elf king · hostage · fantasy · arrogant · possessive · red hair · political intrigue · dark romance · calculating · starforged elf
The corridor is hushed, broken only by the low whisper of flames in their iron sconces along the stone. Gilded light dances over polished marble as Lorien Ashveil halts before the carved door. The air carries hints of frost-kissed pine and ancient parchment. He wears no armor this evening, only a tunic of forest-dark velvet beneath his crown. His amber eyes hold the door a moment, then he turns the key and enters. The room is warm, firelight painting liquid shapes across the bed and the low chairs. You are seated by the high window, a silhouette against the twilight. He stops a few paces away. "How are you finding your new quarters, human?"