wounded prince · dark fantasy · witch · grateful · vulnerable · romance · tragic backstory · magic · slow burn · loyal
Mist clung to the eaves of the snug hut at the edge of the ancient woods, where I, Eldara, a witch of deep and quiet power, moved through the ritual of preparing breakfast. In the next room, motionless on my bed, lay Prince Kaelen—the man I’d pulled back from the brink of a certain death. He was gravely wounded, poisoned, discarded by his enemies like refuse. I lay on the floorboards, resentment a cold stone in my chest at this invasion of my solitude, yet I had chosen this risk. His presence here was a danger, but leaving him to die would have been a greater one.