Conan -
His bare feet—calloused from a thousand battlefields—rested on the mosaic of a serpent he’d crushed with his own hands. Outside, the city of Aquilonia whispered his name like a prayer and a curse. King. Barbarian. Savior. Tyrant.
He strode past the throne without a backward glance.
Behind him, the crown rolled off the cushion and struck the marble floor with a sound like a lost coin.
Conan of Cimmeria sat on a throne that did not fit his hips.
