Memory of body a romance.., p.1
Melodies of the Damned (Crowns of Gods and Monsters Book 1), page 1
Crowns of Gods and Monsters
Book #1
by Nakita Kirwan
Contents
Content warning
Trigger warnings
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Melodies of the Damned
© February 2026 by Nakita Kirwan
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.
This book is licensed for personal use only. It may not be resold or given away in any format.
This is a work of fiction. The places are real, but the world I’ve created in them is not. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is not authorized for use in AI dataset training or machine learning models.
Ebook ASIN: B0G528CWJN
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-646-73331-9
First Edition
Self-Published
Cover Design & Formatting: Ivy @ Hawthorn & Aster (www.hawthornandaster.com)
Editing: Twinflower Manuscript Services
I once thought the absence of love
created evil.
I was wrong.
It was betrayal.
Content warning
Melodies of the damned is a dark fantasy romance intended for 18+. Reader discretion is advised.
Dark themes and sexual content are present in this novel. While this book is a work of fiction, your mental health is important to me.
Please check the trigger warnings before you step into the dark.
Happy reading
Trigger warnings
Violence
Abuse
Explicit sexual content
Death
Drowning
Mention of rape
Torture
PTSD
Panic attacks
Suicidal ideation
Self-harm
Psychological trauma
Abuse of trust
Panic attacks
Dubious consent
Possessive behaviour
Captivity/ Captor romance
Sacrificing
Blood play
Loss of self
For the people worried about what the world will think.
Stop hiding.
If the world can’t handle you…
Find the monster who’d burn the world with you,
and fuck you senseless in the ashes.
One
The Broken Princess
My heels clicked against the polished marble like a countdown I couldn’t escape. Each step echoed like a cry for help that no one would answer. After all, broken things were not worth saving. The guards tracked my every movement, following each restless pace of the corridor. The sound of my dress hissing against the ground behind me only made my blood rush faster through my veins. Everything would change tonight, and I knew they were waiting for me to run. Again.
I spun on my heel, circling away from the staircase that yawned like a mouth, waiting to swallow me into the ball below.
Tonight, the court would raise their glasses in celebration. Their princess was finally serving a purpose. My hand in marriage would strengthen my father’s alliance with the south, but I did not share the Kingdom’s excitement. Nor did I care for political gain. Honestly, I’d be thrilled if Father’s Kingdom crumbled, burying him and his precious priest along with it. But a princess does as she is told. Being the pliable, delicate thing they wanted me to be was the only way to escape. So, I took deep breaths. But it was cut short by the corset I had been shoved into against my will. I tugged at the blue silk cinched too tightly around my ribs, as if loosening it might free me from my birthright. If only it were that easy.
Run. Run. Run.
I stilled. The whispers bled from the empty corridor, clawing through my mind with a chill that tore gooseflesh from my skin.
“I will when the time is right,” I muttered, turning to grip the cold iron bars of the window separating me from freedom.
“What was that, Princess?”
I peered over my shoulder at the burly guard wearing my father’s armour. He crossed his arms over Stonebriar’s emblem: two swords clashing over a crown. Funny how every man longed for a crown, yet most seemed too weak to wield it. My father was far from weak, which was why he had held the crown for thirty years, a record in the history of our Kingdom.
“You were speaking to thin air again,” the guard said, glaring at me as if my madness was contagious.
“Perhaps it is you who is hearing things,” I replied sweetly, turning back towards the window.
“Crazy bitch,” he said in a hushed tone to the other guard, who stifled a laugh.
I bit my tongue, fighting the urge to scream at them. No, I needed to bide my time. To smile politely and be a good little puppet.
Once, I had read that love makes a person whole, and in its absence, evil grows. Perhaps that was why darkness churned beneath my skin like the tides battering the cliffs below.
The Dead Sea thrashed against the snowcapped cliffs in the dying light, pulling a longing ache from my chest. It was like the sea had hooked its claws beneath my skin and squeezed.
In mere hours, that cliff would hold the sacred rite of Ascension. Not that I was allowed to attend. I’d been kept inside my gilded cage since I was twelve, after I had run away from my guards, pulled by the waters’ allure, and touched the Dead Sea.
To touch the Dead Sea outside Ascension was to die. It was the god’s curse. For a thousand years our Kingdom had carried that curse. But I didn’t die. Father had the guard who witnessed it hung. I was to never talk of it again.
