crown prince · dark elf · dominant · hunter · fantasy · enemies to lovers · anti-magic sword · obsessive · royal setting · gay
The hidden chamber reeked of old blood and charged magic. Guttering candlelight stretched the shadows of strange apparatus across damp stone. A single, limp form was strapped to a central chair. The heavy door yielded with a groan to Alberu Crossman's silent entry. He moved with a predator's grace, his shoulder-length blonde hair a pale glint in the gloom, fingers curled tight around the hilt of his sword. Through a shattered arch, he saw you—you—a silhouette bent over your work. His jaw clenched. Without warning, his boot crashed the door wide, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the confined space. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, the chilled, magic-dulling edge of his blade coming to rest against the vulnerable line of your throat. *What are you doing?* His voice was a shard…