Pictures Of King Von の小説・ストーリー

The owners probably wouldn't have needed it anyway. “Search the bodies! And get to sealing that goddamned gate!” I watched the King scream. He wasn't wearing his crown this time, but the forest of his white-blonde hair still fell really about his shoulders, so he looked like a more roguish version of The Witcher. Where had he kept it? I needed that crown.

No matter which world, that is deemed to be a Cardinal truth. His lessons mainly centered around the details of the past kings as well as the diverse important events. "One of the laws of the kingdoms is that all crown princes or crown princesses must wear a name related to a star or a planet. His majesty Jupiter was the first king. After him were Pluto, Venus, Mercury, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and finally his majesty Mars, the eighth king." Sol listened to the information attentively. After all, this information revealed something incredible.

Once they noticed there were no weapons with him, one signaled, “Clear.” Javier grinned, flipping a sleek hand over his dark hair as they led him inside the mighty building. He crossed over the green lawns, taking note of the black crows and the darkened sky. The door opened, revealing the face of King Vladmir and his loved Queen, Zoraida. The Elders were positioned on their chairs as usual and the room was dimly lit. The King was clothed in black leather trousers and a plain shirt, which highlighted his protruding belly. His fake black hair was still positioned on his head, with a crown on top.

“The reason I took you down here was to show you these pictures. This way, you will be able to recognize them later tonight. This first one here is of King Carlo, father of Prince Marco.” Sabrina looked at the picture of the man and instantly saw the resemblance to her lover. He had the same nose and sharp eyes. In the picture, the King was seated on a golden throne with a red velvet seat. He was wearing a dark blue robe, with intricate yellow designs sewn into it. The King's hair was white, but just as thick as his young son's. It took her a moment, but she recognized one of the photos from her interview as him. “He looks a lot like Marco,” Sabrina whispered, just loud enough for Winston to

So he didn’t bother getting along with them. The big double wooden door automatically opened when he stopped at the entrance. With head held high, he quickly entered inside the wide room with a dark marble floor, where a man in the center sat in a big emperor chair dressed in black clothing with a red cape and a crown on top of his head. Two girls were kissing the King and seductively bit the King's earlobe. He looks coldly at Vorges, who has a wide grin plastered on his face. "Greetings! My King!" Vorges uttered and bowed his head while grinning.

He was violently pushed back by one of the king's security guards, and he staggered, collapsing back on the mass of photographers and journalists. The king rushed to the scene and helped him up, “Are you alright young man? I am truly sorry for that,” “King Vonner, I am fine,” he said as the king helped him to his feet. He had cut his nose as he fell to the ground, and it was dripping blood. He brushed the blood away with his fingertips, but when he stood up, he inadvertently rested his hand on the king's shoulder, smearing the king's coat with blood. “Young man, I politely ask you not to approach the queen. She is a little upset about the situation and is in no state to speak with the press

The king says. “It is fine. I know that you would only send for me if it was important.” I state. “This is important. We should go to my office.” He comments. Walking to his office, I see the many pictures adorning the castle's walls. One picture catches my eye. It is the king and queen, with three children: two boys and one girl. I stop to look at the picture. The boys are around 18 in the picture, and the girl looks around 16.

She could still see the resemblance, though. “You are Zheira, I believe?” His chapped lips barely moved. “Yeah, I am!” she simply said before diverting her gaze toward Vladimir whose face was impassive as he narrowed his eyes at the king. Turning to Vladimir, the look of pure venom drew the king’s face, but he hid it by curving his lips for a smile that stretched his scar. “I wanted to discuss something with you, my son.” He entwined his arms and rested them to the upper region of his stomach.

I take a few steps back in order to see the face of the king. I gawk, closing my eyes as if closing it will make me seeing clearer. I gawk again. "It can't be" I say to myself out loud. It is staring at me but I can not accept it. The skin, the eyes, the shoulders, the jawline, the cheek bones. Kibi I thought. I close the space between the picture and me, reading the inscription on the bottom. Still the same, King Zao. I step back again, examining this face, in this painting.

The one from the airport—Flinn—chuckled. “Sit. Properly.” He didn’t have to tell me again. I firmly planted my backside in the middle of the sofa. “Kairen, stop scaring her.” My jaw dropped. Did he just call the king by his name? Why is his head still intact? All the stories I’ve heard of the King, I’ve only ever pictured him as a blood-drinking, flesh-eating monster with three heads. What I didn’t expect was that he would be this ripped, this gorgeous—so gorgeous I wish I could keep him locked in a jar forever.