Throne Novels & Stories

Shadows moved without form. They passed stone markers carved with ancient runes, some broken, some bleeding with dark sap. By the second night, even Kael began to falter. His bond with Aria pulsed with unease. Then they saw it. The Hollow Throne. It rose from the earth like a skeleton of a long-dead god jagged pillars curving into the sky, black stone slick with age. At its center sat the Throne itself, a monolithic seat carved from obsidian and bone, etched with runes that writhed under moonlight.

The throne flared when needed and dimmed on request. Far below, Blackthorn buzzed toward market day bowls clattering, fair arguments rehearsed. A wolf barked once, remembered dignity, and stopped. A fishwife scolded the weather for choosing another road. Selene stood sentinno kneeling, the only measure. Dorian mapped light for the path home. Nyxara curled, purring a verdict. And the Throne of Ash burned not as a crown, But as a hearth, the whole city could warm its hands over

I'd thought it was a symbol of his love for me, yet he'd secretly stolen the jewelry Mother had given me as a wedding gift and given it all to Camilla. Speak of the devil—Camilla showed up just as I was staring at the rock, and she saw me and Maurice standing together. Maurice headed straight to her like a faithful dog when he saw her. He pulled out a flawless green moonstone pendant from his sleeve and held it out before her. He said, "This pendant was blessed by the priests at Bliss Chapel, Cami. They can keep you safe. Your body is weak, and I'm sure keeping this with you at all times will slowly strengthen you."

The throne cracks. The wolves howl. Their eyes begin to weep ink. The sky above splinters. I raise my hand and snarl, not as a prince, not even as a warrior....As a mate. “Zenith,” I whisper. The illusion shatters. The grove returns in a burst of dry wind and dust. I fall to one knee, drenched in sweat. Breathing hard. The Lunacrown Thistle sways gently, undisturbed.

“Is that what this has all been about? You disrupted my wedding and kidnapped me, bringing me here so you could feel important and rub it in my face that you killed my family.” Sergio didn’t speak. “You let me believe I was nothing. Then you chained me to your side, gave me knives, maps, riddles... like I was a pawn in some twisted game.” He finally stepped forward. “You are simply here as payment for a debt owed to my family... You were never a pawn I chose.” “Then what am I?” she asked bitterly. He looked at her sadly. “You're the queen that was never meant to rise.” ************************************************** Suddenly, the manor’s alarm pierced the quiet.

The weak only know how to kill. Rian’s jaw tightened. The gold in his eyes flared. He looked frustrated. He looked trapped by the logic of the throne. He wanted the peace of the dead. He wanted the security of an empty courtyard. Thorne stood up. The chair scraped the stone. The Anchor is a girl. Thorne spat. The girl does not understand the cost of a crown. Every King sits on a throne of bone. I looked at Thorne. I looked at the scar on his face.

The Imperial Palace. The Throne Room. Noon. The Dragon Throne sat atop a dais of black marble. It was a monstrosity of gold and rubies, shaped like a coiled serpent. For three hundred years, only the Thornes had sat there. Today, the doors opened for a new bloodline. Vespera walked down the long red carpet. Her boots—still muddy from the battlefield—left dark prints on the pristine wool. She wore her black riding leathers, her heavy cloak billowing behind her like a storm cloud.

A sleek black Maybach screeched to a halt in front of me, its tires cruelly splashing a wave of muddy water from a puddle, soaking me to the skin. The car door swung open, and Nolan stepped out, his bodyguards forming a tight circle around him. His eyes locked onto the urn cradled in my arms, and for a moment, he froze, then his face twisted with anger. "Lena was right. You're really going all out with this charade, even getting yourself an urn to play the part in this rain!" He grabbed the urn from me and hurled it to the ground. I felt a surge of rage. Ignoring the pain racking my body, I dove for the urn and, thankfully, caught it just in time.

The throne appeared in the middle of the broken universe. It wasn’t made of gold. It wasn’t made of darkness. It was made of everything. Stars were woven into its arms. Shadows crawled across its back. Ancient symbols moved across the seat as if the throne itself were alive. Lucian stared at it. “What is that?” The First King answered calmly. “The throne of the First Blood.” Amara tightened her grip on Lucian’s hand. “And why did it appear?” The King looked toward her stomach.

Something more complicated and more real. "The alternative," he said, "is the council operating with the check its founders built into it. Which is a council that cannot be held by a single bloc indefinitely." He held her gaze. "You having standing is not a threat to the council. It is a correction to what the council was supposed to be." She looked at him. "And the bond?" she asked quietly. They had been moving around it since she had come downstairs. She was tired of moving around things. "The bond is separate," he said carefully. "The council claim is yours by bloodline, independent of any bond completion. You hold that right whether or not we" He stopped.