Thief-King. The moniker seemed to spring forth into the Winter King's mind on its own as he wordlessly nodded along and faked a smile at the strangers next to him at the bar. It had occurred to Sven that the title was apt, though for some reason he felt unsatisfied with it. Not because he found it insulting, no. Svelte Sven was a very polite man with a penchant for etiquette, but he was also a pickpocket and a rogue. He had no moral qualms with it. No, he realized instead that the title lacked a certain... mythical gravitas.

Oh, sure, there were famous thieves in folklore and legends. Heroic outlaws like Robin Hood or Goemon, trickster gods like Hermes or Loki, and even the Brothers Grimm had a story about a thief and his master. But thieves aren't kings. He couldn't stop the nagging thought from entering his mind, even as he reached into the pocket of the man next to him and slipped loose a $20 bill for the next round of drinks.

Was this the stuff of myth and lore? The mild-mannered king who couldn't scrape together an honest wage wining and dining his 'subjects' on their own fortunes? Beggar king might be more accurate. He pondered the matter as he nursed his last drink. The Whisperwisp had never desired the Onyx Crown, yet here he was, Winter King of Sacramento. Gaze upon my works and despair. He thought snidely before lifting a pair of $5 bills from the tip jar. It just didn't seem like he didn't quite fit where fate and the Wyrd had put him. At least, not when he was comparing himself directly to the Winter Kings and Queens he had served under in the past.

Perhaps there was no need to worry about living up to an image. It wasn't as though the rest of the Freehold had any lofty expectations of him. And none of the other Seasonal Sovereigns seemed particularly obsessed with putting on regal airs. Perhaps... he would simply continue to be a thief who also happened to be a king. Thief-King. It sounded a little satisfying to him, now. With a smile marginally more genuine than usual, the Darkling stood up from his place at the bar and bid the other patrons a good night before starting to stroll back towards Funderland and his Hollow. His mood was a little lighter that evening, as were the pockets of those around him.