A Crown of Ashes

Name: A Crown of Ashes
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Zaria .Q Vane

Romance | Ongoing

5.0

Comment(s)

View

Chapters

When the King and Queen of Virelia are murdered in a brutal betrayal, eight-year-old Princess Seraphina is left orphaned-and marked by destiny. The once-thriving Lycan kingdom descends into mourning, held together only by the cold steel of her new guardian: King Darius Kael. Her uncle. Her protector. Her forbidden fate. Years later, Seraphina is no longer the trembling child tucked behind palace walls-she's blossoming into a powerful young Lycan, heir to a kingdom still bleeding from the past. But what haunts her most isn't the crown she's destined to inherit... it's the man who wears it. Darius. Fierce. Untouchable. Bound to her by blood and duty. But the bond between them is growing-and it's no longer just political. It's primal. Dangerous. And against every law of their world. As enemies close in and whispers of rebellion rise, Seraphina and Darius must navigate a kingdom ruled by secrets, power, and desire. To protect Virelia, she must make an impossible choice: honor the legacy of the ones she lost, or surrender to the one she was never meant to love. Loyalty is deadly. Desire is forbidden. And the crown... was forged in ash.

Family Adolescence Fantasy First love Attractive Royalty Age gap Arrogant/Dominant Werewolf Forbidden love

Chapter 5 The Weight of Whispers

06-17 01:33

Chapter 1 The Echo of Ash

* * *

The scent of ash still clung to the air, a phantom whisper of the day my world turned gray. I was eight, a tiny shadow in the cavernous halls of Virelia's Lycan Kingdom palace, my wooden wolf figurine clutched tight in my hand. The sun, a pale disc behind the arched windows, seemed to hold its breath. A stillness, heavy and unnatural, settled over everything.

Then it shattered.

A scream-not the spirited shouts of guards at training, but a raw, tearing sound-ripped through the silence like the final breath of a dying beast. It clawed into my memory, a discordant note in what was once a harmonious life.

Mama's she-wolf howl followed. Deep. Wounded. Inhuman. I had heard it once before, when rogues breached our outer defenses-a sound of intertwined rage and pain. But this time, it was drenched in a desolation so complete it felt like the end of the world. The palace erupted. Shouts echoed off the stone, urgent commands were whispered between clenched jaws, and armor crashed as bodies moved with frantic desperation.

Then came the words, carried on the panicked winds of chaos.

Papa, His Majesty Alpha Kaelan Castellan, and Mama, Her Highness Luna Lyra Castellan... gone. Assassinated.

The words were too monstrous for a child's mind to hold, too sharp to fully grasp. But the silence that followed-the chasm left by the absence of their voices, their warmth, their love-swallowed everything whole.

Virelia, a realm carved from ancient forests and ruled by old-blood Lycans, had become a mausoleum. They called it a power struggle, a betrayal from within. And I, its smallest princess, was left utterly, terrifyingly alone.

***

The growl that tore from my throat was primal-a guttural lament that was half war-cry, half sob. Kaelan and Lyra were dead. My Alpha. My sister.

I was eighteen. A soldier. My place was on the ramparts, my hands wrapped around a spear, not a scepter. Yet here I stood, at the edge of a throne carved from blood and the tangled threads of a vast betrayal [goodnovel.com]. My own life-my future, my everything-was over. I felt sick, like something inside me was unraveling, and I refused to let the tears burning at the edges of my vision fall. Crying wouldn't fix this. Nothing would [archiveofourown.org].

Grief branded my soul while rage hollowed out my chest. My Lycan instincts screamed to hunt, to punish, to destroy. But vengeance would have to wait.

Because then I saw her.

Seraphina.

She was huddled beside the grand fireplace, her small form barely illuminated by the dying embers. Her knuckles were white as she clutched that little wolf figurine, the one I'd carved for her last winter. Her eyes-impossibly wide, impossibly knowing-found mine across the chaotic throne room.

And something inside me shifted. The warrior receded. Something deeper, older, rose in its place. She was the last of my blood. My sister's child. The last direct heir of the Castellan line. My responsibility.

Behind the chamber's closed doors, the Council's voices slithered like snakes in the grass. My name echoed on their tongues, not hers. She was too young, too breakable. And I-a soldier known for a strength that rivaled most Alphas-was their answer. Their tool.

But when I finally crossed the room, knelt beside her, and placed a hand on her trembling shoulder, she leaned-just slightly-into my touch. In that moment, I knew. She wasn't a duty. She was a spark.

The funeral was a blur of black robes and ancient howls that shook the very mountains. As I stood on the dais, newly crowned and battle-scarred, the crushing weight of Virelia pressing down on my bones, I searched for her in the sea of mourners. She was a lost ship in a dark ocean, clinging to a guard's hand.

Something fierce and dangerously sweet bloomed in my chest. A feeling so protective, so possessive, it frightened even me.

In that moment, as the last embers of my old life burned to ash, I understood. This wasn't just the beginning of a reign. It was the beginning of a bond, one written by fate in blood and fire. A bond the kingdom, with its vipers and shadows, was not ready for.

And somewhere in that darkness, the unseen thing that had orchestrated this tragedy was still stirring. Watching. Waiting. Hunting.