Your Throne Medea Novels & Stories

"Ethan, do you promise to respect Isla's gifts, to support her dreams, and to walk beside her for all your days?" "I do," Ethan said, his hand tightening on mine. "I promise to love all of her, including her strength and her independence." We exchanged the moonstone bracelets. The very same ones that had been stolen and returned. Silver light shimmered on our wrists. "By the power of the Moon Goddess, I now pronounce you Mated." Ethan leaned in and gave me a soft, tender kiss. Applause and blessings erupted around us. "Congratulations!" "So beautiful!" "May you have a lifetime of happiness!"

She sat down at her desk and opened the Book of Ashes again. And on a new page, in clean black ink, she wrote: VI. The throne is not inherited. It is taken. And if I must become a monster to keep it, then let them tremble. Let them kneel. Let them burn.

“Debt. Memory. Potential. You broke hierarchy now shape what replaces it.” --- Araya — The New Throne The black flame pulsed, then breathed. Ash swirled and fused bone white lines veined in gold and shadow rising into a seat from ruin. Fresh runes inked themselves along its base, whispering in a new tongue. Dorian’s light caught its edge in a clean halo. “It’s alive.” “It’s listening.” Nyxara prowled, tail lashing. Every throne waits for a name. Give it none. Make it guess.

Elara turned to the throne. The Throne of Eldoria. A jagged thing of black stone and silver veins. A seat not of comfort, but of burden. A place for a ruler who understood that power was not a gift. It was a wound. And she would bear it. She climbed the steps. One. Two. Three. And sat. The hall roared. Thousands of voices crying out as one: "Long live the Queen!" "Long live Elara of Flame and Blood!" "Long live Eldoria!"

as he grabbed my hand. “Annelise, don’t fight anymore! Give everything to Angelina! I’ll take you away, and we’ll travel the world. I’ll support you for the rest of your life!” Angelina had already stood up in excitement, ready to receive the transfer of power. All eyes were on me and the don. Sitting there, I suddenly let out a soft laugh. I shook off Lorenzo’s hand. “Support me?” I raised an eyebrow, my gaze teasing. “With your drugs that you thought could control me? Or with your body that serves both Angelina and me?”

The glyph projected a shape, not a man, not a creature, but a throne. A throne made of shadows, moonlight, and starlight woven together—three parts. Triad and Convergent. The original throne. The First Throne. Alessia’s heart pounded. She whispered, “The Architect wasn’t trying to create power.” “He was trying to reclaim it,” Selene finished. The throne pulsed again. —Descendant. —Bearer. —Claim what was denied. Kael stepped in front of her. “No,” he said firmly. “She’s not touching that.”

When was he able to force himself to break her spell? His life started with her but unfortunately, it never ended with her. "Doesn't the throne holds power?" She murmured "It does. But the real power lies in the one conquering it. It is the myth of the throne." He said as the event once again portrayed in his eyes. Unknowingly, the fear provoked in his heart as his grip on Astraea tightened a little. He could see her house now. It would only be a moment after which his night would end. He was pathetic, he knew that.

My attention is on Orpheus who seems to move around Hector’s office, touching things…even pulling at books in random on the book case. “Than and I are related.” He responds, his back to me. “Hector…” I hear Than growl against Hector’s relentless throat hold. “Medea, Than’s Mother is cousins with my Father…” My eyes dart to Hector, no wonder he was keen to get us out of the Red Thorn pack as quickly as possible. So Medea must have grown up in the Red Thorn pack, no wonder Hector’s Mother never stood a chance against this shifter world…I was a full werewolf yet I was still learning something new every day.

They were bruised, their spirits frayed by the encounter with their own shadows. "She’s right," I whispered, looking at the central spire. "The throne is a vacuum. It wants me to give up everything that makes me human so I can become a perfect vessel for the dark." Thane walked over to me, his face bloody but his eyes burning with a fierce, stubborn light. He grabbed my hand—the one with the violet veins—and laced his fingers through mine. "Then don't be a vessel," he said. "Be an anchor. If the throne wants to pull you into the Abyss, let it try. We are the ones holding the rope."