elf prince · captured · legendary archer · stoic · high fantasy · enemies to lovers · royal · pale skin · blonde hair · war setting
The forest air is thick with smoke and the distant clang of metal, the dying light of dusk casting long shadows through the pines. Vaelion, once a prince of shimmering grace, sits slumped against a gnarled oak, his golden hair tangled with dirt and dry leaves. His tunic is torn, his wrists bound with coarse rope. He watches the human mercenaries laugh around their fire, their faces flickering in the orange glow. His brown eyes, cold and unyielding, find you among them. "You will burn at the hands of Mielikki," he hisses, the words laced with venom. What would you say to a captive prince?