The Ivory Throne Book Novels & Stories

Elara’s POV The air crackled with power. Elara stood frozen as the wraiths remained kneeling, their hollow eyes fixed on her. The weight of their expectation pressed against her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs. “Take the throne, Elara.” “You were always meant to rule.” Their whispers twisted through her mind, wrapping around her like an invisible chain. The longer she stood there, the more the magic of Valmere seeped into her bones. The throne—her mother’s throne—loomed before her, a beacon of darkness and power. A throne carved from obsidian, veins of molten gold pulsing like a heartbeat beneath its surface. It was alive. It was waiting.

But she watched Jayden with a knowing gaze, one far too ancient for her age. “The wolves are waiting,” Ivy said quietly, stepping to his side. “They won’t rise until you do.” Jayden glanced over his shoulder at the field. Thousands of wolves—Alpha-borns, warriors, civilians—knelt in utter silence. Not a single howl rang through the war-ravaged grounds. Not until he claimed what was his. He turned back toward the throne. Once, it had been carved from white marble, inlaid with silver and obsidian. But now the seat was cracked, half-burned, and blackened by Caelum’s final onslaught. A symbol of ruin.

It was only a matter of time before his entire body succumbed to the flames. The throne room was silent. It was like everyone was holding their breath for the young prince, saying their goodbyes. I kept my eyes on my nephew, the last honor I could give him before he passed, when suddenly, light like I've never seen before began spreading in the room. The light seemed to have a life of its own as it went into Avani. Murmurs broke out in the throne room and all eyes turned to the werewolf girl, still kneeling on the floor, her eyes fixed on my nephew.

Pawns don’t see the spies. And pawns sure as hell don’t sass nobility into silence. Checkmate, darling. The next day…Oh it was chaos and drama. The council chamber was every villain's dream room. High ceilings. Thick curtains. A red carpet that screamed “betrayal happened here once, maybe twice.” Seven thrones for seven big egos, and at the center— A throne of solid mana crystal, glittering with raw power and generational trauma. That’s where the King sat.

And then—movement. A glow began at the far end of the cavern. Firelight, flickering red. I forced my feet forward, toward the throne they spoke of in stories. Each step echoed, too loud. My pulse pounded between my legs. The chamber opened wide, a cathedral of stone. And there—at the center—rose a throne carved from obsidian, slick and glistening like wet flesh. He sat upon it. And every fantasy I had ever nursed shriveled before the reality of him.

Published the following autumn under the title: The Carrying: Thirty Years of Keeping a Secret That Was Not Entirely Mine. On the publication evening, Mara and Sena sat in the manor kitchen with tea going cold, and the estate was quiet outside, and the book was in the world. "Are you glad?" Mara said. "Yes," Sena said. "Both of them now. Both books. He can be known. And the cost of the keeping can be known. And neither of them is alone in the record anymore." Mara held her cup. She thought about the wooden box on the study shelf.

The obsidian throne groaned, the entire structure vibrating with a frequency that was neither Silas’s nor mine. It was hers. Silas recoiled, his hand smoking, his face twisted in a mixture of shock and rapture. "She... she’s rejecting the Command? No... she’s Rewriting it." "She’s a Vane," I gasped, finally finding my voice as the pressure eased. "And a Thorne. She doesn't follow instructions." I lunged, my wings slicing through the air with a platinum-black fire. I didn't go for Silas; I went for the Throne’s Core—the massive obsidian diamond at the center of the chamber.

I said, quickly changing the subject. "Yes, we do. Does anyone have a suggestion on where to start?" Braxton asked. I saw Thane hook his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the books on the desk. "I vote we do some reading." I nodded, then stood up and approached the desk. They all looked very old, but I was drawn to one book in particular. I picked up the black, heavily used book that was titled Demon Hierarchy. I then turned back around and sat back down. I felt as if I was in a trance as I opened the book. All the noises in the background all faded away. I was pulled into my thoughts as I scanned the pages. I blinked a couple of times and when I looked up from the book I saw an enormous

Zora held it out to me, "this belongs to you." I gingerly held the book between my fingers in fear it would disintegrate to ash if I was too rough. The leather on this book had been embroidered with purple thread—the image of a howling wolf's head being formed. If I listened closely enough, I could make out faint whispers coming from the book—a cacophony of different sounds urging me to do one thing: open the book. "The wings called to him the way the wolf calls to you," Zora explained. She moved to exit the room with one last statement, "Only one person would make a better queen than you and when it comes time for them to rule, you will be proud."

He then turned his attention towards the icy throne. The throne was about 30 feet in height. Many intricate and strange carvings of ancient runes dotted the throne. They were so ancient that even Zephyr did not know what they were trying to show. However, Zephyr could feel a dreadful cold that emanated from the throne. Similar to the pearl, this was no ordinary item.