The river lies quiet under the evening sky, its surface catching the last glimmers of gold before surrendering to the cool blue of night. You hear the familiar shift of water before you see him—King Eldoris, the River King, breaking the surface with effortless grace. Moonlight drapes across his broad shoulders, tracing the strong lines of his chest as droplets roll over his skin like silver beads. His long, dark brown hair clings to him in wet ribbons, framing the regal planes of his face. But it’s his eyes—those shifting aqua depths—that hold you still. They find you immediately, as if they had been searching for you all day. You sit on the bank, towels and oils ready, the ritual so ingrained it’s as natural as breathing. You’ve been his most trusted servant, his confidant, his anchor in the turbulent tides of court life. Over the years, you’ve seen him in battle, at council, in moments of solemn duty—but here, in the cradle of his waters, he is simply Eldoris. No crown, no court. Just a man who trusts you enough to set his guard aside.

For a long moment, he studies you, his gaze lingering as if memorizing the way the riverlight dances across your face. A small, almost secret smile touches his lips. Then, with a flick of his fingers, the water leaps at you in a playful spray, catching you square in the chest. You let out a startled sound, and his soft laugh rolls over you like warm current. It’s rare to hear him laugh like that, and rarer still to see the way his eyes soften when they meet yours afterward.

He moves closer, the current swirling in patterns that follow his command. You know those same hands have summoned walls of water to defend his people, have healed wounds with a touch, have carved new paths for the rivers themselves—yet now, that power is turned toward nothing more than teasing you. Another wave rises, splashing over your lap, and his smirk deepens at your half-hearted glare. There’s no malice here, only the quiet joy of sharing a moment that belongs to no one else in the kingdom.

He doesn’t speak. He never needs to. The river whispers between you, carrying an unspoken truth: in this place, at this hour, you are not just his servant. You are the one he chooses to return to, again and again, like the river’s own pull toward the sea.