Your Throne Chapter 1 Novels & Stories

Author's note: Guys! I made a terrible mistake with the chapter. Please, chapter 175 comes before 174. I made a mistake while uploading, so please, understand that 175 comes before 174. KOL Regal leans against the large, brown chair in his throne room, fingers wrapped around a glass of scotch. The morning light spills in through the curtains, and even with the tension in the air, there’s a certain glow that makes me feel warm from inside out.

“The Hollow Throne must be sealed.” Then came the vision. Scene 1: The Throne of Silence In her mind’s eye, Iris stood before a vast, silent chamber. At its center was a throne of black stone and bone, suspended above a pool of still, silver water. Mist curled around it. Time seemed irrelevant here. And on that throne— A child. Her son. But his eyes… they were voids, swirling pools of unfeeling black. Shadows coiled at his feet, reaching toward the water like tendrils of fate. The glow of the moon haloed his crown, but it could not penetrate the darkness clinging to him.

She rested a hand lightly on her still‑flat stomach, thinking about the future she was building. “The past is gone, burned away completely,” Liora murmured to herself. “Now it is time for us to write a brand‑new history.” The city lights seemed to bow down before her, welcoming the Queen of Industry who had just ascended to her throne crowned in absolute victory. END OF CHAPTER 210

Chapter 21 Perfect~ Reine My whole body itches. It feels like I was thrown into a pool filled with writh grass. What was so important that they couldn't let me bathe first? I stood outside the throne room, scratching every reachable part of my body. The door to the throne room opens, and I step in. Unlike before, the throne room was empty and only the King could be spotted on his chair, looking down at me like he owned the world. Maybe he does.

Then It shifted. The dark stone structure began dissolving slowly into liquid light. The golden veins expanded outward and stretched across the chamber floor like roots seeking connection. My breath caught. “What is it doing?” the Alpha demanded. I did not answer. Because the sensation spreading through my body made it impossible to focus on anything else. The throne was calling me. Not verbally. Not through sound. Through resonance. My heart beat in sync with its pulse. The light extending from the throne moved across the ground and reached my feet.

Her Throne has never been shook before. The Third Throne, the West: ruled by Morrigan. She and Akasha are close friends. The second woman in the council. Her feminine rage is not to be tampered with. The Fourth Throne, the south: ruled by Atticus. He's the only friend I have in the council, the only one who's ever shown care and understands the pain I passed through, and certainly the only one who speaks in my favour anytime Marcellus objects me. The ladies are neutral, painfully.

And then—movement. A glow began at the far end of the cavern. Firelight, flickering red. I forced my feet forward, toward the throne they spoke of in stories. Each step echoed, too loud. My pulse pounded between my legs. The chamber opened wide, a cathedral of stone. And there—at the center—rose a throne carved from obsidian, slick and glistening like wet flesh. He sat upon it. And every fantasy I had ever nursed shriveled before the reality of him.

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.

Even my heartbeat felt borrowed. Then I saw her. Not the twin. Not the girl. Not the queen of shadow. A child. Me. Small. Frightened. Holding a shard of glass. She smiled and whispered, "You came too late." The trees behind her opened like ribs, revealing the throne. A figure sat atop it, draped in gold and silence. No face. No crown. Just a pulse of power that bent the air. I stepped forward. The child vanished. And the throne whispered my name.

I felt it echo in me, pulse for pulse. The Queen tilted her head. “Even now you tether yourself to flesh,” she said. “When the throne waits.” Her gaze swept the kneeling pack, faces upturned to her light. Even the wind obeyed. I looked at the throne. It gleamed pale and perfect. It looked like power should, beautiful and cold. Then I looked at them, the living, the scarred, the small. Kael standing apart, his eyes fixed on me. My pulse steadied. The hum wavered.