starlightnovelsclub
Stories
18
Chapters
1,015
Words
1.5 M
Comments
238
Reading
5 d, 3 h
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Despite her assumptions, the holy wedding dress and its accessories are surprisingly comfortable to wear. She has a hunch about why that is. To test it, she pours red wine all over the dress only for the liquid to slide right off. Magic is so unfair. The first time she saw the priests wave their hands to light the candles around the cathedral, she hadn’t thought much of it. It was easy to explain away with a motion sensitive mechanism in the candlestick or something similar. Witnessing a nun creating…-
21.9 K •
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It had been a guess on what kind of ‘blessing’ the veil had been enchanted with, but it was one she felt good about; any time her thoughts strayed into darker territory her hair had started itching and frizzing. Still, as she stands over the duke, who lies flat on his back and staring up dazedly at the painted ceiling, she never expected it to be so effective. “I’m not helping you up.” She crouches down to stare at Duke Wulf’s handsome face. Truly a waste of good looks. “I’d probably die…-
21.9 K •
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At the end of the marble path is the entrance to the palace’s Great Hall. Men in flashy uniforms and silver-tipped spears safeguard its doors. One of the guards takes her parasol as they enter, and she almost cries in relief. Despite the parasol’s lightness, it felt like she was carrying a rock over time. “Not much farther now,” Prince Elliot tells her staggering form sympathetically. It’s galling; a ten-minute walk in her old body wouldn’t be an issue, but this one can barely keep air in…-
21.9 K •
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She doesn’t get very far before her legs threaten to give out. Her body is beyond exhausted, and she’s uncertain if she’ll make it to the princess’ wing of the palace. The prince calls for a rolling chair upon her request. Much to her relief, it’s exactly what it sounds like. Unlike a proper wheelchair, the rolling chair resembles a dining chair on tiny wheels meant for slow, careful movement on perfectly smooth flooring. There’s a wooden bar for her feet to rest on, and a handle on the back…-
21.9 K •
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The new carriage is much different than the one that came to pick her up from the cathedral. It’s a sleeker, more angular design built for speed as well as defense considering the spikes covering the wheels. The horses, too, are slimmer and sharper in bone structure. Oddly enough, there doesn’t appear to be a seat for a driver, and the horse’s reins are tacked directly to the coach. “Good luck, Saintess,” Prince Elliot says, helping her into the carriage, “and may the Goddess be with you.”…-
21.9 K •
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“Asher.” “What?” She tears her eyes away from the window to blink confusedly at her traveling companion. “My name is Asher of the Wulf dukedom.” The duke gestures with his arm as if trying to bow. “At your service.” It takes a moment for it to click. When it does, she can’t help laughing. “Your name is,” she pauses to take a breath, “Asher Wulf?” “What of it?” The duke scowls at her. The Ashen Wolf’s real name being Asher Wulf is comedy gold. She wonders if his feared…-
21.9 K •
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The garden tour ended, and I had to admit—this estate had money, not taste. Everything was trimmed to perfection, every hedge a declaration of status, every flower bed an arranged performance. Pretty, yes. But gardens weren’t supposed to be performances. They were supposed to breathe. To pull you in. This one was too polished to live. Still, I couldn’t help leaning closer as we passed. Waxy-leaved trees straining in the wrong soil, flowers fighting for light they’d never get, shrubs twisting…-
4.1 K •
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She had asked for the library this morning. That alone was strange. My lady rarely asked for anything. She rarely asked for anyone. Yet here I was, guiding her down the corridor, a precise half-step behind. Her footsteps were steady. Almost light. They had once dragged, soft and reluctant, as though she wished to vanish into the marble. Today, she walked as if the air itself buoyed her forward. The hall was unchanged: pale walls, dark trim, lanterns burning amber, polished floors without a speck of…-
4.1 K •
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Morning came too quickly. Vesa pulled the curtains wide, and sunlight poured across the room like an ambush. My eyes narrowed against the glare, my head still heavy from too little sleep. Not that I’d really tried. Thoughts had kept circling—pages of plants, crimson thorns, the vines etched into that book. And now, the ceremony waiting just beyond the door. “My lady.” Vesa’s voice was even, precise. “The bath is prepared. You are expected to be ready.” Expected. Always expected. Steam rose…-
4.1 K •
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The air smelled wrong. Too clean. No damp leaves, no soil, no manure—none of the earthy perfume I trusted to mean life. Instead, the sharp scent of polish and closed rooms. I opened my eyes, expecting rough canvas or a cave ceiling. Instead: carved wood. An ornate canopy. The kind of bed someone rich and profoundly miserable would toss in. I sat up with practiced care, scanning my surroundings the way I had in countless unfamiliar villages. Opulent, yes. Outdated, definitely. If Buckingham Palace had…-
4.1 K •
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Vesa appeared at the library door, hands folded neatly. “My lady, it is time for dinner. You are expected.” I blinked at the stack of books before me, candles burned low. So much for just one more page. My fingers twitched to keep going, but Vesa’s steady gaze said otherwise. She led me through the halls, her steps silent, her posture exact. Two maids passed, silver trays in hand, whispering as though their words were feathers too heavy to carry. “It’s the young miss,” one breathed.…-
4.1 K •
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The wheels groaned against the ruts, each jolt rattling through the carriage floor. I leaned an elbow on the window, cheek propped in my palm, watching the landscape change. The manicured Dorian grounds had already given way to rough scrub and crooked hedges. With them went the last reason to sit stiff-backed and proper. For two days I’d played the dutiful daughter: spine straight, face smooth, silence measured. Jeanne Dorian’s mask. But there were no more eyes now—no brothers waiting to smirk, no…-
4.1 K •
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My head still throbbed. The inked vines curled across the page, alive with a quiet pulse. I whispered, “What… was that?” Crimson Thorns. I knew that title. A romance fantasy I’d read before: the heroine, blessed with healing magic, trailed by yandere suitors who clawed for her devotion. At the time, I’d found it entertaining enough. Crown prince route, glittering palace wedding, happily ever after. Typical RoFan. But the ending I had just seen—blood pooling across the banquet floor, corpses…-
4.1 K •
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"The game is over." Kurenai's voice was just a whisper, but it carried through the mist with absolute finality. A few feet away, Naruto straightened up, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. A tired but genuinely triumphant smile formed on his face. In the muddy ground, the Demon Brothers, Gozu and Meizu, lay out of commission. "Did you see that, sensei?" Naruto panted, resting his hands on his knees. "Just like I told you! The decoy and surprise attack plan worked!" "It worked, Naruto,"…-
122.0 K •
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"Faster!" Hinata's voice was an urgent whisper. "I can see the bridge, it's less than two kilometers away!" Kiba gritted his teeth, mud splashing onto his pants with every stride. Sweat stung his eyes, and the sound of his own ragged breath was a constant drum in his ears. Beside him, Akamaru ran effortlessly, a swift white blur moving through the trees with a grace he envied. "Easy for you to say, Hinata," he growled, casting a frustrated glance over his shoulder. "We're not the ones carrying extra…-
122.0 K •
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The embrace broke as slowly as it had begun. Kurenai pulled away, her hands still on Naruto's shoulders, her face tight with pain. Reality, with its sharp edges and bloody consequences, came rushing back. Naruto blinked, the blue of his eyes still clouded with confusion and exhaustion. The red, furious chakra receded; the rage dissipated and clarity returned in a rush, leaving him feeling empty and trembling. His body felt hollow, his muscles shaking from an effort he barely remembered making. He…-
122.0 K •
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