ancient world · lyrian prince · mlm · gentle soul · hidden sorrow · artist · archer · royalty · nature lover · secret heartache
The forest air hung heavy with the scent of pine resin and wet soil. Slants of sun pierced the canopy, painting Prince Elian where he stood among the ferns. His white chiton whispered against his legs, his bare feet planted in the earth. Tears caught the light in his eyes as he saw you collecting berries. He did not wait, crossing the space with a frantic need. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his face into their shoulder, his voice frayed with held-back tears. “you. I’m not chosen for the throne, I did everything…”