Novel & Cerita Regression With The King's Power Novel

Motionless. On his knees. Watching. Listening. Accepting every word. Every tear. Every wound. Because this was the price of regret. And for the first time in his life— The mighty Ice King understood that some sins were too large to erase. No amount of power. No amount of money. No amount of apologies. Could ever make them disappear. All he could do now— Was stay. And hope she would one day allow him the chance to prove he had changed.

Regina glances blankly out the window, wondering where the king could have gone, so suddenly and alone. . . TBC ~please leave a gem if you got to this point~

She was too focused on the story to hear Viishaun's footsteps. "Kyaahhhh!" She screamed in spooky, and before she knew it, the book had flown and struck the king's face. She immediately stood up and bowed her head while apologizing. However, Viishaun's attention had averted on a page presented to him as he flipped the book. He raised his eyebrow and read the context as follows, "I want to hear you scream my name as I melt you in my tongue." "What?! Don't give that criticizing look," Scheriziel screamed as she tried to snatch the book, but the king was too tall for her to grab the book as he raised his hand.

I want him here. “Do you see the power I wield, Clarissa? This world is mine to shape or destroy.” the old king’s voice whispered through her mind, dark and taunting. “Why are you doing this? What do you gain from all this destruction?” she yelled back against the winds that beat against her. “Power, control, and the satisfaction of seeing those who defied me brought to their knees. I am your future,” the old king answered. “Join me. Together, we could rule over this world, or let it burn. The choice is yours.”

I'm not sure if I'm opposed to that or not. I chew uneasily on my fingernail. "His position as King has been restored. I'm frightened of him." I'm curious to know how he managed to get the territory back off Vaia, and what or who he had to sacrifice. Now that he is King, I'm more terrified than ever. He has power, and he can do as he wants, and demands what he wants, including getting me to marry him. Marek frowns. "So what, you want to obey?"

The silence that followed was absolute. Slowly, Karlo turned around. The expression on his face wasn't anger, it was a completely blank, hollow, void of pure, unadulterated carnage. The ruthless king who had built an empire on blood had finally revealed his single, fatal weakness to the world. He had tried to hide his little bird, but the hunters had smelled the gold on her gown.

Everything about his place is perfectly fit for a King. Marek nudges my side, brining my attention back to Varian, and the man approaching to stand by his side, who I immediately know is the King. I'm immediately taken by his pretty eyes, like pure silver, framed by a dark line around the iris. Everything else about him is handsome too, but I already knew that. I've heard plenty of gossip about him in the past, even if all of the people I knew that had something to say about him had never actually met him. "Woah...You're the King," I hear myself say, my cheeks immediately reddening from embarrassment. How many times has he heard that?

Noah, unaware, leaned close and murmured, “Be careful, Aegis. You shouldn't make the mistake of underestimating the King. I heard he's even more powerful than any of his ancestors. They call him The Insanity. And he's almost as psychotic as you are maybe even more." I didn’t look away. He didn't either. My heart pounded with a kind of excitement. I exhaled slowly. “Well,” I muttered. “Would’ve been nice if you warned me before I insulted him to his face.”

Author’s pov Lycan King Greg made his way down the long corridor of his castle, boots sounding against the stone. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since he’d returned. He had spent weeks travelling all across the land, announcing himself and more importantly, getting stronger. It was a long hard journey, but it would be worth it in the end. Now he was back home to where his real power source emanated from and he wanted to feel it running through him again. The double doors leading into the throne room swung open for him as Greg approached and entered without hesitation.

he said quietly, and there was no space in his tone for refusal. The king was slumped against the pillows, skin clammy, lips pale. His breathing rattled. Khaled stood behind me, one hand on my shoulder, his weight a warning I could feel in my bones. “Do it,” the king rasped. I didn’t answer, just stepped forward. My heart was steady. My seed had stitched torn flesh, revived soldiers half-dead in the field. If it could do that, it could burn the sickness out of him. I undid the fastening at my waist. The king’s eyes flickered, not in shame, only in understanding. My power didn’t come from chants or light. It came from me.