Viserys Ii Novels & Stories

I asked, lying on my beloved’s strong chest and listening to his heartbeat. “It’s very simple—thirst for strength and power,” Kays sighed heavily. “Many years ago, the lands of Virolia were nothing more than a multitude of warring tribes and settlements. It was my grandfather—the great commander Dildan Karadeylis Bretyan…” At that, I burst out laughing. “What?” he asked. “So there really was a ruler with that name?” I couldn’t hold back my snort of laughter, while Kais clearly didn’t understand why.

Rosalyn spoke in such a calm tone, repeating her words, balancing herself despite the shaking ground. Elias stepped in front of me instinctively. Xavier’s wolf exploded forward, gold bleeding into his irises, dominance slamming into the floor so violently even Elias staggered. “Valerie,” he gritted out, voice low, feral, lethal. “Behind me. Now.” But I couldn’t move. Because her power, Lisa’s power, rolled through me like ice water and wildfire intertwined, crawling up my spine, into my lungs, into the marrow of my bones.

Seren moved from the window to the chair across from her with the unhurried quality of someone who had delivered difficult information many times and had learned that rushing it never improved it. "Lysander was the preferred heir for sixty years," she said. "Not officially the succession line was always Caspian's by birth order. But the bloodline court, the advisors, the High Court members who dealt with the Vale seat they expected Caspian to decline the succession. To choose a different life." She paused. "He was not an easy child. Not difficult in the way of cruelty or recklessness difficult in the way of someone who found the institution insufficient and wasn't quiet about it. For decades

"Pylos, read it to him." "Your Grace." The maester took up one of the parchments and cleared his throat. "All men know me for the trueborn son of Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, by his lady wife Cassana of House Estermont. I declare upon the honor of my House that my beloved brother Robert, our late king, left no trueborn issue of his body, the boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being abominations born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother Jaime the Kingslayer. By right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty. Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and

A thousand soldiers stood at attention in the square, their uniforms neat, their eyes solemn. Beneath the towering flagpole stood a tall man in black armor Commander Picsis, my former instructor in the Wolf Fang Special Forces, now the leader of the Black Flame Legion. In his hands rested a carved ebony urn my parents' ashes. Viserys took the urn reverently and placed it in my arms. "The heroes of the Empire have finally returned home," he said softly. Then he bowed and thousands of soldiers followed. "Salute to the heroes of the Helian Empire!"

Saeris gripped the railing of their loft, stunned. “Y-your Majesty!” Hareth wailed, face mottled with disbelief and fear, like he had only just realized his king was in court. “You can’t—I’m a noble! A veteran lord—!” But Vaelen stood over him now, blade already lowered, red dripping from its tip. “You think your medals matter? Your name? That stories of your old victories excuse what you’ve done?” The blade angled lazily now, already handed back to the guard without anyone noticing. And when Vaelen spoke again, the very air seemed to still. “It’s not your bloodline that matters now. Not your gods. Not your past achievement. Not the crown my father bestowed on you.” A pause. “It’s m

Zelia answered, "Yes. He's my little brother." The last to introduce his self is the Emperor of RavenClaw Clan, "The name is Valerian Ross Dynasty. The current Emperor of the RavenClaw Clan." "Oh? Are you the son of Majesty Veron?"The White Dragon asked. Valerian answered, "Yes. He's my father." "Oh, we are indebted to your father. Your father was a good Emperor."They said. He chuckles, "Thanks for the compliment. Though my father will be back and he will claim his throne again as the Emperor."

His expression did not change in the slightest, as if what I just said was a plain lie that he would not deign to believe. “Do you really think that I would believe you?” His low voice teeming with coldness rang in my ears as I blankly looked up at him. Varyan Ley Valerius, the third grandson of the current Valerius king, and the grand heir chosen once his father sits on the throne. I have heard countless stories about him, and about his reputation as one of the devils that you would never want to oppose in the Rogue kingdom. I have imagined his menacing and monstrous appearance, but I never thought that he would look like this.

His frame was massive, broader even than most of his warriors, his muscles honed through years of brutal combat. But it was his eyes that commanded the room. Ice-grey and piercing, like twin blades. They missed nothing. Trusted no one. When Valerian spoke, men listened. When he moved, the world seemed to shift to accommodate him. As he sat now, one boot lazily hooked over the other knee, a messenger approached the throne. The man bowed deeply, holding out a small black bird—the message still tied to its leg. Valerian leaned forward with a slow, almost lazy grace, plucking the tiny parchment free.

“This current situation has even proved that this theory is true. Now that Arthur has disappeared and William has lost in the power struggle, the only people who are capable of becoming the next family leader are either Zephiel’s second son or that son’s grandson. “Since the only two candidates left are father and son, do you think the father will suddenly show up and fight his son into becoming the next family leader? So, Zephiel’s only remaining candidate is Javier, and I’m sure you will be fighting as sworn enemies for the rest of your lives. In other words, what used to be the battle between Zephiel and myself is now going to be handed over to you two youngsters. “Remember this, Renly. T