The Viridescent Crown Novels & Stories

Damon drifts toward center ice and stops at the logo. I follow. For a moment, we stand where the game began. Where so much between us almost ended. “Funny,” he says. “All that fighting over who gets the crown.” “And?” He looks at me fully. “There was only ever one.” The words hang there. Not competitive. Not sharp. Certain. Only one crown. And it doesn’t belong to one king. The arena lights dim slightly as the crew prepares to clean up. I feel his hand brush mine. Not by accident.

I announce that Nathan Crowther is being removed from the title of crown prince, now he becomes a traitor, he must be sought and isolated, his name never to be heard again, Thomas Crowther, my second son will inherit the throne when the time is right, and before the entire nation I announce that the winner of the Diamond Crown will be revealed. - Celine moves in the row next to her father, he is the richest noble after the king, he probably believes he will receive the title, I show a scathing smile on my lips, as soon as the news is given she will be in shock. Now it's silence that fills the hall as the king pauses to wipe tears from his eyes that I know are fake. He pretends to be sad for

Beside him, Arya’s long, copper curls were pinned with vines of gold and live ivy that curled as if they breathed. Alpha Czar spoke first “To our brother Alpha and his Luna, we bring the gift of the Living Crown—a circlet woven from the ever-rooted ivy of the Emerald Heart tree. It will never die, even in winter, and grows stronger with each trial. Just as your bond will.” He raised the crown—delicate, green, and pulsing faintly with druidic energy—and placed it in Dalton’s hands. Daniella, stunned, brushed her fingers across the vines. They curled slightly, responding to her touch.

“I know.” A small, breathless smile curved his mouth. “And I love you too,” she whispered. Below them, the lake caught the light and held it, and the forest around it carried that warmth inward—through root and stone, through corridor and heart—until it reached the quieter halls of the palace, where another choice waited with equal patience. Corren stood alone in the Hall of Roots, the Verdant Crown resting upon its living pedestal. It was not forged by fire but shaped by time—wood veined with gold, leaves eternally green along its arch. The chamber smelled of earth and rain, ancient and steady.

“—will be for nothing.” Her heart ached at the truth of it. From behind, Isolde Mirean approached, her healer’s robes darkened with soot. She carried not herbs or poultices this time, but the circlet of her mother’s crown, retrieved from the ashes of the throne room. The silver glimmered faintly, a crescent moon etched into its center. “Serenya,” Isolde said softly, offering the crown. “This belongs to you. Always has.”

I do just that, lifting the lid of the box to reveal the item sitting inside dark red velvet. I gasp at its beauty, the circlet is a whitish-grey colour that's twined with strong twigs and adorned with an onyx stone at the center. The opaque nature makes it look as though there's a million stars gathered in it. “Do you like it?” I don't know how long I've remained speechless, just staring down on it. “Mother… of course, I love it… so much.” I tell her earnestly. Picking it up, I replace the flower crown on my head and mother pushes a mirror into my hand.

It pressed and knot itself, forming and deforming at each second that passed, until with a pop, the blood transformed into a tangible object, which could be worn only by the king: a crown. It was hailed with black linings that were dancing in its curves and edges; there was also a red, minuscule ruby glinting at each black lining. With a last whisper, the priest grabbed the crown. He hurriedly put it over Vladimir’s head who crouched a little with its weight. He’s in awe as he felt the heaviness of such a small thing. “All hail to King Vladimir,” the priest shouted. The common vampires and the witnesses echoed his words.

He turned, presenting two identical crowns carved from a seamless blend of volcanic obsidian and pure mainland silver. Vance lifted the first crown, placing it lightly upon Natalia's silver-white braids. He then lifted the second, placing it upon Dmitry's brow. The moment the twin crowns settled, Natalia and Dmitry reached out, locking their fingers together, their palms pressing the silver scars of their blood-tie firmly against one another. A violent, breathtaking shockwave of raw, golden light exploded from the balcony.

The man scrambled to open the box, placing it on the table. In it was a crown. The crown was made entirely of gold and encrusted with various gems. One of the gems was a fiery red color, emitting an exquisite scarlet glow. Wilbur scanned the crown with his spirit energy, and it lit up at once. He picked the crown up, taking a closer look at it. The man blinked nervously, clearly caught off guard by how carelessly Wilbur was handling the crown. A while later, Wilbur looked up. "I'll take it. I'll help you with whatever you want after I'm done."

Then, with a groan, the iron door shifted, revealing a stairway spiraling into darkness. They descended cautiously. What awaited them wasn’t a chamber of secrets but a sanctuary—untouched by war, sealed away from time. Candles burned eternally on the walls, enchanted flames flickering blue and silver. In the center of the room stood a pedestal bearing a single object: A crown. But not just any crown. This one was forged of blackened silver and crimson stone—its aura commanding, regal, and foreboding. Aria’s breath caught in her throat. “The Crown of Eldara.”