Throne Of Bones Novels & Stories

The altar cloth, always pristine, yellowed as if time had sped up around it. Sirelia sat at the centre, utterly still. The Bone Throne rose up behind her: a great, bladed structure, its seat and arms assembled from the bones of ancient queens, the conquered, the exiled, and the lost. It was a thing of beauty once, now rendered monstrous by what it demanded. Sirelia’s body was perfectly etched against it, hair loose and heavy, arms slack on her knees. Her gaze, fixed forward, was fathomless, wide, dry, and unstirred by the heat. For three days and nights, she had not left the throne. She had not eaten. She had not spoken. She had not blinked. She listened.

The Bone Throne The Summit of Shattered Spire The sky hung low with churning clouds as Arion stood before the Bone Throne, its skeletal arms stretching toward him as if it had been waiting. Saphros came up the incline behind him, breath shallow, robes dragging ash. "So it's true. You actually found it." Arion didn't turn. "It wasn't lost. Just buried under the guilt of men who called themselves kings." Saphros frowned. "That throne was cursed long before you were born."

And I still felt unprepared. The carriage rumbled up the mountain pass like it was trying to shake me loose. I pulled the velvet curtain back and stared out at the jagged, frostbitten peaks of the Oathbound Range. The sun had already dipped behind the highest ridge, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted road. Castle Thorne loomed ahead—tall, skeletal, and utterly uninviting. Like something drawn from the nightmares of children who’d grown up on war stories and ghost songs. But I wasn’t a child.

I was dressed in what I’d worn before—my coat, my boots—but the air smelled like smoke and something older, something like burning metal and forgotten bones. "Where the hell am I?" I muttered. The wind didn’t answer. But the whispers did. They slithered around me, voices in a language I didn’t recognize, yet somehow understood. Words that weren’t spoken but planted inside my head. They spoke of bloodlines. Of fire. Of thrones broken and reforged. I took a step forward, and the ground glowed brighter. In the distance, I saw a throne. Not just any throne. It was massive—twice the size of any man—carved from stone and blackened bone, with spikes curling out like claws. It sat at the top of a ri

“The Miller household has never been wealthy. Her father is only a minor royal archivist.” “And her stepmother manages the family now. If anything of her mother’s inheritance survived at all, we should consider it a miracle.” The crowd watched as the chests were carried past. “They hardly seem heavy.” “Of course they are not. Compare them with the Princess Hazel’s procession earlier today. One hundred and twenty chests, and the porters could barely lift them.” “Well, Hazel is the legitimate princess of the Northern Kingdom.” “And Ava Miller is merely a clerk’s daughter.” A few people laughed quietly.

I saw Ackleth Mason for the first time during the new year orientation week held by the school management. While in other schools, the first week of resumption was for students to catch up on everything that missed during the break, circulate the latest gists and rumours, flaunt the new gears and wears they got over the breaks and also participate in cleaning the school environment, In Brixden, the orientation was an old tradition and the first week of resumption was always packed with lots of activities ranging from commissioning of new projects by the alumni association to sorting of class schedules.

The mansion's grandeur loomed even larger in the twilight, imposing and intimidating. Just as we were about to enter, Tyler paused, retrieving an elegant box from his pocket. He revealed a stunning diamond ring, leaving me in shock. "Tyler, what's this?" I stammered. Tyler grinned and urged me to put it on. "It's in the contract, Madison, and I'll give you a copy to review later." With trembling hands, I let him slide the ring onto my finger, its sparkle catching the ambient light. The ring symbolized our connection, a stark reminder of the life I was stepping into.

"Sir, we're here. Boss?" Sebastian breathed in sharply. Dante could see hesitation in his face. He looked both hesitant, unsure and terrified. Dante held his hand gently, "you'll be okay." He assured and Sebastian nodded. Dante tightened his grip on Sebastian's hand and pulled him gently out of of the car. Fred, Leo and Timothy lead the way, while Dante and Sebastian followed suit. Five other bodyguards followed behind. A cold shiver ran through Dante's spine as they stepped into the royal-like ballroom. "Shit, are they royalty?" Dante wondered to himself, looking around, Sebastian's hand still in his but he's gotten oblivious of it.

Symbols covered every inch of the surface, twisted shapes that hurt to look at directly. The doors themselves were tall enough that Dominic had to crane his neck to see the top. “Ready?” he asked, flexing his hands until claws extended. I checked my weapons one more time. “Do it.” He kicked the doors with enough force to shatter them completely. Wood exploded inward in a shower of splinters while we stepped through into a chamber that could have held a thousand people. The ceiling disappeared into darkness above us, and torches burned in iron brackets. At the far end sat a throne made from bones of creatures I couldn’t identify. Some looked human. Others were definitely animal. All of them h

Her blood, his blood—Dorian’s twisted game, and she was neck-deep. “We gotta—” she started, but a loud snap cut through, close and mean. The floor bucked, the house groaning like it was dying, and Roman yanked her toward the door as plaster crashed down. They stumbled out into the storm, mud sucking at her boots, rain stinging her face.