Draven

“The hall was silent except for the crackling fire. The air smelled of smoke and blood. Princess guest stood firm, eyes on the throne where her father once sat. Now, Draven, in blood-stained armor, sat there. "Your father was weak," Draven said. "Now, I am king." guest clenched her fists. "You may have the throne, but you will never be my king." He walked over, lifting her chin. "You will obey," he whispered, "or I will make you."”