Throne Of Glass Age Rating の小説・ストーリー

And now, watching her stand there, he didn’t know if he would survive watching her choose someone else twice in one lifetime. The glass went before he could finish being certain. Raiyan's wine glass didn't just shatter; it surrendered. The stem snapped under the pressure. The sound was a miniature gunshot over the birthday music. Sam was there in a second. "Man—" "I'm fine," Raiyan said. His voice was a masterpiece of deception. Blood began to pool in his palm, dripping off the edge of the table and landing on the expensive carpet with a rhythmic, heavy thud. Zoya turned to look at him, her eyes found him immediately.

Unlike the standard military maps the wolves had captured over the years, this one detailed the hidden infrastructure of the spires—the veins of stolen primordial magic that pulsed beneath the surface. "The high thrones are protected by a continuous shimmering ward," Orion explained, his voice crisp and focused as Lucian, Navarien, and Garick leaned over the table. "The Elders call it the Aegis of Glass. To a frontal assault, it’s completely impenetrable. Any physical force or standard elemental blast that hits it will simply be absorbed and reflected back twofold." "Then a siege is out of the question," Garick grunted, his heavily scarred brow furrowing as he crossed his arms. "My wolves wo

Rosa piped up then, "Don, doesn't my word mean anything?" Sebastian, who usually spoiled Rosa rotten, shot her a look that could freeze lava, signaling her to zip it. He then signaled to a bodyguard, who brought over a check for $100,000. With a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, Sebastian handed me the check, making a promise. "Elena, you may have stepped away from the family business, but your dedication hasn't gone unnoticed. You'll get what's rightfully yours, just give me a little time."

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.