The King's Game Novels & Stories

Kingston picked up Thiago by his shirt and continued to beat him over the yelling of King Hernando and Queen Dorothea. “King... My love, stop now… Please…” Romaine said and slowly touched his shoulder after the fifth punch. “Baby, we need him able to talk.” Fuming, Kingston nodded and hoisted the man to his feet. His face bloody, Thiago glared defiantly at Romaine. “You have no proof, you, bitch. No proof of anything!” “Proof of what?” King Hernando stormed. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on in my palace?”

You could never let someone know what you were thinking, what you were feeling. "It seems, Brittany has a game of her own she wishes to play." The King's lips turned up in a cruel sneer. "I've accepted of course." I let interest flash in my eyes, and the King's sneer widened. "Ever the gambler." The King noted, his voice amused. "It is a skill of mine, my Lord." I nodded, "I enjoy odds." "And it is your skill I wish to utilize." The King smiled, but there was no friendliness, "Tell me, if Tyler and Brittany were to fight who do you think would win?"

She was the spitting image of her mother, with her emerald eyes and raven colored hair. Hades and I stood silently as the waves of power rolling from the King washed over us. It was clear how and why he ruled the largest Kingdom in Lycan history. His people respected, feared, and loved him. A feat that was difficult to obtain. One look and I could tell the King did not participate in the game all Royal's participated in. This was both a surprise and a grave error. Ignoring the game never suited a Royal well. The game was cruel and unfair, but if you were smart enough you could possibly gain the upper hand.

He simply reached out, his pale index finger lightly brushing the edge of her scorched uniform collar, before drawing his hand back into the folds of his sleeve. "You think you are here because of the dead," Alaric said, his eyes shifting for a fraction of a second toward Cassian, who stood perfectly still behind him. "You think you are here because of an inheritance, or a pack title, or a border line. You think this kingdom is a game of pieces moved across a map. Well... the dead no longer interest me," he paused as if taking in everything he had said, The future does." The King turned his back on them, walking toward the massive sheets of black glass to look out over the misty valley. The

She took a deep breath before pushing open the door, her limbs once again shaking. Inside the room was two men, and a woman. She was certain that the man in the middle, a man only a few years older than her, at the head of the table as they all sat around, was the King. He had shaggy black hair, and was lazily lounged out, with his feet in another chair. However, just as she realized that the wonderful scent of a warm fireplace seemed nearly overpowering in here, his eyes snapped up to hers, and she saw the depths of his amber eyes. She felt like she was going to be eaten alive if she looked into them for too long.

The courtyard below was quiet, the torches still burning in steady rows. Somewhere beyond the walls, laughter drifted up from the lingering guests. The court never slept when gossip was fresh. Tonight, I was the story keeping them awake. The king’s chosen. The girl he’d made visible. I gripped the windowsill tighter, my nails pressing into the stone. The truth sat heavily in my chest. What he had done in front of them wasn’t affectionate. It was ownership a move in a game I didn’t know the rules to. And yet, beneath the anger, there was something else. Something I didn’t want to admit.

I folded my arms, trying to steady myself, heart hammering as his eyes flicked toward me just as the guard stepped back. “Ma’am, let’s go. The boss has arrived,” the guard said, calm but firm. My knees trembled as I lifted my gaze. “Who… who is he? Is he…?” I whispered, dread coiling tight in my chest, when suddenly his height felt strangely familiar. “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Evan Grant, our king,” the guard replied. WHAT! This is the evil I’ve been defying? Slowly, I turned toward the car he had stepped out of, the same black shade and model that had vanished into the darkness that night.

Andrew smiled while taking his bowl, and we sat side by side enjoying our bowl of ice cream. "He told you his name. He never tells anyone his name, his first name, or anything really. " "Why doesn’t he ?" "He’s the king; he doesn’t need a reason to do what he does." I ended up choking on my ice cream, becoming a slurping and gagging pitiful thing, Andrew flung himself off the chair and was beside me once again with a glass of water. He was the king, Killian was the king. Of course, only I could be foolish enough to fall for the king, but why would he look so young? He’s over a thousand years old! "

Nurul Islam stroked Abrar's hair and began: "Once there was a king. His son was very honest. His grandson was even more honest. One day, the uncle came and said, 'I want the throne of the kingdom. If you want to save your grandson's life, you must fight...'" The room grew dim; everyone's eyelids grew heavy. But Arian knew—he would have to stay awake through the night. Because old enemies do not sleep, and they were now running after Abrar.

Him? “Not ‘king,’” Anton breathed. The pieces snapped together with awful, perfect symmetry. Marcus’s obsession, his endless, pathetic game. “He didn’t see himself as the king. He was the other piece. The one that moves in straight lines, that attacks from the side. The one that can become anything if it reaches the end.” He stepped up to the panel, his voice clear and steady, speaking directly into the microphone. “The key is ‘Queen.’” For a second, nothing. The countdown reached 00:00:07.