“You look perfect, Lyra.” Aldric appeared in the reflection of the frost-kissed windowpane.
I startled, dropping my hands from the bars of my prison to greet my brother.
His dark blond hair was neatly combed back, and his brown eyes held mine with quiet concern before flicking away. He adjusted one of his cufflinks, shifting uncomfortably. Aldric was the perfect prince, not one thing out of place. His suit was a flawless cage of starched fabric that he enjoyed wearing.
I forced the delicate, hollow curve of my lips that never reached my eyes. The soft smile seemed to make me more palatable, hiding the monster they tried to bleed from me.
“It is time for you to join us, dear sister. Your betrothed has arrived.”
Reluctantly, I dragged my eyes from the sea to take my brother’s outstretched arm.
Aldric’s grip tightened as we walked towards the staircase, a gesture I assumed was meant to ease my nerves. It didn’t.
“Please behave, Lyra. Just for one night,” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the music and chatter that grew louder with each step. “We need this alliance.”
I wanted to scoff.
But no, a princess behaves. Or more scars would blemish my skin.
“No, Aldric. It’s every night for the rest of my life,” I said, my voice laced with venom.
He sighed, leading me down the wide marble steps.
The ballroom spread out like a golden wound below us, bleeding wealth and glittering with false promises. Candlelight shimmered in crystal chandeliers, catching on the wine-stained lips of southerners and the sharpened smiles of northern nobility. A rare sight, but they were not here just to witness my forced engagement.
No, this was the Ascension Ball. Everyone was here to celebrate before the sacrifices began at midnight. Sacrifices to Gods who had turned their back on us.
Laughter threaded through the string ensemble like poison as eyes tracked my descent. Whispers slithered from below, hissing of the mad, silver-haired princess. I wondered if they were real or from my own unravelling mind. It was hard to tell at times.
“Smile,” Aldric whispered through clenched teeth.
The practised mask slipped over my face as I focused on one step after another.
King Vaylor waite
The man beside him was handsome in the way most royalty was. His brown hair was sleeked back, framing an angular face with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. He almost looked like a prince from a fairytale. It was a fleeting thought; his eyes crawled over me like groping hands and his teeth flashed in a serpentine smile. I could feel his ambition; it oozed off him like perfume. His eyes flicked to my father every few seconds, and I knew I was nothing more than an alliance to the crown.
I paused on the bottom step, looking down at the man who was to be my husband. My mask slipped and venom pooled in my eyes.
Tear the flesh from his bones.
I smirked, wondering if he would whimper while his skin tore like wet parchment.
“Daughter,” King Vaylor warned, his gaze searching for defiance.
The silk of my dress rippled as I curtsied, casting my gaze at the feet of the powerful men who expected me to be weak. Submissive. Always submissive.
“Viscount Barden, I present Princess Lyra Meridian, your betrothed.”
My father’s words shuddered through me like nails dragging against stone. I didn’t want this.
“Her eyes are a little unsettling, but the rest of her is exquisite.” The viscounts voice grated against my nerves, objectifying me. But how could he not when I was forced on a pedestal of perfection? He circled me like a vulture, assessing me as if I were a prized animal.
I longed to claw his eyes out.
“I assume her purity has been preserved for our union?” The viscount asked.
Aldric tensed beside our Father, shifting uncomfortably. He knew the truth about the guards I lured into my bed. Not for love, not even for pleasure, but to reclaim something that had been stolen from me.
Control.
In his quiet way of protecting me, he made them disappear so rumours could not spread, keeping father in the dark. I didn’t care about them anyway, not anymore. I had fallen in love once, and I thought he loved me too, but clearly, I was naïve.
My father inclined his head with a single, decisive nod, sealing my fate with a gesture. “Wonderful,” my future husband leered, dragging a finger down my cheek.
I flinched, a small movement that I knew would cost me.
He made a disapproving noise, then leant in with a smile that promised pain. “Careful,” he whispered against my ear, the stench of wine curling off his breath. “You will treat me with the respect I deserve, or I will have you punished.”
Anger seared beneath my skin while I fought to keep the docile mask that needed to stay in place to avoid my father’s attention.
Aldric’s pleading eyes caught mine over the viscount’s shoulder, mouthing one word: behave.
My betrothed stepped back with a satisfied smile and raised his voice. “I’ll be expecting a dance, Princess Lyra.”
