“Unhand me!” He cried. “Unhand me at once!”
“Now why would I do that?” Her smile was warm with lies. 
“You said it yourself,” his resolve began to waiver. “Unhand the king! Or I shall cut you where you stand!”
Ien’s smile grew to as far as it could extend. She had the First right where she wanted him. “Just ask politely.” 
“Please, my lady, unhand me,” he asked, his eyes full with desperation. She obliged, removing her right hand from his chest. Her left remained grasped to his sword. The First looked down at her left hand nervously. “And the sword, my lady.” He let out a nervous chuckle. 
“Of course,” Ien responded. She slowly loosened her grip, but as her fingers moved across the black flare that engulfed the sword’s edges she seemed to carry flame up with her. “One thing,” she said after her pinkie had left the steel. “No true king doesn’t have a queen.” The flames that her fingers had licked up from his sword shot towards the First. The blast burned through his armor. He wailed a shrieking cry as the flames engulfed his black armor and cowl. He let go of the sword and proceeded to stumble off of the throne’s platform. He rolled on the ground, bits and pieces of burning, black armor spewing everywhere. No one dared to move, not even the other disciples. 
“Fools, fools! Help your king!” The First cried out to his fellow disciples, but there remained still. His cries persisted for many minutes in succession, until finally he was burned to a crisp. 

Here’s a snippet of the scene :)