บททั้งหมดของ The Wolf King and the Wilted Flower: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

Black clouds swirled above a cloaked man standing at the heart of the Werewolf Kingdom.The wind howled through the barren plains, carrying with it the scent of dying earth and distant rain. His black cloak billowed around his tall figure like a shadow given life, its hem brushing against dry grass that crackled beneath each gust.Beneath the hood, a pair of deep blue eyes stared upward.Tired.Forsaken.Yet burning with a ferocious intensity that refused to surrender.Perhaps his hatred for the tree before him had grown stronger than his helplessness. Perhaps it was the only thing keeping him standing.The Everlasting Fig Tree towered above him. Even dying, it remained magnificent.Its trunk was broader than the largest building in the kingdom. Ancient roots protruded from the ground like the ribs of a buried giant, spreading in every direction across the sacred hill. Hundreds of branches stretched toward the heavens, clawing at the storm-dark clouds overhead.Yet there were no leaves

GreyThe journey to King Valir's capital began before sunrise. Grey Stormborn stood atop the eastern wall of his castle and watched darkness retreat from the horizon.The kingdom below slowly awakened. Smoke rose from village chimneys. A few of the remaining hunters set out to the forest to gather resources. Children ran through muddy roads.From a distance, everything appeared normal.Peaceful.Alive.Yet Grey knew better.The curse was everywhere. In the villages where no children had been born for years. In the families caring for relatives who had lost their human minds. In the growing number of wolves roaming forests without names, memories, or homes.Most of all, it existed in the eyes of his people. Hope was disappearing. Slowly. Relentlessly.Just like the leaves of the Everlasting Fig Tree.The sound of approaching footsteps broke his thoughts as Marcus joined him atop the wall. The Beta handed him a rolled parchment."The latest report from the southern territory,” Marcus sai

GreyGrey Stormborn hated the Kingdom of Aurelia’s capital city before he even entered its gates. The hatred only deepened once he crossed them.His horse slowed as the royal procession moved through the main avenue leading toward the palace.Gold.Everywhere.Golden statues towered above intersections. Golden fountains sprayed water into elaborate marble pools. Golden banners fluttered from rooftops. Even the street lamps appeared gilded.It was excessive. Wasteful. Obscene.Grey kept his expression carefully neutral as citizens lined the roads to watch the arriving delegations.Several children waved. Others simply stared. Their faces were thin. Their clothing worn. Many looked hungry.The contrast was impossible to ignore.A beggar sat beside a golden fountain. A woman wrapped in patched clothing carried a basket nearly larger than herself. Several children fought over scraps of bread near a statue made entirely of gold.Grey's jaw tightened.The palace visible in the distance glitt

GreyThe Hall of Blossoms had been designed to inspire awe.Towering crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling painted with scenes of gods and kingdoms. Marble pillars lined the chamber, each wrapped in flowering vines cultivated by the very women displayed within its walls. Gold reflected from every surface, dazzling enough to make visitors forget that beneath the beauty lay chains.Today, those chains glittered brighter than ever.Kings, princes, dukes, merchants, generals, and noblemen from across the continent filled the circular tiers overlooking the central stage.The annual Rona Auction had begun. Grey Stormborn sat among them. And hated every second of it.His hands rested upon the carved arms of his chair, fingers curled so tightly that his knuckles ached. Beside him, Marcus remained silent. The old beta understood there was little comfort to offer. Not when the future of their kingdom sat on the auction block.At the center of the room stood King Valir. Draped in gold and crims

Maya The first flower to bloom after winter was the snowdrop.Tiny.Fragile.White as freshly fallen snow.Most people overlooked it. Yet snowdrops possessed a stubbornness that larger flowers lacked. They bloomed when frost still covered the ground. When cold winds still howled. When spring seemed impossible.Freya used to say that snowdrops carried a message.New beginnings always arrived quietly./////When Serena had just stepped onto the stage, the audience froze their eyes to her.The twenty-five-year-