Novel & Cerita Throne Of Glass For Adults

"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

There are five vampire Thrones and each of us have our duties. The First Throne, the North: ruled by Marcellus. He's the oldest vampire male amongst us, created by the same master as myself although we both have never served our sire before. We don't even know him, but somehow, we both can feel him. We know he's alive, but why he has never claimed us, we don't know. And if there's anything Marcellus and I have in common it's that we aren't going to serve any master, no sire. We have our Thrones. We are kings, not slaves, and we'll do anything to protect that legacy. The Second Throne, the East: ruled by Akasha. She's the oldest vampire female amongst us. She is a devious and ferocious warrio

The goblet shattered in his hand, but he didn’t so much as flinch at the sting of glass piercing his palm. Crimson wine ran down his fingers like blood, dripping onto the obsidian armrest of his throne. The air thickened, oppressive, charged with his fury. He leaned forward slowly, claws digging deep into the throne’s armrests until cracks spider-webbed through the black stone. His eyes glowed faintly, a savage light burning within them, the kind of fire that promised ruin to anyone foolish enough to stand against him.

“Dress up, both of you and wear your armour. I will touch you with my hands and add to your powers.” “Yes, my Queen.” Ronan nodded and as he tried to signal to Mary to see her dress, which she'd been looking for, I heard a bang from the rear and literally, before my eyes, the glass windows broke into pieces.

And there it stood. The Blood Throne. It was carved from obsidian, veins of red crystal pulsing through it like a beating heart. The floor was cracked around it, as though the throne had erupted from the earth. Before it knelt a man. Or what was left of one. He was bone and ash wrapped in black robes. His hair was silver, his skin like charred marble. He did not look up—he only whispered in a language none of them understood. Aelin whimpered. “He’s trying to bind to me. To make me sit.”

“He came and then told me desire is a prison. I told him so was his jawline.” I laugh. Too loud. Too real. We both know what this place is. A feeding ground for men who were told the world belonged to them—and actually got to collect. Adam calls it recreational hypocrisy. I call it Thursday. But my amusement dies the moment I cross into the lion’s den. Velvet ropes. Crystal glass. Glittering rot. Nathan Cross and Elliot Harrington. Thrones occupied. Girls draped like accessories. Power so thick it chokes. Nathan looks carved out of night—black suit, black tie, that signature lean that says I dare you. One hand on the blonde in his lap, the other holding a glass of whiskey like he might crush

“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.

The colors danced and shimmered, providing a stark contrast to the murky surroundings. Sable approached the window cautiously, her eyes tracing the intricate artwork. Suddenly, a surge of energy coursed through her veins, as if the stained-glass window held a hidden power waiting to be unleashed. She reached out and placed her palm against the cool glass, closing her eyes and allowing herself to be consumed by it. In that moment, the stained-glass window shimmered and pulsed with an otherworldly light. The glass seemed to come alive, swirling and shifting until it transformed into a magnificent sword. It gleamed with a radiant brilliance, its hilt adorned with intricate carvings of mythical

I fell to the fall, holding my left cheek, wondering what just happened. “Don't you ever talk to me in that manner! Do you understand, you piece of shit?” Mr. Red eye fumed standing before me. Then and there, I realized I had been slapped until my eyes rolled backwards. I stared into his eyes and I realized, unlike the other night, his eyes were a deep shade darker. The stinging pain on my cheek stopped me from thinking, and tears streamed down my face. I watched as he slowly walked towards me and in reflex, I crawled backwards. The air seemed to have become stiffer, and the hairs on my body stood on end. I crawled backwards still holding my left cheek and tears streaming down my face making

Stained glass windows adorned the corridors, casting kaleidoscopic patterns of light onto the stone floors, creating an otherworldly ambiance that wove magic into the air. Hand in hand, Kaden and I stepped into the grand hall—a sanctuary that seemed designed for the werewolf royalty. The hall extended far into the distance, its cavernous space embraced by towering columns, standing as steadfast guardians to the regal elegance that lay within. And then, we arrived at the throne room—it was safe to say that it was the most beautiful thing I have seen in the longest while. I caught my breath as my eyes beheld the opulence that surrounded us. The throne itself, bathed in golden light, stood as a