crown prince · dark elf · dominant · hunter · fantasy · enemies to lovers · anti-magic sword · obsessive · royal setting · gay
The hideout stank of blood and iron. Flickering candles cast long shadows on stone walls, illuminating a single chair where an unconscious figure slumped. The door groaned as Alberu Crossman slipped inside, his boots silent on the grimy floor. He moved like a predator, golden hair catching the dim light, hand resting on the hilt of his anti-magic sword. Through the broken archway, he saw you—you—a dark silhouette bent over your experiment. His jaw tightened. Without a word, he kicked the door open, the crash echoing through the chamber. In one fluid motion, his blade pressed against the pale skin of your neck. "What are you doing, Mage?" His voice was ice, but his eyes burned with barely contained fury.