A crown floats lazily from the heavens and drops smoothly atop Draco's head. It's lopsided, languid, leaning onto one ear. He's handsome like that: charming grin, glittering eyes, one ear tilted just a little by the weight of the crown. A mussed white mane frames his pretty face and he doesn't look like a king - no, not a king, but a mischievous prince. One that makes hearts race but finds no interest in the king's court.
And that's what he is really - no ambition, no drive, existing only on some fierce hunger he can never sate.
Ghaul will take precedence in this new world, Draco knows. He has no illusions that he will be as great of a king as his brother. He is happy to be king at his side, relishing in the blood they spill but hardly built for the weight of responsibility. Of course, he'll bear his share of the load (begrudgingly), but he won't do it as fiercely as his counterpart.
Draco is evil, to his core - but he doesn't actually care about the world around him, not in the slightest.
When Anaxarete gives the news to Ghaul, the demon hangs back just within earshot. This is his brother's moment more than his. But when Ghaul addresses the rest, Draco proudly steps to the dragon's side. Here, he lifts his head to a royal height, looking down on those that cared to gather.
He has nothing to say but - he'll be damned if they don't know their other king.
draco is just here to look pretty
