Throne Novels & Stories

In one hand, she held a talon—blackened and cracked, the last remnant of the Kilimane warlord she had slain. She smiled. “Pitiful,” she whispered, echoing the word her kind loved so much. “He thought his roar could rival mine.” The talon crumbled to ash between her fingers, vanishing into a curl of flame before it ever kissed the floor. She raised her hand, unhurried, and rested it on the arm of her throne. The legendary Throne of Flames. Gold hissed beneath her touch yet never burned her.

She was after her father’s position as the Master of strength and the Alpha’s enforcer. Myria was built differently. Unlike most girls who preferred dolls, dresses, and looking pretty, she had broad shoulders shaped by years of discipline. Her presence didn’t demand attention—it claimed it. Her gaze was sharp, calculating—not cruel. She didn’t talk much. She didn’t need to. When Myria Throneclaw walked into a room, strength followed. And tomorrow, she intended to prove it. I didn’t look at Raven again—not when the feast resumed, not when plates were passed, not even when she finally lifted her cup.

Not human. Not wolf. Something divine. Something terrible. The First was climbing out. THE CHOICE Auren staggered to his feet, eyes blazing with golden light. “We have to leave! Now!” Kael grabbed Aria’s arm. “I’ll carry you if I have to.” But Aria was no longer looking at the rift. Her attention was locked on the throne—the floating, impossible throne forged from Gate-light and ancient bone—still cracked, still unstable, still pulsing with the last remnants of her divine touch.

] I just pocketed my phone when a voice, both familiar and pretentious, rang out: "Welcome, everyone, to the wedding of Sebastian and me." I turned to see Sebastian, sharp in a tailored suit, standing by Rosa in her bridal gown, playing the perfect hosts. They stood before a rainbow archway, their oversized wedding portraits smiling down. Catching sight of me, Rosa rose on her toes and planted a kiss on Sebastian. The crowd erupted in whistles and cheers, and Sebastian, a bit sheepish, dabbed at his mouth. He glanced up without thinking, and our eyes locked in an unexpected standoff. Sebastian, caught off guard, shoved Rosa aside, his awkwardness bordering on comical.

It wasn't the Editor. It was a woman who looked exactly like a younger version of Meilin, but her eyes were the cold, calculating hazel of a Thorne. "My name is Christie Thorne," she said, her voice echoing through the new reality. "And I’ve come to collect the Royalty Fees for the 'Prince's' new world." The "Billionaire Romance" had truly ended. The "Dynasty War" had begun.

Because a Thorne has the thorns to protect her heart, and a Montague has the steel to build a world around it. The wedding night was over. But the dynasty? The dynasty was just beginning.

Hello beautiful people. Don't forget to vote and share your thoughts. Keep smiling ☺ keep loving Peace ✌. Sasha'dress. Sahra's dress

I moved toward it instinctively, but he caught my wrist and pushed me back. “Enough. You have refused to assist her publicly, yet you cling to garments you will never be entitled to wear. What purpose does it serve you?” And then a voice cut through the room—steady, edged with restrained fury. “On what authority does the Crown Prince confiscate the bridal mantle of my future wife?”

"They need a real Queen. Someone stunning. Someone with elite education and perfect pack pedigree. When they see you, they will toss that pathetic human straight into the streets. You are going to rule this pack, Clara." "Well, when you put it like that," she laughed lightly, clearly enjoying the idea. "I suppose I should wear the red dress you bought me." "Wear the red one," he agreed. "Get some sleep on the flight. I will see you tomorrow." Hanging up the phone, Thorne tossed it onto the seat next to him. He felt incredibly smug. While the rest of the council was panicking over dead guards and old women's prophecies, he was quietly positioning his own bloodline for the

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Prince nodded, thoughtful, then laughed, looking toward me. “Does Torey know? He’s going to hate that idea since they’ll be overtaking him with the title of having the biggest pack and territory in America.” I nodded with a grin. “He knows. He was just glad it was his granddaughter who would be taking that title from him.”