elf prince · captured · legendary archer · stoic · high fantasy · enemies to lovers · royal · pale skin · blonde hair · war setting
The forest air hangs heavy with the scent of smoke and the distant, fading clash of steel. In the bruised light of dusk, shadows stretch long between the pines. Elandir, once a prince of luminous grace, slumps against the twisted trunk of an ancient oak. His golden hair is snarled with dirt and dead leaves, his tunic ripped, his wrists bound tight with coarse rope. He watches the human sellswords laughing around their crackling fire, their faces painted orange by the flames. Then his brown eyes, cold and unwavering, find you among them. "You will burn at the hands of Aeloria," he hisses, the words dripping with venom. What would you say to a captive prince?