Throne Of Glass Fanfic Novels & Stories

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.

Her hair lifted in a wind that wasn’t there. Something moved in the glass. Not her. Not the room. Something just beyond the surface is leaning in. The same wrongness from her dorm. From the shadows that had thickened when she’d flared before. Something old. Patient. Watching. Her magic surged toward it like a tide. “No,” she gasped. She dropped to her knees. Pain ripped up her leg as she landed on the broken glass. Shard bit deep into her bare feet, into the skin beneath the robe’s hem. Warm wetness bloomed, soaking into the silk.

Rosa's grin was too big to hide, her teeth shining as she said, "If we knew it would end like this, why even start? Let's just get it done with." Sebastian's face was a storm cloud, too caught up to catch the slip in my words. He clutched his forehead, feigning a migraine, "My head's killing me, something's off. Let me sort it out, and we'll talk later." Rosa latched onto Sebastian's arm, batting her eyelashes, "Honey, Don Ricci, I'm your one true love. How could you think of marrying someone else in a church?" Pressed by both Rosa and me, Sebastian had no choice but to play along.

Mom chuckled and gave him a flying kiss. "Geez, I don't wanna see you guys flirt anymore. I am done. Goodnight dear folks." They wished me back as I went upstairs in my room. Taking a shower, I sat down at my bed. My gaze fell over the book kept on the table. Right, I should start with the assignment. "Myth of The Broken Throne". I mumbled opening the book. The pages were yellowish, a little tattered on the corners, clearing showing how old it was. Nonetheless, the classic vibes were all I needed to jump into the story.

I whisper softly, "the woman of my heart… my one and only love." The words feel strange coming from a child’s mouth, but they’re too heavy to remain unspoken. "I lost you six times," I continue, my voice breaking. "But not this time. I swear on every life I’ve lived—this time, I’ll protect you. I’ll protect Martha. And when I grow up, I’ll reclaim the throne they stole from me. No one will ever hurt us again." The fire pops, and Jane stirs slightly in her sleep, her tiny hand twitching. For a moment, I imagine she heard me.

Because Stevens Nielsen belongs to the Silverclaw Throne. And when the moon rises on our wedding day, he will finally see what happens when an Alpha claims his mate. Even if I have to burn for him in complete silence. Even if I can never tell him how much his blood calls to mine.

The way the room itself seemed to shift slightly, like fate had just leaned forward to watch. Unstoppable. A vampire throne backed by dragon fire. Immortality paired with destruction. Blood and flame ruling together. Every kingdom would bow whether they wanted to or not. This was not just an engagement. This was domination. Turn her down now, my monster said sharply. I frowned slightly, keeping my face calm for the crowd. Turn what down, I asked back internally, irritation slipping through. Are you acting dumb with me right now, he snapped. Before I could even respond, before I could argue or think this through properly, my senses picked up something familiar.

Presses his bloody palm to Damon's. The air shimmers. A thread appears. Faint but visible. Father to son. "Now you." He grabs my bleeding hand again. Presses it to Damon's other palm. The thread that appears is blinding. Gold and white and so bright it hurts to look at. Thick as rope, pulsing with power, connecting me to Damon in a way that makes everyone in the room step back. "Impossible," someone whispers. The King does the same with Kieran. Same blinding thread.

Each strike reverberated not just in her arms, but in her heart—every blow carried the weight of her kingdom, her bloodline, her right to exist. “You kneel and beg unity, yet you will never hold a crown,” Thalric hissed as their weapons locked. His breath was hot against her face, his eyes wild with a hunger that bordered on madness. “Your throne is glass, fragile and false. One strike, and it will shatter.” Her reply came as a fierce push, breaking their deadlock. “Glass may break, Thalric—but it also cuts deep.” He stumbled back a step, his dagger sweeping low in retaliation. Serenya twisted aside, her cloak tearing as steel grazed her ribs. Pain flared, but she refused to falter.

Violet light exploded outward, swallowing the night. Thorn stepped through it. His body was wrapped in Nyra’s dark power, thick black veins pulsing across his skin like living shadows. His eyes burned bright violet, filled with stolen Lunaris energy. He stood taller, stronger, radiating pure malice. The battlefield fell silent. Thorn raised one clawed hand and pointed straight at the central tent where Faye and our daughter waited. His voice rolled across the camp like thunder. “The child is mine tonight. Bring her or I burn every wolf who still stands.”