The Dark Fae king paced his court relentlessly, wearing tracks of rot into the ground beneath him. Pale eyes of ice blue tracked the movements of the fractured portal before him, watching as imps and goblins invaded some tiny human kingdom. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air as he tsked, sneering at the goblins' sloppy tactics—setting fires to thatched roofs and toppling gates with brute force rather than cunning. Sloppy. But what could one expect from such low born fae. At least they got the job done.

Zethryl's quest for power was as vast as his influence, spreading like a dark stain across the fae realms and beyond. The cold stone beneath his boots seemed to wither further with each step as he plotted. Endless and hungry, he would finish what his father could not and snuff out that little light the Seelie loved so much. He just had to get these mortals they cherished so much out of the way. One little village at a time.

So he continued to pace and watch, sending wave after wave of lesser fae to take whatever they hadn't destroyed to bring back as tribute to their great King. The breath he allowed them to keep in his presence would be reward enough.

Zethryl sat legs spread atop his throne, head balanced on a closed fist as he watched with disgusted disinterest over his Great Hall. Unseelie nobles chatted in hushed whispers on either side of his pedestal, their elegant gowns rustling like dry leaves, while goblins and imps rioted and cheered over their victory; their shrill laughter echoing off the stone walls. Each creature approached to lay gifts at their King's feet—crude trinkets and baubles that gleamed dully in the dim fae-light. With each flick of his hand he accepted their offerings, barely acknowledging their efforts, before one of his silent servants simply tossed each gift into a growing pile beside the throne. They were mostly trinkets, things mortals cherished like clothing or paintings. Nothing that ever truly sparked his interest. Such magicless things were beneath him.

An abnormal hush fell over the Great Hall, one so profound even the nobles at his side stopped their chattering. Every beady little eye turned toward a single goblin that had made it to the front of the procession, dragging a figure bound in glowing fae-rope behind him. Zethryl paused, no longer slouching as he straightened on his throne, knuckles whitening as they gripped the gnarled throne arms carved from ancient blackened wood.

"Mmm my King!" The goblin's nasally voice called, the green boil-riddled creature bowing on unsteady legs. "Bring great gift for king, lots 'o shinies and fin- mmmm finerty- mmm fine things for you, yes yes..." It gave the rope a hard tug, sending the bound figure crashing to the floor onto their knees, the sound of metal clasps and fabric tearing filling the sudden silence.

Zethryl could only inhale sharply, pupils expanding until his eyes seemed almost entirely black as they raked over their form. The faint scent of mortal fear mingled with what must have been their royal perfume—something fresh and floral that seemed completely out of place in his decaying court. His jaw tensed, aching to hold his mouth shut. They were beautiful. They were his. Soon anyways.

"Mortals very mad I take, lots of shinies on body, and crown like my Kings on he--" The goblin evaporated into a cloud of sulfurous dust with a mere flick of Zethryl's wrist, the only thing left behind being a blackened spot on the floor where it stood. The rope it was holding fell to the ground with a soft thud.

He was on his feet now, hand lowering from where he'd simply erased the goblin from existence, chest heaving with every breath as he leered down at you. The air seemed to crackle with power as his gaze lingered on your bound form. His hand covered his heart, an expression of pity and sympathy carefully masking the true excitement glittering in his eyes.

"My sincerest apologies." His voice, deep and thick like honey finally spoke, the words dripping with feigned sincerity as they wrapped around you like silk. "I do hope my little creatures were not unkind to you, I assure their manners are far better." He stepped down from his throne, the hem of his elegant white shirt brushing the stone steps as he neared where you knelt, reaching down with surprisingly gentle movements to help you to your feet. "Here-" Zethryl gave a wave of his hand, a tree sprite with bark-like skin appearing by his side with a tray of glasses filled with a shining golden liquid and glittering fruits that seemed to pulse with inner light. "-you must be quite famished and tired after being dragged here. And oh how you've been through such a travesty!"

He helped you into one of the cushioned seats nearest his throne, the velvet surprisingly soft against your abused skin, before kneeling at your side and placing a glass in your hands—it felt warm against your chilled fingers—and a shining red apple in the other. The fruit smelled impossibly sweet, almost unnatural. "Let me assure you, you will be quite safe here. A most treasured guest I assure." His cool fingers brushed gently across your cheeks, wiping away any lingering mud or tears with a tenderness that seemed utterly at odds with his earlier display of power. "May I have your name, my dear? Someone whose beauty, and dare I even say, rivals that of the Seelie Queen, must have a name befitting such... station"

And then he grinned, wolf-like and fanged, as he bent forward to take your hand, bringing it close to his lips where he placed a featherlight kiss to your knuckles—a touch that burned like ice against your skin.