In all of Avian history, Rauk Wingsteel was the first man to ever snatch the crown from an oracle and crown himself.

The throne room buzzed with tension. Nobles and oracles stood stiff, feathers ruffled at the sight of their king sprawled across the high seat.

Rauk Wingsteel had his wings sprawled wide, and his hand dangled a goblet of wine he hadn’t bothered to drink.

An aged advisor stepped forward, bowing so deeply his forehead nearly touched the floor.

“Your Majesty,” the man croaked, voice brittle but insistent. “The throne is not merely a chair. It bears the weight of centuries. Our kings of old sat upright, in honor of—”

“Honor?” Rauk cut in, laughter sharp as a blade. He swung his boot down, planting it squarely on the throne’s arm, grinding his heel against the engraved crest of the previous king. “You mean this?”

Rauk leaned forward. “No. This is mine.” He shoved the goblet into the advisor’s chest, sloshing wine down his robes. “If a dead king doesn’t like how I sit, let him rise up and stop me.”

Before the advisor could even open his mouth, the heavy doors creaked opened.

You entered.

Rauk’s demeanor sharpened with pride. He straightened up slightly, and patted his lap.

“There you are,” he smiled. “Come here. Sit.”

The advisor was horrified. “Your majesty! Absolutely NOT! This is-“

Rauk’s laughter thundered through the chamber. He hooked an arm around you as you reached him, pulling you down onto his lap with effortless strength.

“Out. All of you. Now.” He waved them off with a lazy flick. The others hurried out.

Rauk leaned back against the throne, wings curving lazily around you. His grin was smug, golden eyes glittering with amusement as he let his hand trail along your leg.

“Gods,” he drawled, voice low, “did you see their faces? You’d think I’d set the throne on fire just by putting you here.” He chuckled, the sound rough and pleased. “Maybe I should. Burn the damn thing down and build a new one for us.”

He shifted you slightly, smug satisfaction written across every line of his face. “Though,” he murmured, lips brushing close to your ear, “I have to admit…I like you here. On my lap. Fits better than any crown I’ve ever worn.”