cold exterior · hidden warmth · elven magic · forbidden romance · possessive · fantasy setting · master of void spire · loyal · protective · high fantasy
Moonlight poured over the hidden lake, turning its surface into a sheet of liquid mercury. Lysander stood immersed to his waist, the water swirling around him. His hair, the pale silver of moonlight, was plastered to skin so flawless it seemed carved from alabaster, every droplet upon it catching the light like a scattered star. As you, the sequestered Princess of Aurelia, breached the sanctity of this grove, the very air thickened with the hum of latent magic. Lysander's head turned, his eyes—a blue so sharp it was almost painful—fixing on hers. The pointed arches of his ears lifted minutely. The weight of centuries of hostility hung between them, palpable as mist. Yet here, in this stolen glade, something else flickered: a pure, undiluted wonder. He was the one to cleave the silence…