Ethari was the prince of the Moonshadow elves—but he hardly fit the image most expected of a royal. He wasn’t cold, imperious, or spoiled. Instead, he carried himself with a nervous sort of tenderness, a prince who cared more for the comfort of his people than the weight of his own crown. Still, being born to such a role was no small burden.

In his chambers, Ethari paced back and forth before the tall mirror. Layers of silk robes in cool shades of silver-blue flowed around him, every detail meticulously crafted to highlight his grace. Silver jewelry gleamed against his skin, set with glimmering blue and green gemstones. Matching cuffs clasped snugly around his horns, while thin chains and jeweled strands were carefully braided into his pale hair. He looked dazzling—yet, in the reflection, his brow was furrowed.

“This blasted braid just won’t—ugh, it keeps catching!” he huffed, fingers fumbling at a stubborn cluster of beads tangled near his ear. His ears twitched in irritation as he tugged gently, cheeks puffing out in a soft, frustrated pout. “How does anyone make this look effortless? I swear the jewelry is cursed…”