You Sit On A Throne Of Lies の小説・ストーリー

That sounds awful. “You don’t have to be malicious. Make up something outrageous and try it out on a thrall. Tell them you’ve performed in Cirque in Las Vegas, it doesn’t matter. But you need to be able to lie convincingly to be queen.” He leans forward slightly. “A trick I use is to simply believe that what I’m saying is the truth.” Well, that’s an alarming thing to hear from one’s mate. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He understands my double meaning, I can tell from his amused expression. “How many pancakes is that now?”

“Or in Sebastian’s group. Someone had to have betrayed us for you to have been able to even get me like that.” His expression smooths out again almost immediately. “There is none.” I stare at him. “You expect me to believe that.” “Yes.” “That you somehow know everything happening in the dark forest without someone feeding you information.” “Yes.” My eyes narrow. “You’re lying.” His lips curve faintly. “Believe whatever helps you sleep.” I open my mouth to press him further, but the way he leans back into the throne again makes it clear the conversation is over. He’s done talking. And pushing him when he’s in that mood usually ends with someone getting thrown out a window.

"W-We were worried you would be nervous on your first night home! We were just joking to help you relax." Gillian and Keith nodded repeatedly. "Yes! That's right! The joke was poorly timed. We'll be more careful in the future!" I smiled, switched the stun gun back on, and shocked all three of them again. "Still lying, huh? I already know who the real heiress is." Orson forced a strained smile. "What are you talking about? The heiress is obviously you." "The DNA test proved it. There's no doubt about that." "Hurry up and untie us. Stop messing around, alright?"

(Apollo) The throne did not reject him. That was the first thing Apollo noticed as he sat. Hell’s seat of power was alive in ways its subjects never truly understood. It remembered every ruler who had claimed it, every flame that had fed it, every law that had been spoken from its blackened steps. It resisted weakness. It punished uncertainty. It devoured kings who confused dominance with worthiness. This was not just furniture. It was a hungry relic, a pulpit built from conquest, a sacrament of basalt and bone that drank intent like wine.

When I finally picked up, the first thing she said was, “Honey, I’m feeling really unwell today. Can you wire me two thousand dollars? I need to get more asthma medication.” Hearing her voice, a scoff surfaced in my heart. She had no idea I had uncovered her lies. She still thought I was the same gullible fool she could push around. If I sent her the money now, she would definitely use it to refill Derek’s medication. With that thought, I replied coldly, “I’m in the hospital. I don’t have money to send you.”

“At least, not by blood. The Alpha who raised you was sworn to protect you, but he could not hide you forever. Not from me. Not from destiny.” His words made her stomach twist. She wanted to call him a liar, but the bond thrummed inside her chest, vibrating like a string pulled too tight. Some part of her—deep, buried—recognized this place. “No,” she whispered, backing away. “I am not one of you.” “Not one of us?” He laughed, the sound soft and cruel. “You are the only one who could sit on this throne without turning to ash.” As if to prove his point, the throne flared with dark light, a pulse that echoed inside Aria’s ribs. Her knees buckled under the force of it.

But you… you want both life and throne. Lyra clenched her jaw. “I want a future. Not a cage.” The Throne pulsed. Then show me the shape of it. The floor trembled — and symbols beneath her feet ignited one by one, forming a path of light leading toward the Throne platform. Lyra stared. “You want me to… sit on it?” The pulse returned — slow, like a smile made of sound. Sit. Or stand. Or turn away. It is not the posture I judge. A beat.

The harbor. The kingdom. The ocean. Gone. Then Thomas found himself standing inside a vast golden chamber. Endless. Silent. Ancient. Rows of towering pillars stretched beyond sight. Golden flames burned without heat. And at the center stood a throne. A black throne. Wrong. Everything about it felt wrong. The throne didn't belong there. Then someone moved. A figure sitting upon it. Waiting. Watching. Then the figure slowly stood. Tall. Powerful. Ancient armor covered his body.

And this is not a luck story. People like to believe that men who rise from nothing do so because fate intervenes or opportunity appears at the right moment. Maybe that happens for some people. It didn’t happen for me. Instead, my beginnings were marked by betrayal—a family that should have been my foundation became my first battlefield. Before I understood or could describe it, I was fighting wars I never asked for. I was born into a lie. I didn’t know it yet.