Throne Of The Fallen Audiobook Free Novels & Stories

“You wouldn’t have heard of it. It’s strictly between heaven, hell and the fallen.” “What’s a fallen?” “It’s someone who used to be an angel in a past life. When they’re resurrected, they’re identified by a specific birth mark. You, my dear, are one of the fallen. You should have a birth mark that’s shaped like a star. It’s in different places for different individuals but your parents found yours on your hipbone.” What the hell. This is way too much information that I wasn’t expecting. I’m essentially in the middle of a holy war, if what she’s saying is the truth.

A thin fracture raced through the silver thorns, spidering outward like lightning frozen in metal. The glow in Selene’s eyes dimmed, not extinguished but softened, as if something ancient had been exhaled. With a gasp that wasn’t quite her own, Selene reached up, her fingers trembled as they touched the crown, and it shattered. Fragments of it fell like razor petals, vanishing before they hit the dais. Selene slumped forward in the throne, the illusion folding in on itself. Her cloak dissolved into soot. The throne crumbled with a long, groaning sigh, shedding centuries of stillness in a heartbeat.

The throne cracks. The wolves howl. Their eyes begin to weep ink. The sky above splinters. I raise my hand and snarl, not as a prince, not even as a warrior....As a mate. “Zenith,” I whisper. The illusion shatters. The grove returns in a burst of dry wind and dust. I fall to one knee, drenched in sweat. Breathing hard. The Lunacrown Thistle sways gently, undisturbed.

“Is that what this has all been about? You disrupted my wedding and kidnapped me, bringing me here so you could feel important and rub it in my face that you killed my family.” Sergio didn’t speak. “You let me believe I was nothing. Then you chained me to your side, gave me knives, maps, riddles... like I was a pawn in some twisted game.” He finally stepped forward. “You are simply here as payment for a debt owed to my family... You were never a pawn I chose.” “Then what am I?” she asked bitterly. He looked at her sadly. “You're the queen that was never meant to rise.” ************************************************** Suddenly, the manor’s alarm pierced the quiet.

To him, unlocking my legs posed no threat at all. “Alright… Annelise, you’re such a siren…” He eagerly took out the key. With the sound of metal, the restraints on my legs were unlocked. He tossed the chains aside, then leaned down impatiently, his hands moving greedily along my thighs. The moment he lowered his head toward my waist, my legs snapped up. They locked tightly around his neck. Lorenzo let out a cry, and he instinctively struggled. However, the strength I had built through years of fighting was not something a man weakened by indulgence could resist.

"Then get some rest. Tomorrow I'll introduce you to Tyler. He's still at tutorials right now, so he won't be back until tonight." The door quietly closed behind her. I sat on the edge of the bed, hugging the pillow tightly against my chest before burying my face into it. It wasn't out of sorrow, but rather the overwhelming realization that someone was finally treating me with genuine kindness. On my third day in Kingsley City, Ruby suddenly spammed my phone with messages. "STELLA! GO ONLINE RIGHT NOW! "People are absolutely TEARING Naomi apart online! "I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING! Cameron is trying to scrub the comments, but those screenshots are already everywhere!

A disembodied voice echoed from within the dark fire—ancient, freezing cold, and dripping with mockery. > "You interfere too much, Archivist." > The silver-haired man simply smiled back at the flames. "And you interfere far too little." The dark voice let out a chilling laugh that rattled the surrounding bookshelves. > "Soon... the Seven Thrones will awaken. And when they do... even your precious Last King will fall." > The black flames abruptly snapped out of existence, and the library fell back into its eerie, profound silence. The Archivist turned his gaze toward the distant, unseen horizon where the Blackthorn Kingdom lay. His expression grew deeply thoughtful.

⸻ “We’ll face it together.” ⸻ Ilyaan smiled. ❤️ ⸻ For the first time in many chapters… Neither prophecy nor fate decided anything. ⸻ They did. ⸻ 🌙 The Secret Behind The Throne The cracks spread further. 💥 The Throne continued breaking apart. ⸻ Then something fell from inside it. ⚡ A small object. A silver key. 🗝️ ⸻ The Father froze. ⸻ Nox froze. ⸻

This didn't go unnoticed by Roy and his lips thinned, fingers pausing from turning over the pages—to see Monroe smirking slyly. Roy avoided the deliberate probe from Monroe, sneakily shifting his chair closer to Jeremy, so that their arms brushed each other—whenever they moved. Jeremy, unaware of Roy's doing, decided to take out his own book for studying. A book with black cover, fairly thick and very warmly coloured illustration of a man in ancient greek clothes, adorned the front. Translated by Mary M. Innes, Ovid's Metamorphosis, it said. Monroe took a glance at the book, Jeremy put on the table and curiously propped up from her seat, to read the title.

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.”