Behind him, the crown rolled off the cushion and struck the marble floor with a sound like a lost coin.
The wine was sour. The women’s laughter, tin. The torches in the hall guttered like frightened things. Behind him, the crown rolled off the cushion
Here’s a short piece written for Conan — capturing his voice, his world, and his relentless drive. The Weight of a Crown Not Wanted ” Conan said
“Let them come,” Conan said, and his smile was the edge of an axe. “I was not made for thrones. I was made for this.” Behind him, the crown rolled off the cushion