The Prisoner's Throne Pdf Novels & Stories

And that’s when we saw it properly. The prison. Thousands of symbols carved into the stone floor. A massive circular seal spanning nearly the entire cavern. And at the center— A throne. My heart nearly stopped. Black stone shaped like twisted roots and jagged bone sat elevated above the seal itself. Empty. But not abandoned. Waiting. “Nope,” Rex said immediately beside me. “I hate that.” Normally I would’ve laughed. Instead I stared at the throne unable to breathe properly. Because I knew somehow— That thing expected me to sit there.

His Highness had sent word to him a few days ago that he'd be arriving in a week's time to gather the academy's best as well as strongest fighters. "Yes, we'll take them based on ranking but make it quick, I can't stay here for long." Dane nodded in understanding before leaving the room to tell one of his subordinates to get started on the announcement to the students. When Dane left the room, Lucian turned to Llewellyn and spoke, "More and more people are starting to believe the throne has been corrupted." "If anyone outside the people who already know, should find out about her being the successor," Llewellyn glanced at Katherine briefly before continuing, "Not only will they refuse to be

She gave the paper to me. The headline read: The Prince’s Mystery Mate: A Queen of the Dark Hours. Fuck. Why is my life so fucking messed up! ----

Until, two the unmistakable figures of her past and present abusers made the walls seem like they were closing in on her again. Their forms, appearing to be almost a part of the grand Hall, which had unabashedly been made more opulent by the late King’s wealth. Phynia Thorne occupied her usual comfortable position upon the silver throne. Adorned in a flowing crimson dress with long bell sleeves, which hung loosely from the plunging neckline of the garment and accompanied by a domineering glower; it was obvious that Phynia thought herself the judge and jury in her own court. However, despite what the Coven Head believed, she was not free from the influence of her executioner and loyal jester,

Erin shook his head and sighed again. “Many individuals are vying for the throne, and there is also a lot of discontent regarding Uncle Vernon’s replacement due to a tragic event. Our great-grandfather violated the law,” Erin said, mustering a forced smile. “He betrayed the family, making a mistake in an attempt to protect us, our family, our people, and our reputation.” Erin continued, gripping Agustin’s shoulder. “The throne requires someone capable of ruling it.” “And that someone is you, Agustin.”

I was an Alpha, not some common thug or criminal they had picked up off the street. “Chief Warrior, mind the protocols of the Council,” I reminded him, my voice as cold as ice. "I am an Alpha, and as a prisoner, I have rights. I am not a criminal. At the very least, you can accuse me of a single transgression. That is not the same thing." The man took a few more steps into my cramped cell and turned on a portable lamp he had brought with him.

The prisoner grits his teeth, blood pouring down his wrist, and I swear for half a heartbeat, the stone itself hisses like it’s tasting his rage. When he lifts his head, there’s blood running from his palm, dripping off his knuckles, but he’s grinning. A feral broken thing too wild for any cage. His voice is rough and barely more than a whisper. “Queen indeed.” The runes on the floor flare briefly and hungrily as if answering, and deep in my chest, beneath the wreckage of bone, blood, and rage, something smiles back. Queen. What a pretty fucking word for a creature too broken to bow and too bloody to crown. If this is a throne, it’s built from bone and betrayal, and I’ll tear down anyone who

Throne choked violently, a wet gurgle escaping as blood sprayed from his lips, chains groaning under the strain of his convulsing body. The guards flinched involuntarily, hands twitching toward hilts they dared not draw. Kael remained unmoved, his face a mask of icy control. He seized Throne by the throat, fingers like vise grips compressing windpipe and artery alike, lifting the elder slightly off the ground. "What," he demanded coldly, breath hot against the man's ear, "did you put inside him?" Throne coughed raggedly, flecks of crimson misting Kael's sleeve, but then he laughed—a wheezing, triumphant bark that echoed mockingly. "You still don't understand..."

My heart leaps to my throat. “We'll have to—” Suddenly, there's commotion in the hall. The girls gasp, murmurs erupt, and some make happy squeals. Man in charge—fuck it, we'll call him little man, for now—momentarily forgets me and turns in the direction of the noise. My chest is still heaving from the exertion I put my poor heart to as Rhea squeezes my hand reassuringly. “Girl, that was close,” she whispers. “Your highness! You shouldn't be here! Gods!” It's the alarm in little man’s voice that has me spinning, laying my eyes on the rumored ‘Mad Prince.’

Behind them, Kaelan and two elite shadowguard flanked the rear entrance, ensuring no surprise assailant interrupted what was to come. Nyra paused on the dais, where the old throne; a magnificent carving of bone‑white silver and midnight ebony, loomed empty against an obsidian wall. Its armrests were shaped like coiled wolves, their jaws poised in eternal snarls. The seat was worn, centuries of monarchs having sat here to dispense justice. Tonight it would bear witness to a more primal decree. She stepped up, sandals whispering against marble, and laid a hand on the cold armrest. A flicker of lunar‑flame pulsed along her palm, as if the throne itself recognized its true queen.