Throne Of Glass For Adults Novels & Stories

Beverly says coldly. “And stay away from the new Alpha.” Then she leaves. Tears blur my vision. My room melts into a swirl of colors. I throw my books off the bed and collapse onto my pillow, crying. I’m pathetic. I’m weak. The Alpha is right. No wolf will ever want my children. The thought makes me cry harder. I turn onto my back. And suddenly I feel something strange. A presence. I open my eyes. My curtains are open. And standing outside my window—

At the far end of the hall, elevated on a triple-tiered stone dais, sat the throne. It was not gold. It carried no velvet cushions or delicate filigree like the throne Ethan had boasted of in the Shadow Moon packhouse. It was a massive, jagged monolith of solid volcanic glass—polished obsidian so dark and sharp it looked like a frozen shard of midnight torn from the earth. "Every inch," Brida barked, pointing her thick finger across the vast, empty sea of stone. "Start at the doors and work your way to the foot of the dais. Don't leave a single droplet of grease, or you'll scrub it twice tomorrow."

"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.

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.”

“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

The Obsidian Throne Room was quiet except for the soft crackle of black candles and the occasional drip of wax onto marble. Elias Nightshade lounged in the massive chair carved from volcanic glass and bone, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, a crystal goblet of blood wine balanced on his fingers. The liquid inside swirled slow and dark, spiced with something older than most of his court could remember. To anyone who didn’t know him, he would have looked like a king at ease, beautiful in that deadly way vampires were, midnight hair falling loose around sharp cheekbones, crimson eyes half lidded, lips stained red.