The Stand In Queen Novels & Stories

But it's mostly out of curiosity, no one seems to like her, I notice. Landon places his hand on my shoulder, softly steering me to his side rather than his back and let his hand drape carelessly over me. “And that, people, is my Queen, whose blood you greed for — Brooklyn McBroom.”

"Hey, do you think this time Mr. Price has come up with another special way to confess?" "Who knows? It’s already dark. Maybe they’re going stargazing or something. Isn't that what moody teenagers like?" "Haha, that’s possible, but the fact that Ms. Queen still hasn’t cut ties with Mr. Price shows she might have feelings for him too." "I don’t think so. Did you see how disgusted Ms. Queen looked when Mr. Price confessed last time? The fact that their relationship hasn’t ended just means the two companies still have a partnership."

The heavy implication wasn’t lost on me, especially when she called me ‘Queen’, saying she’s here for when I’m ready to open up about everything before retiring for the night. I was left with my jaw on the ground, but I shook myself out of it and scoffed, mumbling that’s never going to happen because I’m sick of talking about my abuse thanks to those meetings. Never fucking helped me, so what’s the point? Plus, this Queen shit is getting real old. Another thing that’s never going to happen. I see she’s just as delusional as the others, but at least she’s nice and kind enough to let us stay here. Plus, I could learn a little more about my mother before it’s my time to physically meet her when

“Of fire again. Of her.” Apollo’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. “The Queen,” Adelaide said, carefully. “The one with burning hair. She was standing at the edge of the mountain this time. She didn’t speak. She just looked at me like she was waiting for something I didn’t know how to give.” Apollo stilled. Her gaze sharpened, sleep falling away in pieces. “You said it like you meant—” She shifted again, more deliberate now, whether to make space to breathe or to retreat. Apollo did not stop her.

Now, it all made sense. No wonder he always said ponytails looked best on me—Victoria’s signature hairstyle. No wonder he bought me jasmine perfume—Victoria’s favorite. No wonder he stared at me so intensely the first time we met, like he’d seen a ghost. I was a replacement. A stand-in from the very beginning. I put down my glass and started packing. The apartment was Marcus’s, but over six years, my things had seeped into every corner. From the skincare in the bathroom to the clothes in the closet, the art books on the shelves, and our photos on the fridge.

From a young age, I've known I was born to be a substitute for my deceased sister, Leah. On my 6th birthday, my parents take me to the market to choose a cloak for cubs. I excitedly spend ages choosing, then point at a silver one. However, Mom's expression shifts drastically, and she grabs me by the ear and screams like a madwoman, "Who told you to choose silver? Leah's favorite color can only be red!" When Dad sees Mom act up, he roughly yanks me away. I fall to the ground, hitting my head, and blood streams down my face. From then on, I desperately try to become more like Leah. No matter what I choose, I only choose something in red, the color she loved most. But one day, I break the

It's why you stayed. Then the twelve-piece band went quiet, and four hundred people turned toward the grand stair, and the King of Atlanta was standing on the third step with a microphone he didn't need, because a room went silent for Malik St. James without one. Malik’s POV I had killed men with less fear in my chest than I stood there holding.

he told me. "She'll destroy everything," I said. "Every paper. Every letter. Anything that could prove what she did to Rose." "Not everything," said a soft voice behind us. I turned around. June was standing by the elevator. She was still wearing her white apron under her coat, like she had run straight out of the Sinclair house. She was holding a shoe box against her chest, old and tied shut with faded blue ribbon.

I was standing in a place I had never visited, beside my mother, who looked exactly as I remembered her. Seralyth stood beside a woman whose silver hair fell over her shoulders. I recognised the woman from the chamber's records. She was the First Queen, but she was not standing inside the prison we had believed contained her. She stood beside my mother, facing a dark opening beyond them. Then the Queen turned slightly, and I saw another figure standing behind her. It was the same presence Noah had warned us about

He tilted her head up gently but firmly, forcing her to look straight into his dark, smoldering eyes, which burned with an intense, unshakeable devotion in the moonlight. "Listen to me," Brandon commanded softly, his voice dark, steady, and thick with an absolute, terrifying conviction. "It doesn't matter whose blood runs in your veins, Robin. It doesn't matter what name those bastards put on a piece of paper. In this city, you are the queen... and you are mine." His words didn't leave room for doubt. They surged through her chest, burning away the cold, hollow emptiness of the night. Before she could speak, Brandon leaned down and captured her lips in a deep, slow, intoxicating kiss.