Crown Of Threads
- Leituras 74
- Votos 18
- Capítulos 6
Em andamento42m
Última atualização sáb, abr 26, 2025
If you're looking for a heartwarming tale of fate and forgiveness...
Look somewhere else.
My name's Daphni of Iluyto.
Once upon a time, I was supposed to be great - a Spinner of Clothos, weaving threads of destiny with grace and glory.
Instead, I burned my fate to ashes.
Got exiled. Became a walking cautionary tale.
I should've faded into history.
(Preferably with a little more dignity.)
But now, the Sartrix - the sacred weaving hall I once scorched - is calling me back.
Why?
Because fate is cruel.
And apparently, desperate.
I've been "invited" (read: cornered) into becoming the apprentice of the kingdom's most infamous Spinner - a prince who's as brilliant as he is irritating.
Now I have to survive court politics, monstrous creatures that feast on broken threads, and my own cursed magic that still won't behave.
No pressure.
If I fail again, it's not just my story that ends.
It's everyone's.
Because some monsters hide in forests.
Some wear crowns.
And some of us?
We're just trying not to unravel before breakfast.
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The witches of Moraveth are nothing but ghosts-hunted, slaughtered, and forgotten. The Kingdom of Ravaryn thrives on our suffering, bleeding us dry to fuel their power. I was sent to stop them. Disguised as a noblewoman, I slip into the royal court with a single purpose: get close to the king, dismantle his empire from within, and make them all pay in blood. I have spent years sharpening my hatred into a weapon, and I will not fail. But then there's him. General Tristan Vale. The King's Butcher. The man who led the charge against my people, who burned my homeland and stained his hands with the blood of my kind. He is ruthless. Unyielding. A legend built on the bones of witches. And now he is my greatest obstacle. He watches me too closely, shadows my every step, as if he knows I don't belong. He is meant to be my enemy-my executioner, if he ever discovers the truth. But the longer I stand in his fire, the more I begin to see the cracks beneath his armor. The war-haunted man beneath the legend. And the way his touch-his forbidden, maddening touch-sets something inside me aflame. I came here to destroy the kingdom. So why does its deadliest weapon make me want to burn?
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