The Targaryen Dynasty Books Novels & Stories

the king ordered, pointing to a young servant girl who immediately curtsied and nodded before walking away to fetch her. "I hope our trip to Valethorne just goes smoothly," Lord Thalen Ironhart said, adjusting his ceremonial sword at his side. "Like we all know, it's Malakar we're talking about. Once we get there, avoid anything that would make him upset." His weathered face was grim, etched with lines that seemed deeper today than usual. The other council members nodded solemnly. They had all heard the stories - entire armies disappearing in the night, kingdoms that had opposed Malakar reduced to ash and memory. They were walking into the lion's den, and they all knew it.

A way to understand the darkness within her. Her hand paused on a leather-bound volume, its cover cracked with age. She pulled it free, dust rising in the air. The title was faded, but the words inside made her blood run cold. The Bloodline of the Forgotten Throne. Pages turned beneath her trembling fingers. The text spoke of an ancient dynasty long erased from the kingdom’s histories. A family cursed, marked by shadows, feared and hunted until they vanished. She read the final lines again and again: One day, the blood of the forgotten shall awaken, and with it, the kingdom shall tremble.

I pause for a moment, “Have you found anything in the books?” Taran shakes his head, “No, history is completely different. Even the castle’s history is wrong. It was expanded in the 14th century and funded by an Earl thanking us for keeping the vampires from invading. These books say the Earl built it in the 14th century.” I turn and look at the mythology section of the library. Whispering, “I wonder,” I get up and begin looking for books on dragons. “What are we looking for now?” Taran asks curiously.

Though dim, the name held weight. Everything froze inside me. One sentence after another, my fingers shook as I turned each page. "Month 4: The pure energy of the Valerian bloodline has been shown to accelerate Alpha Targarion's stabilization process. However, the side effects on Valerian's hosts are fatal. Their bodies are unable to withstand the forced withdrawal of energy. The initial symptoms are similar to rapid cellular decay..." Buried under the note sat a rough drawing of some kind of ceremony. Much like what Leon did down in the basement that evening, rings inside rings marked with old signs. Yet something extra caught the eye near the bottom, scribbled quietly in fresh red ink.

She drank deep. Descendants of the ancient kings and queens of Qarth, the Pureborn commanded the Civic Guard and the fleet of ornate galleys that ruled the straits between the seas. Daenerys Targaryen had wanted that fleet, or part of it, and some of their soldiers as well. She made the traditional sacrifice in the Temple of Memory, offered the traditional bribe to the Keeper of the Long List, sent the traditional persimmon to the Opener of the Door, and finally received the traditional blue silk slippers summoning her to the Hall of a Thousand Thrones.

ARWYN My body was pressed against another, radiating warmth that made me reluctant to wake, hoping to prolong the blissful sorcery enveloping me. My lashes fluttered open, revealing the familiar sight of books and towering shelves—I was still in the library. Surprisingly, I remembered the conversation I was having with Jagger about the dragons and Thrystan's brother, Nerys, whom I accidentally killed two years ago in the Spire. That mission haunted me for months, rendering me unable to function properly. I could only imagine how Thrystan must have felt, losing his older brother to such a horrible death.

"In short, the High Lords are keepers of the four corners of Lyria. Each one is powerful on their own, but the stone adds more flare. It was kept under the mansion in a secret library, and Valen visited each year to harness its grace. But then Talerion stole it, melted it, and engraved it with his blood so he could fight useless wars." "But it was to protect his people," I counter, regurgitating what I learned from the history books in the village. "Not so," Rhaenan rebuts. "Talerion conquered two villages and made them a part of Ferngrove. Yes, to protect his people, but at what cost? Now he's done greater harm because they will die either way." My heart races at his words, hanging onto ev

It was a heavy volume bound in deep scarlet leather. The title, written in gold, was “A Brief History of the Nocturne Territories and the Valerius Dynasty”. The subtitle was “Vampires and humans”. I snatched it up, quickly reading with my heart hammering. Vampires? Dynasty? My mind immediately began filing away information. This was no ordinary world.

"And that’s what worries me." Rael barely heard them. His fingers traced the edges of the book, its leather cover warm to the touch. Since leaving the ruins, the ink on its pages had shifted again, crawling like living veins. The words had changed. The throne is no longer sealed. The sky will bear its wound. And the Hollow Crown waits. Rael’s pulse quickened. The Hollow Crown. The phrase had appeared before, buried deep in the writings of the First King, but no one knew what it meant.

The walls of our estate had been built for empire—for deals struck in the dead of night, for war planned between the turning pages of history, for control that never wavered. But now, one wing was being redesigned for Orion. Every room, every corridor, every adjustment spoke of protection, training, and the weight of inheritance. The Heir’s Quarters: Located within the most secure section of the estate—accessible only to the inner circle. Fortified walls, hidden surveillance, a space designed for safety without suffocation. A private terrace overlooking Rome—so that Orion would always remember the city he would rule. The Education Wing: A study curated with texts on political negotiation, fi