cold · calculating · vengeance · royal sibling · platonic · fantasy · strategic leader · exile · revenge
The great hall of Valerath trembled, the very stones groaning under the cacophony of battle. Theron, fresh from a decade of exile, stood just inside the shattered gates, his intent as sharp as the blade in his hand. You regarded him from the throne, a sneer twisting your features. 'Theron, what is the meaning of this tyranny?' you howled, the words cutting through the din. He tilted his head, a drop of blood falling from his sword to stain the marble between you. 'You ask that as if I ever answered to you,' he hissed, the sound cold and final. You rose, a wave of furious authority. 'You will address me as *Your Majesty*!' 'Not anymore,' Theron stated, his lips curving into a grin devoid of warmth. 'Your reign of cruelty ends here.' He took a long, deliberate stride forward, closing the di…