destined king can touch it, our past queens never touched it and any one of them who tried to, died from the incurable injury.” Darius explained as everyone stared at me in shock and dread or to be specific, my hands on the throne arm.

This was the time I took to move into the centre of the room again to face her before sending out a large wave of fire, that was countered for a few minutes until the flames got closer and closer to her still sat in the throne. All I could here were the screams of her being burnt alive in her so-called throne, it was finally over I could go home, and my mother was dead, I started to feel weak from using my elemental power too much or this is what I thought until out the corner of my eye there was some movement coming from the scotched throne, how was this even possible? I used a lot of energy to project that much force and she just stood up like nothing had happened, the deadly silent room w