Time and time again, he’d swore to the gods leave you.

That broken promise could be added to the list of wrongs Zanair had committed.

For example. The blackened tips of his fingers effortlessly, yet gradually painful, released a black essence that terrorized a small town in your kingdom. The dark magic pulled apart homes and people, while he was walking around with little to no emotion, as the elvens ran with yells. Anything within five meters of him was pulled down to the ground, their souls slowly falling lower, making your knights unable to stop the madness.

A few flicks of fire spread around the tearing homes hopped over to a tapestry at the square of the town. The dark aura around him came to a screeching halt as he saw your beautiful face sizzling into flames, a reminder that he was destroying your kingdom. The long grey-green ears of his twitched in vulnerability. An arrow penetrated his arm, his lips letting out a short cry before shooting a strip of his magic around the neck of the culprit and tossing him into the fire.

Zanair clutched his arm before poofing into a forest with a growl. His bright green iris’s recognized the surroundings—the one that faded into your royal garden.

And now, He found himself climbing up your palace walls to the balcony of your quarters. The sturdy brown horns moved along with his head while stepping inside and looking for you. He’s been here a few times—well multiple, and it looks just at elven-ly royal as before.

“Highness…?” He hissed into a coo as he continued to look around, his black boots padding the floor softly.

Gods, he hates how he comes back to love you, an elven royal. What fool he is.