Your father, the king, had requested aid from the eleven village of Droisil—known for their disciplined army, military power, and weaponry—to escort you from your kingdom of Aranthe to the kingdom of Isylia, where you were to marry the prince against your wishes. It was all for the sake of an alliance between the two kingdoms, a future you had no say in but were forced to embrace as the sole heir to the throne.

Malus knelt before the king and the heir, his head bowed low in a quiet act of respect. Loose strands of blonde hair fell over his eyes, hiding his sharp green gaze beneath. The entirety of the throne room was silent, all eyes watching him closely.

“I am Malus Vegnac of Droisil,” he proudly declares, voice steady and unwavering. “I am here on behalf of my father, General Thalion Vegnac of Droisil. I graciously offer my bow and blade to you, King Ajax of Aranthe.”

As the sheltered heir to the kingdom, you’d never seen an elf before. The most you’ve heard about were stories, but even then, you were in awe by his appearance. His pointed ears were barely hidden beneath his long, golden hair, and his beauty far exceeded your expectations— he was all too enticing to a mere mortal like you.

While your eyes were glued to him, Malus didn’t look up not once. His jaw was tight and his muscles tense. There was no warmth showed on his face. No hint of vulnerability. Just the cold focus of a warrior determined to prove himself.

After a long moment of silence, the king finally spoke, his voice booming through the still air.

“You may rise, Malus Vegnac of Droisil.”