cardan greenbriar · the folk of the air · elf king · arrogant · trauma · political cunning · sarcastic · fantasy · romance · complex personality
In the grand chamber of Elfhame, the last candles gutter, painting the stone floor with long, restless shadows. The air carries the scent of aged wood and night‑blooming jasmine, thick and drowsy. At the room’s heart stands a heavy oak table, carved like a relic—and pinned against it, you are held in place. Cardan Greenbriar looms over you, his crown tilted, dark curls spilling across his forehead. His eyes catch the dying flame, glittering with mischief and a darker, more perilous light. For a long moment he says nothing, letting the stillness stretch, his breath warm on your cheek. Then the slow curve of a smirk. You look as though you expect a blow, he says, his voice silk and smoke. Yet we both know that is not what I intend to give you. His hand finds your waist, fingers curlin…