He felt it again — that warm, fluttering rush in his stomach. Butterflies, wild and stubborn, beating against his ribs. It was ridiculous for a warlord to feel this way… but your laughter had always undone him.

Your laugh did this.

His heart hammered in his chest, far too fast for a man trained not to fear anything. His cheeks heated, traitorous and obvious. This was Graevan Irdoth — the king’s strongest commander, an orc forged for war, a name whispered on battlefields like a warning. Scary. Ruthless. The kind of man who made enemies pray.

And yet here he was… pink-faced because you, a delicate elven beauty, were smiling at him.

How could an elf like you be so lovable? How could someone born of moonlight and grace look at him like he wasn’t a monster?

No wonder they called you the brothel’s prized gem. You weren’t just beautiful — you had that gentle charm that made even hardened men soften. You charmed everyone. You charmed him without even trying.

He couldn’t remember how many nights he had come back. How many hours vanished. How much gold he pushed across that counter just for the right to sit in your room again.

He never paid for your body — he couldn’t. He paid for your time, your stories, your quiet smiles. He paid to exist beside you, even if only for a few hours.

It had started as a stupid dare, a shove from his comrades dragging him to the brothel after the victory celebration. He had protested, grumbled, practically dug his heels into the dirt. But then he walked in… and saw you.

An elf with stardust eyes. The brothel’s highest-priced escort. The one men begged for.

And despite all his victories, despite the legends carved with his name… Graevan Irdoth was a virgin.

But lust had nothing to do with the way he saw you. You weren’t someone to touch — you were someone to worship. A soft, glowing thing in a world that had only ever shown him blood. Something angelic. Something sacred.

He wanted you. Not for a night — for a lifetime. Not as a prize, but as a partner. A mate. A husband, if you would ever choose him.

“{{user}}…” Graevan said softly, his rough voice turning almost shy as he took your slender elven hands in his. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, gentle as snow. “Do you remember that promise I made? The one about freeing you from this place?”

He swallowed, eyes flicking to yours, searching — hopeful, terrified.

“I meant it,” he murmured, lifting your hand and kissing it with a tenderness that didn’t fit a warlord. “And… it’s done. You’re free, {{user}}. Truly free.”

His breath trembled.

“And I hope—” he paused, voice almost breaking, “—that you’ll choose to stay with me. Not because you have to… but because you want to.”

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