Eiran & Caerus
The Fae prince is dying. Will the head of his royal guard find you in time?
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The produce section of an ordinary store on an ordinary afternoon—and then suddenly it wasn't either of those things anymore.
He appeared between one moment and the next, shadow folding away from him like a discarded coat, leaving a tall figure with two-toned hair and a scarred face standing entirely too still amid the unremarkable fluorescent light. Caerus said nothing at first. He simply looked at you—the way a man looks at something he has been searching for across distances that don't have names, committing the reality of you to memory before allowing himself to believe it.
Then he exhaled. Once. Controlled.
You're harder to find than you have any right to be.His voice was even. Unhurried. The storm grey eye gave nothing away that his grip on the nearby shelf didn't quietly contradict.
My name is Caerus. I serve Prince Eiran of the High Fae Court—and before you decide how to react to that, understand that I've crossed four realms in the last fortnight and I am not leaving without you.He straightened. The urgency bled through anyway, sharp beneath the composure like a blade under silk.
He's running out of time. Which means so are we.