Throne Rhyming Words Novels & Stories

Inside lay the ancient Sovereign Crown of the Frost Ridge,a heavy band forged from meteoritic iron and inlaid with raw starlight silver. Lord Thane lifted the crown, stepping up to us. "By the blood of the Ironclaw lineage and the unyielding strength of the northern mountains," Lord Thane proclaimed loudly, turning to face the assembly, "I declare Gideon and Lyra as the undisputed, absolute Sovereign Rulers of this realm! Their bond is true! Their authority is absolute!" The assembly erupted into a unified, deafening roar. "Long live the King! Long live the Sovereign Queen!"

That one. Lyra looked at it. The throne was made of darkness and stars. Its arms were carved from what looked like the bones of dead universes. But there was something else. A small mark. A crescent. Lyra recognized it immediately. That was her mark. She walked toward the throne. Kael grabbed her hand. Don't go alone. Lyra looked at him. I won't. She turned toward her children. They followed. All of them. The throne suddenly reacted.

I said. ‎ ‎Kaelen nodded. ‎ ‎He and Loine braced themselves. ‎ ‎"One. Two. Three!" ‎ ‎BOOM. ‎ ‎The doors flew open, the wood splintering around the lock. ‎ ‎We stepped into the Throne Room. ‎ ‎It was a cavernous hall, lit by hundreds of candles. Red velvet banners hung from the ceiling. ‎ ‎At the far end, on a dais raised high above the floor, sat two thrones.

“I’m right here.” I pulled my hand away before he could touch me. “I, Elara Thorne,” I began. The name Thorne hit the crowd like a physical blow. I heard gasps everywhere. Rowan went pale, his jaw dropping. “Elara Thorne?” Aiden whispered, confused. “What are you talking about?” I ignored him and continued, my voice growing stronger. “Rightful heir of the Nightshade Pack and daughter of the true King, hereby reject Aiden Blackwood as my fated mate.”

--- The throne room doors swung open with a thunderous boom. Conversation died instantly. Dozens—no, hundreds—of eyes turned. Nobles in silks and jewels. Advisors in layered robes. Guards in gleaming armor. All of them watched as Blackthorn walked into the lion’s den. Kael didn’t hesitate. He strode forward like he owned the stone beneath his boots. Aria matched him step for step. The whispers started almost immediately. “That’s him—” “Kael Draven—” “He actually came—”

THE ATLANTIC THRONE: TWO HOURS LATER We didn't land. We were pulled. The Thorne-17 was caught in a tractor-beam of pure gravity, dragging us toward the obsidian throne rising out of the waves. Around the structure, the ocean was boiling, steam rising in thick, violet clouds. As we hit the landing bay, the doors hissed open. A legion of Kingslayers stood waiting, but they weren't the white-obsidian drones of the Council. These were "Primal" Kingslayers—creatures of raw shadow and ancient gold, their armor forged from the very first mercury-veins of the earth.

“Over and over.” She touched his face “I’ve seen it too.” He looked broken “Then don’t go further.” She looked at the twin throne, And said: “I have to.” Auren stepped back, the sword pulsing, The reflection faded. The flame throne remained Liora climbed it Pain lanced through her body. Visions tore through her: Auren, crowned and sobbing, Sera, dying with Liora’s name on her lips, The realm burning. And then…Something else.

“So you abandon the Hollow? Abandon us?” “I abandon nothing,” Thorne said, calm as stone. “But I will not squander my power on foolish haste. Rhea is not prey to be culled in the dark—she is the storm that breaks the sky. And I will know what waits at its heart.” Without another word, she turned, her steps echoing against the cavernous walls of the Hollow. The firelight licked her silhouette before swallowing it whole. She was gone, leaving her sisters to their venom. --- The night beyond the Hollow was vast, breathing, alive with the whisper of old trees. Thorne moved silently through the forest, her cloak trailing like spilled ink. The air was colder here, heavier, as if each step drew her

Shadows moved without form. They passed stone markers carved with ancient runes, some broken, some bleeding with dark sap. By the second night, even Kael began to falter. His bond with Aria pulsed with unease. Then they saw it. The Hollow Throne. It rose from the earth like a skeleton of a long-dead god jagged pillars curving into the sky, black stone slick with age. At its center sat the Throne itself, a monolithic seat carved from obsidian and bone, etched with runes that writhed under moonlight.

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.