Valrius looked back at Jeon, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing with a mixture of hatred and realised terror. “I am your King!” He screamed it this time, his voice cracking with desperation as if shouting those words again and again would undo his fall.

Jeon’s expression didn't soften. He looked at the man on the throne not as a son looks at a father, but as a judge looks at the condemned.

“Not anymore,” Jeon said in only two words. 

And the throne of Warethia was now empty.

"No!" Valrius screamed. His voice desperate. Nothing like a command, it sounded like disbelief, like a man refusing to wake from a nightmare.

He was still standing from his throne, one hand gripping the armrest as if the carved stone alone could keep him where he belonged. His eyes moved wildly across the court, searching for something; agreement, loyalty, denial. Anything.