Throne Of Glass 5 Novels & Stories

The disgust must be evident on my face, because I can feel the heat of it spreading through me, steaming beneath my skin like a slow-burning fire. Then, my eyes shift And I see it. The glass tower. A pyramid of delicate champagne glasses, stacked one on top of the other, twinkling under the golden lights. My fingers tighten around my red bag as I take a slow, intentional step forward. “Happy anniversary, my darling and cheers.” Roy says, He lifts his glass high, a warm smile on his face. The crowd echoes towards him, raising their glasses in unison. I make my move. Reaching down, I pluck a single glass from the base of the towering pyramid.

Their stories haunt the thresholds—cautionary tales for those who dare to reach beyond their fate. And this one? She hears herself. Not just the Veil. Not the ancestors. Herself. Another version. An echo with teeth. We are not supposed to interfere yet. The Prophecy must unfurl. But a new thread has begun to twist through the weave. Not gold. Not silver. Not flame. Glass. Fragile, dangerous, full of secrets. It catches the light and shatters it, reflecting a hundred possible futures in a single glance. The new thread gleams—a warning, or perhaps a promise.

“Like that.” Sirens screamed closer, red and blue slashing through the broken windows, lighting the walls in streaks. Sienna’s gut clenched—cops could mean help or a bigger mess. She dug the vial out, holding it up, the red inside catching the glow. Yours, Sienna. Always was. Her blood, his blood—Dorian’s twisted game, and she was neck-deep.

Aisha's POV The Paris sky that evening was a golden orange, reflecting the shadows of streetlights on the bustling city sidewalk. I sat on the balcony of my apartment, watching the hustle and bustle below while sipping on warm tea. Five years had passed since I left my old life. Five years since I chose to disappear. Along the way, I had found a new self, but the shadows of the past still clouded my mind. I was no longer the weak woman who felt unworthy of love. Now, I was a respected heart surgeon.

Nonetheless, the bright full moon at the sky served enough to illuminate the grounds and other objects inside from the open windows. Likewise, the figure of a lady seated on an extravagant, intricately chiseled and decorated throne glows bright as two tall windows flash light on her like converging spotlights. The rear of her fingers altogether supported her tilted head while her other arm rests at her lap. Few meters away from her, a young man stands still, staring directly at her, awaiting the movement she will take. It is Tristan, that child she has been watching over since the first day of their meeting.

Oh, now I see, you were playing games, trying to make me jealous. "Enough of this, let's sort out the mess at the company first." I passed the bouquet to the bridesmaid and shrugged off Sebastian's grasp. "I'm here for the wedding. You guys can fix your own mess." Sebastian's annoyance was palpable as he looked up sharply. "Is this wedding really more important than our family's legacy? We've both apologized. How long are you going to drag this out?" He sounded so noble, but if he had not let Rosa's antics slide, we would not be in this mess.

"What you're holding is part of the wedding gifts Her Majesty the empress has prepared for Ms. Giselle. Her Majesty made it clear that no one other than Ms. Giselle is to touch these things. Please put the pearl back and don't make things difficult for us." She rolled her eyes at him. "All of this will eventually end up in Mo's manor—I'm just looking at them a little earlier than planned! What's the big deal?" I wasn't in a hurry to get the pearl back. Instead, I asked the chamberlain, "Did Her Majesty mention what would happen if someone else touched these things?" "Yes, she did. She said that whoever tried to steal the gifts would immediately be thrown behind bars and punished." I tilted m

Her smile, laced with blood, looked haunting. A Haunt swept in, scattering the cash and gold bars from the car. Sparks flew, and the flames roared to life with a loud whoosh. I pulled a gold bar from my pocket. "Hear me, infant spirits, it's time for our final showdown!" The winds howled as I watched my mom wail in despair. Her tears were for her wealth, not a shred of worry for me. I spun around and plunged into the swirling darkness without a second thought.

Silence fell. “She was chosen before you,” he continued. “Before the throne. Before fear clouded judgment.” “That’s not possible,” I snapped. “She hasn’t emerged.” Spiritfang’s eyes darkened. “Emergence is not proof of worth,” the Spiritfang said calmly. “It is proof of readiness. And Raven was delayed—not denied.” My chest tightened. “There will be consequences for your actions,” he went on. “For now, you are to search for Raven and bring her back, you can’t seat on the throne, Damien. Not while she is alive.”

Silas wheezed, his stormy sea-grey eyes bright with a final, terminal clarity. Lyra Thorne was at the feet of the Curator-Hand, her transparent form looking like a charcoal sketch against the black void. She struck the hand with her obsidian blade, but the impact was absorbed by a "Transaction Barrier"—a wall of glowing gold symbols that represented the "Reader’s" final bids for the "End of the Saga."