Vantablack Crown Novels & Stories

"He doesn't want any information about the moonstone. He wants to control it for himself. And if he cannot control the power of the Moonstone... he's going to destroy it." Her words hit me even before the meaning settled in. It felt like a blow to my chest—sharp and sudden. My breath hitched in my throat for a brief moment. I was frozen in that spot, staring at her intensely, confused. "What?" I breathed the word out. "Listen to me," she held me by the shoulders tightly. It felt like a call to brace for something much... deeper than what she already said. "Just the way the Moonstone is a sacred artifact to you, the Lycans have theirs. It's called the Crown of Thorns. Whoever wears this crown

Even the vampires, who bowed to no living thing, dipped their heads in acknowledgment. A crown was brought forth not the heavy gold circlet I had worn, not a symbol of dominion and divine right, but something entirely different. It was woven from moon-silver that seemed to glow with its own light and phoenix feathers that burned without consuming, a crown that represented unity rather than supremacy, service rather than rule, balance rather than power.

Representatives from every major house, minor lordships, merchant guilds, and artisan collectives had gathered to witness what many suspected would be the most significant coronation in living memory. At the ceremony's heart stood a dais carved from single piece of midnight-black stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Upon its surface rested a crown that defied every convention of royal regalia—not gold or silver, but crystallized shadow that held depth and complexity like captured starlight given form. The crown seemed to pulse with subtle energy that made the air around it shimmer with barely contained power.

He turned, presenting two identical crowns carved from a seamless blend of volcanic obsidian and pure mainland silver. Vance lifted the first crown, placing it lightly upon Natalia's silver-white braids. He then lifted the second, placing it upon Dmitry's brow. The moment the twin crowns settled, Natalia and Dmitry reached out, locking their fingers together, their palms pressing the silver scars of their blood-tie firmly against one another. A violent, breathtaking shockwave of raw, golden light exploded from the balcony.

One of the demands. “You are right none of them have the power, but we do,” Two voices say in unison. The vamps turn around, and you can see the terror in their eyes. Behind them stand Mykenzie and Kylani. HOLEY FUCKING SHIT! They are standing there, and you can feel the power floating in the air. Mykenzie is in a dark forest green dress that wraps around her body, just barely covering it. Kylani has on a similar dress, only in navy blue. I look at Kaleb, and he is practically drooling. They both have on these thigh-high boots in metallic silver. They both have crowns on their heads that are unbelievably gorgeous. They are made of the same black metal as all their jewellery, with a

“You should have seen the look on Tiffany’s face when they declared you the winner. Her mouth puckered like she was eating sour lemons.” Everyone snickers and settles down. Juliet takes the large crown with its glimmering rhinestones, places it over her head, and waves around her as if she’s waving at a real crowd. The crown is at least eleven and a half inches with a swirling heart pattern. A beautiful Waterford teardrop dangles in the center of it, gleaming with the light of the moon. Kell turns the crown on Juliet’s head, playfully tilting it to the side. “There you go. Now you have a gangsta crown.”

Along the interior rim, a molten vein of alchemical glass - a deep ember-red - runs like a breathing heartbeat. Five asymmetrically placed black obsidian shards jut skyward, each carved into a razor’s edge, catching the light like falling stars. Threaded between the obsidian, pale moonstones glow with inner fire. Tiny silver filaments trace lunar phases around each gem. Across the front arch, grandfather inscribed a spiral of war-runes in obsidian ink. Flanking each temple are low-relief engravings of a phoenix’s upraised wing, rendered in platinum flash, mirroring Emberlance’s imagery. The crown’s underside is padded with midnight-blue silk from the Veiled Looms of Varistith. Finally, a hid

he ordered. When I hesitated, he dragged the chair out and made me sit with one hand gripping my shoulder. Then he knelt in front of me. I blinked. "What... are you doing?" Zayan. Khan. Kneeling? For the second time. Is he really being himself? "Teaching you how to wear your fucking crown," he murmured, pulling out a velvet box and placing it in my lap. When I opened it—my breath caught. A handcrafted crown. Midnight black and gold. Not delicate. Not dainty. It looked like something forged in hell.

I grabbed a handful of her hair and, amid her frightened screams, quickly snipped it into a ruined mess. She shrieked, "My hair!" I leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Didn't you say you wanted to ruin my face earlier? To the point that no werewolf will ever look in my way again?" Julia's eyes snapped wide as color faded from her face. She tried to scramble back in terror. I took the crown box and opened it slowly right in front of her. The silver crown glittered under the lights, a cruel contrast to how disheveled and pathetic she looked.

I felt eyes following me from the balconies above, but none dared challenge me. When I reached the throne room, two figures already awaited him. Ivy, dressed in silk black as midnight, reclined lazily in her throne, her lips painted the color of fresh blood. Valentina stood beside her, sharp and commanding, her silver eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. “You’re late,” Valentina said, voice like polished steel. I offered a careless bow,my crimson gaze gleaming. “I bring you something worth waiting for.”