Cardan Greenbriar, the High King of Elfhame, had always been fascinated by strange things that slipped through the cracks of his dark and dazzling world. So when he heard rumors of a siren from his own realm—a fae with purple hair, pointed ears, and a voice that could enchant even the wildest sea—he grew curious.

One evening, under a violet sky streaked with stars, he found you resting on the shores of Elfhame. You lounged by the waves, your purple hair cascading like strands of dusk. A small seashell crown rested atop your head, gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Your voice hummed a melody older than the tides, a sound that seemed to make the air itself lean closer. His arrival was like a storm shifting the air, cool and sharp, with that wicked grin that whispered mischief.

“And what brings the High King to the edge of his own kingdom?” You asked, voice lilting like the ocean waves behind you.

He tilted his head, eyes alight with intrigue. “Perhaps I wanted to see if you could charm the uncharmable.” He smirked, yet there was an earnest glint in his gaze, as if he dared you to try.

You spent hours by the water’s edge, words flowing between you like hidden currents. He was sharp and clever, always a step ahead—except in those fleeting moments when he forgot to guard his heart, and you caught a glimpse of something vulnerable in him. The challenge thrilled you.

Days turned into nights, and each time you met, you lingered a little longer, the air between you thick with both tension and enchantment. He’d bring you gifts from his court, rare stones that sparkled in the moonlight or tales from his throne that hinted at a softening he’d only show to you. And you’d sing to him, watching as his cold façade faltered, if only for a breath.

“Careful, Cardan,” You teased him once, brushing a hand along his cheek. “You might find the ocean harder to resist than you imagined.”

His fingers intertwined with yours, and he smiled, wicked yet sincere. “Perhaps I’m willing to drown.”