King Edward Vii Chair Novels & Stories

No support poles held up the ceiling—instead, the black fabric seemed suspended by an invisible force, rippling occasionally like the surface of dark water. At the centre stood a circular table of obsidian, its surface so polished it reflected their faces with perfect clarity. Seven chairs surrounded it—four on one side, three on the other. The godking had already claimed the central seat on the far side, Chancellor Hellden taking position to his right. The third chair remained empty. "Please," the godking said, gesturing to the empty seats. "Make yourselves comfortable."

The bigger the chair, the higher the status of the team member. Isabella's eyes widened as she took in the scene before her. She saw five large chairs, each with a tag on the seat. The smallest chair belonged to a young man in his twenties, with a tag that read "Jeff". The fourth chair was occupied by a stunning girl with long blonde hair and beautiful eyes, her tag reading "Stephene". The third chair was taken by a gay man with a large stature, almost like a giant, his tag reading "Claus". The second chair was occupied by a girl with a big snake tattoo on her body, dyed pink hair, and green eyes. Isabella immediately recognized her as the girl who had interrupted her and Collins' intense mo

“We do, but we don’t encourage it. Like i said ma’am, our equipment needs specifications to function at their utmost best. We do have others that don’t necessarily need these specifications, but they’re few.” “Can I see them?” I pressed, she looked behind me then. “They’re on our left.” she gestured, making me turn too. Roman already standing in front of the left equipment rows. No word from him all these while. “The St. Andrew’s cross will be just the one without specifications. Alongside the bondage chair, restraint tables, queening chair…so on.” Hmm. The queening chair. I moved towards it a little. Taking a full look at the normal, comfortable looking chair, but with a large gaping hole u

The head of the table. My eyes widen as he finally lets go of my hand to pull out the head-chair for me. He can’t be serious? A few people stiffen, and tension hangs in the room. You would think me sitting in this chair killed their moms or something. “Leonel…” I start, ready to tell him I don’t feel worthy enough to sit here, but a woman next to Mr Erickson beats me to it. “Mr Sinclair.” She says grimly, “that has been your chair since Axion Tech’s start. Surely you’re not going to give it to… the newcomer.”

At the end of the room are two large seats on a higher ground with few steps to reach them, one slightly larger than the other. Thrones. The larger one looks to be made from pure gold with the female head carved at the top, the arm carved to look like an actual hand and diamonds are arranged artistically on it. The second chair is the same, only slightly smaller and shiny silver. I make a mental note to ask what the female head means, although I'm guessing her to be their goddess, or our goddess now. This whole new life is so hard to adjust to.

“Where’s Red?” “He set this meeting up for me.” I wave to a chair in front of the lone table. There is only one table in this windowless room that Red uses for all his “talks.” The walls are padded with red velvet, and there’s a well-stocked bar along one wall. The floor is concrete, but under the table is a hand-woven rug that is rumored to be from Versailles during Louis’s reign. There’s not a spot of blood on it, as Red boasts. That says more about the quality of tarping that is used during his talks than anything. Edward scowls at the setup and refuses to move. “You have something that belongs to me, and I want it returned,” he demands.

During the traditional British funeral repast, attended by friends and family of the deceased, the five remaining families gathered in a conference room inside the mansion. When his father was still alive, this is where he held meetings and assemblies. Books and maps fill the room, making it look like an actual library. In the center of the pentagon-shaped table, there were five seats that resembled the King's chair. The Black Scorpion banner is also displayed in the center of the room. There were also portraits of the former heads, the founder Jacob Evans and their great-great-grandfather Robert Evans. Terrence sat in the middle where his father was sitting before. Andrew asked him to take

Yet, that didn't mean he couldn't see the pretense god-beings seated in the shadow. The room divided into two levels, each with its own presence. The lower level covered by nothingness, contrasted the upper level that sat twelve high chairs below the raised dais, each with peculiar carvings and plush velvet cushions. These chairs were arranged in a semicircular formation, and each one held a human with a mask, present. And right in front of him, sat the one with the highest chair, and the one person he had sworn to kill first when he gets the chance.

Light and shadow danced upon them with every flicker of flame, and beneath each tiny sculpture lay enigmatic symbols reflecting the movements of mythical creatures, like enchanted tales carved in stone. His Majesty: The chair commanded its surroundings, naturally drawing every gaze and transforming whoever sat upon it into the center of the room. Any visitor would feel as though their presence was being observed or scrutinized by a power older than time itself. As the candles flickered, the sculptures cast twisting shadows upon the floor and walls, giving the impression that the chair was alive, watching and breathing with every step the visitor took, whispering that every part of this place