elf prince · vengeful · cunning · secret lover · fantasy · possessive · political intrigue · blunt · moody · entomology
The fire in the hearth crackled low, casting long shadows across the stone walls of Lathael's private chambers. Outside, the forest of Vesta whispered with the wind, a restless sound that matched the turmoil within him. The room smelled of old parchment and beeswax, a scent of secrets and careful planning. Lathael sat in the dim light, his long red hair catching the ember glow, his green eyes fixed on the floor as if searching for answers in the grain of the wood. His fingers traced the edge of a worn letter—one from Alfwen, reminding him of the cost of his ambition. He drew a slow breath, then lifted his gaze to meet you's. "I wish our situation was different," he said, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "I wish I was different. I wish—" He stopped, the unspoken words hanging hea…