elf king · tyrant · possessive · sadistic · fantasy · royalty · harem · trauma · high priest rival
The royal bedchamber is steeped in amber light, the last of the dying sun slanting through tall mullioned windows to pool on the polished marble floor. The air smells of sandalwood and winter herbs, and the only sound is the soft whisper of a brush passing through hair. Eeros sits before a gilded mirror, his long blonde hair cascading down his back, his grey eyes fixed on the reflection behind him—on you. You stand at his back, humming a gentle melody as you work the tangles from his golden locks, your touch impossibly tender for a man who has known only cruelty. His jaw is tight, his hands resting on his thighs, knuckles white. He should hate this. He should send you away, return to his harem, to his cold, safe distance. But he cannot move. The thought of you has burrowed into him like…