(KOTG) Ch 19: A Kings Duty! Entering The Titan Library!

Three days slipped by like a pleasant dream.

For Thron, life in his new role had become an unbroken chain of indulgence, ease, and—if he was honest—more than a little wonder. Every need of his was met instantly, almost before he could even voice it, and always by the same super gigantic "babies" that seemed to consider it an honor to serve him. Of course, they weren't truly infants—they were massive, towering younglings of Kyvareth's people, each still in the early stages of their immense lifespans. Their mannerisms were playful, their speech unfiltered, their enthusiasm boundless... and their strength, almost frightening.

It meant that when a single one of them brought him lunch, it was lunch in the most extreme sense. Meals came in dishes so large he could have bathed in them—platters stacked with roasted meats that could feed an entire human town for a week, steaming piles of vegetables larger than hay bales, bread loaves the size of boats. And desserts? Forget it—one "slice" of cake could double as a hill.

He never went hungry. How could he? And while the portions were absurd, the care they put into presentation and flavor was just as staggering.

When he wasn't eating, there was always something new to learn about the kingdom. The geography alone could have filled a lifetime of study—massive rivers that could swallow human oceans, mountains so tall their peaks vanished into clouds like the world's own walls. Then there were the customs, the etiquette, the history, and even the small quirks of day-to-day life. Kyvareth made it a point to explain everything to him in a way that never felt like lecturing—she spoke with patience, humor, and the quiet pride of someone who knew every corner of her homeland.

At first, Thron wrestled with guilt. It didn't sit right with him to be carried everywhere, dressed by others, fed without lifting a hand, or to have his smallest whims fulfilled without hesitation. Back home, a man worked for his bread. Here, he barely had to speak for his table to overflow. It felt wrong—like taking advantage.

But as the days passed, as laughter became a more common part of his mornings, and as he began to understand how deeply his presence was tied to their sense of pride... the guilt began to fade.

The truth settled in slowly but surely:

It's good to be king.

Thron lounged back in his throne, the plush cushion swallowing him in comfort as he wrestled with a green grape the size of his head. His fingers were sticky with juice, his jaw working through bite after bite, yet the massive fruit seemed stubbornly whole—like it was regenerating just to spite him. Four days of endless feasts and luxury, and for the first time, the gleam of novelty was starting to fade.

The throne room was quiet save for the occasional squish of grape flesh between his teeth and the lazy drip of juice into a silver basin below.

His gaze wandered across the high, vaulted chamber. The murals depicting towering priestesses in acts of blessing, the polished marble that reflected a faint golden glow from the lanterns, the distant sound of laughter from somewhere beyond the palace walls—it was all beautiful, but in this moment, it also felt... hollow.

The sound of soft, deliberate footsteps broke the quiet.

Kyvareth entered with the kind of grace that made the air around her seem to shift. Draped in flowing robes patterned with fine gold thread, she moved without hurry, her presence filling the space long before her voice did. She came to stand a respectful distance from the throne, inclining her head ever so slightly.

"My king," she said warmly, "how do you fare today?"

Thron swallowed another bite of grape, leaning forward with one elbow on his knee. "I'm fine. More than fine, really," he admitted, though his tone carried a weight she didn't miss. "But... I've been wondering if this is all there is to being king."

Kyvareth's brow lifted. "What do you mean by that?"

He gestured vaguely to the room, to the silver trays of untouched fruit, to the musicians in the far corner waiting silently for a command to play. "All the eating. The entertainment. The fact that I don't have to lift a finger for anything... it's strange. It's like I'm just... existing here, not really doing anything that matters."

Kyvareth tilted her head slightly, a patient smile on her lips. "Your will is ours, my king. Whatever you desire, it is our pleasure to fulfill. The people are meant for the king."

Thron frowned and set the half-eaten grape down on the armrest. Slowly, he stood, his head craning back to meet her gaze. "That's not true."

Her smile softened into something more curious.

"Isn't a king meant to serve the people?" he asked. "Back in my world, that's what I believed. And if this is my home now, then I want to help it—not just be pampered by it."

For a moment, Kyvareth said nothing. She studied him, her eyes narrowing just slightly, not in anger but in thought. Then, with a slow curl of her lips, she smiled—this time with something warmer, almost proud.

"As you wish, my king."

Kyvareth bent down and carefully scooped Thron into her palm, the movement smooth and deliberate, as though she were handling something far more delicate than a king. Without another word, she carried him through the grand marble corridors, each echoing step of hers reverberating in his chest. The air grew quieter as they passed through archways lined with golden trim, until finally, she stopped before a massive set of dark oak doors.

They creaked open to reveal a breathtaking library. Sunlight streamed through towering windows, casting warm light across shelves so tall they nearly touched the vaulted ceiling. The air smelled faintly of aged parchment and polished wood. Books of every color and size filled the space — thick tomes bound in leather, scrolls wrapped in silk, and strange crystalline slabs that shimmered faintly as if alive with words.

Kyvareth stepped forward, her voice soft but filled with pride.

"This will be your place of learning, my king."

Before Thron could respond, a calm, measured voice floated down from the upper level.

"So the king finally graces me with his presence."

Kyvareth turned toward the sound, and Thron followed her gaze. Descending a curved staircase was a woman unlike any he had seen here before. She was tall — though still nowhere near Kyvareth's towering stature — with long silver hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck, a pair of thin-framed glasses perched perfectly on her nose. Her attire was impeccable: a dark emerald dress with gold embroidery along the cuffs, her movements precise and graceful as if she had measured each step before taking it.

Kyvareth's lips curved faintly. "Your Majesty, allow me to introduce Lysandra Vaelthorn — your teacher."

Lysandra gave a shallow bow, her pale grey eyes sharp but not unkind. "I have much to teach you, Your Majesty... Let us see if you can keep up."