The iron chair that they called the throne of the north had none of a throne's splendor. It was rugged, simple, and unpretentious just as Vidyut was, more suited to him than any who had come before. And so, when the tantric sat on the throne amid the loud cheers and applause, Surya's heart was full. Not only had Surya kept his promise to help him take the throne, he had helped the people of the north by ousting the tyrant king and its bully son. Vidyut sat on the iron chair like a king was meant to, proud with his back straight and his arms open to welcome any subject who came to his court.
Surya decided all he would do today is gaze at his husband at the highest seat of this court and not waste one moment worrying why God King Arya was there in the mortal world, at a mere crowning ceremony, why Lord Arya regarded him with curious eyes when Surya kowtowed to him, why he broke in gooseflesh sitting beside the god when the god had never truly hurt him in this life.