I curtsied to the man who thought he would soon hold my leash. “Of course, Viscount.”
I dropped my gaze, giving him the same submissive show my father always enjoyed. I was going to use that leash to strangle him if he got too close. My show seemed to please them both, and he bowed before disappearing into the swirling ball gowns.
Aldric re-took my arm before Father could speak.
“Lyra is feeling out of sorts. I shall escort her to the musicians to calm her nerves.”
I hated being spoken about like a crazed woman, but he was right.
My father nodded reluctantly, letting Aldric steer me through the crowd of curious stares.
I hummed with the strings of the orchestra, letting the melody press like balm against my frayed nerves.
“Maybe not tonight, Lyra.” Aldric eyed my body swaying to the music.
“Brother, balls are for dancing.” I grinned at him as I gathered my skirts in my hands.
“Yes, with men who Father tells you to dance with, not by yourself,” he chastised. “It is improper.”
His shoulders tensed as I floated amongst the partnered dancers, twirling through the notes like a ghost revelling in her own funeral.
The strings curved through the air, breathing life into my veins. Weightless, I moved like a predator seducing its prey, dazed eyes following as though I’d cast a spell. It was the same reason I was forbidden to sing; people became enthralled far too easily.
My spin halted mid-step as I caught the golden embroidery of my father’s jacket glinting in the candlelight. He stalked towards the marble dais in the centre of the ballroom, shooting me a disapproving glare before climbing the steps and perching on his throne of twisted metal. A small flick of his fingers signalled Aldric, pulling the leash of obedience that was shackled to both of us.
“Come,” my brother murmured, lacing his arm with mine and leading me through the crowd.
I knew better than to protest. The dancers stopped and parted for us with hushed curiosity as my father raised his arms, signalling the crowd to be quiet.
Aldric took his seat in the smaller throne beside him, while I remained standing. Alone.
There was no throne for me. I was an ornament, meant to gleam, not to speak.
My Kingdom forged crowns for powerful men and celebrated their sons, but left their daughters to rot beneath the weight of perfection.
This was only a reminder of my place, as if I needed one. The scars etched into my skin beneath my dress were an effective enough reminder of what happens when I do not listen.
“Tonight,” King Vaylor declared, “we celebrate the sacred Rite of Ascension. Every seven years, we offer our own to the Gods to be blessed with power to protect our people or be chosen for sacrifice.”
The crowd erupted in applause, cheering for the impending deaths in the name of our estranged Gods. “We need these initiates into the Iron Guard more than ever. The Commander of Death has returned.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd; the name alone had the ability to evoke fear even into the most powerful men. Gooseflesh tore across my skin as a shiver ran up my spine. I had heard his name whispered in the halls. He was the monster my Kingdom feared the most. A legendary weapon that left nothing but destruction in his path.
“Anyone brave enough is encouraged to take the leap.”
Whispers slithered through my mind, clawing over each other in an unsettling crescendo.
No one will save you, they hissed.
They were right, but perhaps I could save myself. I knew Ascension would certainly promise death. But live or die, I would rewrite my fate. And if I lived, perhaps the darkness I carried would finally have a purpose. My lips parted before I could think.
“I wish to Ascend, Father.”
My voice was quiet and weak, but I may as well have screamed. The air grew thick as mutters rippled through the crowd at my boldness. My father slowly turned. His face was carved in perfect serenity, except for his eyes, which held enough anger to burn.
“My daughter wishes to Ascend,” he repeated, voice light with mock amusement. Laughter scattered through the room like broken glass.
“No, the Gods have a plan for you already. It is my pleasure to announce princesses Lyra’s engagement to viscount Barden,” he said with a smile, raising his goblet as my skin burned with shame. “May their union tether the Northern and Southern territories to prevail against the Fae.”
The crowd made sounds of approval, cheering for a union that I would do anything to stop.
“But tonight, we honour the Gods,” my father continued, his voice rising, “and pray they grant us warriors strong enough to kill the nightmare that has returned.”
Everyone raised their goblets in a toast.
Except me. I wasn’t allowed wine. Not since the night I dared use the goblet as a weapon. The hall echoed with cheers. Then the crowd returned to their dancing, spinning like painted marionettes.
My father’s mask dropped as he turned to me and the weight of his fury was smothering.
“What have I told you about speaking when not spoken to, girl?” Spittle sprayed from his lips.
