Chapter 190: The Crown Weighs Nothing
The room burned low with a rust-hued glow.
Torches, set in black iron sconces along the stone walls, flickered as dying breaths would. Shadows curled in the corners—long, stretched things that swayed as if listening. The scent of ash and oil clung to the walls.
Ian sat in a worn leather chair, motionless.
A cigarette dangled from his lips, one hand cupped around the end as he struck the match. The fire flared briefly, casting a moment's worth of orange clarity across his face—jagged, tired, scarred. He inhaled deeply.
Smoke filled his lungs. Then, with a slow exhale, he let it drift from his nostrils like a dragon too weary to breathe flame.
Behind him, her voice rose soft and curious.
"What does it feel like... to be king?"
He didn't answer right away.
He lifted his gaze slowly, and there she was.
Velrosa.
The princess that should have been dead.
She sat at the edge of the bed, legs crossed beneath silk robes that shimmered like falling dusk. Her silver hair was loose tonight, draped over the bed in glimmering waves. It caught the light like strands of the moon itself, framing a face that had stopped a war once—because no man who truly looked at her could bear to destroy what he saw.