Vương Miện Viridescent Novels & Stories

A heavy, tattered cloak of crimson velvet billowed behind him, untouched by the snow. As he stepped closer to the fortress, the pitch-fires burning along the walls illuminated his face. It was a face of aristocratic, brutal perfection, pale as moonlight, framed by long, stark-white hair. But his eyes were what froze the blood in my veins. They were not toxic green. They were a deep, endless, abyssal black, swirling with a galaxy of dark, necrotic magic. King Valerius. The True King. The ghost in the ice.

noticing. It's a magic trick, and the king is skilled at it. His eyes see me at the top of the stairs and lock on me. The crowd follows his gaze. Some look confused, others recognize me due to the Crown Diamond title dispute. A few focus on my dress. Envying how adorned I am, wishing I were in my shoes. _____________ This morning we witnessed a miracle - resumes the king. - Ayla Marin, the main participant for the diamond crown came to us, begging us to forgive her, she informed us that she was forced to go along with the prince, he threatened her family, so this young woman had no choice but to obey the on his orders, however, as soon as she had the opportunity to escape the clutches of th

So familiar, but exotic in a way I couldn't even begin to explain. I just stood, staring out the door like an absolute idiot, taking in the God at my doorstep. I couldn't take my eyes off his own. A deep-set swirling violet tinted with the darkest ebony black was confined to the irises of his eyes. It almost trapped me, like hands made from the illusory magic that seemed to pull me in.

He, too, was mateless. And finally, King Vaelric of Valtheira, a realm of endless forests, rolling mosslands, and rivers as green as cut emerald. His shoulders were broad, his stance lazy but deliberate, the kind of man who looked like he could pluck a tree from the ground just to see if he could. His beard was dark and full, streaked with gold, his eyes were a warm, deceptive hazel. He'd ruled for just over a decade, beloved by his people for his generosity, feared by his court for his temper. His flaw was indulgence, he loved the pleasures of life too much, and the whispers said his throne room smelled more of wine than pine. His mate, Queen Miraya, walked with the kind of slow grace that

Her gown was a streaming spill of midnight velvet that seemed to swallow the ambient light, backless and severe, clinging to the sharp architecture of her spine. Her dark hair was pulled back into a knot so tight it looked painful, framing a face that had once been my entire universe and was now a foreign, hostile country. To the sea of murmuring journalists, interior design moguls, and socialite vultures, we were the undisputed royalty of Italian luxury, the visionary architect and the brilliant tastemaker, hopelessly tangled in both love and commerce. ​"You're leaning away from me, Val," she murmured, her lips barely parting as she tilted her chin toward a cluster of editors from Domus.

I knelt in front of her, my hands gripping her face as I pressed my forehead against hers. "You're mine," I said, my voice raw. "No ancient law, no shadow princess, no cosmic bullshit will ever change that." "Yours," she agreed, her voice barely a whisper. "Only yours." The Void Crown materialized above the throne, hovering in midair like a promise. It was made of pure obsidian and silver, set with a single crimson jewel that pulsed with ancient power. The elders watched with hungry eyes as it descended toward Lilith's head.

"Princess...Levara?" The woman standing before her was unmistakable. Long golden-brown hair, pale skin, crimson eyes and soft pink lips. The beautiful face that Elly had seen on television countless times, the beloved Princess of Avenor. Her princess. Levara. But something was terribly wrong, Levara's eyes were empty, there was no warmth in them, they looked almost lifeless. As if the woman standing before Elly had already died long before her body had ever stopped breathing. Elly swallowed.

Each relic shimmered faintly in the torchlight, drawing uneasy glances from the nobles. Adrian sat on his throne, regal and composed. Elysia stood beside him, the picture of devotion. Seraphina took her place at the edge of the dais, silent and veiled. Lucien turned, his gaze sweeping the room. “His Holiness sends his gratitude for your cooperation,” he said. “These relics will reveal any traces of corruption or forbidden blessing. The light cannot be hidden from itself.” The nobles shifted uneasily. Servants carried the relics forward, setting one before each of the royal family. A faint hum filled the hall, soft but insistent.

“Two days ago, Alexander personally took her to a private jeweler. Measurements, design consultations—he stayed the entire time.” My heart clenched. “There’s more,” Ethan continued. “And it gets worse.” “I accessed her private cloud. Password was Alexander’s birthday.” Inside were photos. Hundreds of them. I opened the file he sent. The album was titled: My Knight. The most recent post was dated two days ago. He said this crown belongs only to me. Just like him. Next week’s family dinner—he promised to give me a name. The image showed an exquisite bridal crown— diamonds and sapphires set in a constellation pattern.

Queen complained angrily. "Calm down, don't get too agitated, Queen," Black Axe said to her. Queen sighed, "I'm sorry, it's just..." "Listen to me, there's a man called Anthony Baltimore, he's based in Panama." "Anthony Baltimore.....Baltimore, why does that name sound familiar?" Queen wondered. "Because that's your real name, your family name." "Baltimore is my family name, and I didn't know. I've been bearing Queen Andre Scorpion all my life."