The Cost of the CrownThe throne

The throne room was eerily quiet.

Xypheron sat on the imposing black throne, the weight of his newfound rule pressing down on him like an iron shackle. The war had been won, but governing a fractured land was proving to be an even greater challenge. The nobles who had once cowered before him now gathered in hushed meetings, their eyes filled with caution, some with resentment. They had pledged loyalty out of necessity, not out of love.

Vexaria stood near the grand windows, her arms crossed, watching the city below. The people were rebuilding, their lives forever altered by the war. The streets that had once run with blood now carried merchants and citizens trying to restore a sense of normalcy. But whispers of rebellion had already begun to surface.

"This peace is an illusion," Vexaria muttered, her voice laced with frustration. "They bow to you because they fear you, not because they believe in you."

Xypheron exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming against the armrest of the throne. "Fear is enough for now."

She turned to him, her purple eyes sharp. "Is it? You didn't fight this war just to sit on a throne surrounded by people who secretly want to see you fall."

He met her gaze, something dark flickering behind his green eyes. "I didn't fight this war to be loved."

Vexaria's lips pressed into a thin line. She knew this side of him well—the ruthless strategist, the conqueror who would do whatever it took to hold onto power. And yet, there was another side of him, one that only she had seen in the quiet moments when the armor came off, when he let his guard down just enough for her to see the man beneath the crown.

"We can't rule like this forever," she said, softer this time. "The people need more than a king who conquered. They need one who can lead."

Xypheron rose from the throne, walking toward her with measured steps. "And what do you suggest?"

She held his gaze, unwavering. "Show them that this wasn't just about war. Rebuild, not just with stone, but with trust. Prove to them that you are more than the Unholy Prince."

He smirked faintly at the name, the title that had once struck fear into the hearts of his enemies. But she wasn't wrong. He had won the war—but if he wasn't careful, he could lose everything in the peace that followed.

Xypheron reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. It was the smallest of gestures, but it spoke volumes. "And will you stand by my side through it all?"

Vexaria arched a brow. "I didn't fight my way here just to leave you now."

A rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Good. Then let's make sure this peace holds."

But even as they stood there, together, both of them knew—peace was fragile. And there were still those lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.