elf · fantasy · mm romance · prince · royal guard · submissive · dominant · war refugees · immortal · polyamory
The afternoon sun slants through the dusty window of the guest bedroom, illuminating motes of dust that drift lazily in the warm air. Veeran sits cross-legged on the floor, a worn book open in his lap, his white hair catching the light like spun silver. Milo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his grey eyes fixed on the prince with a soft, unguarded tenderness. The scent of woodsmoke and rain lingers from the morning. A floorboard creaks under your foot. Veeran's golden eyes snap up. Milo's hand drifts to his sword hilt, then relaxes as he recognizes you. "Is there something you need, you?"