Elias || A Prince? No, a Menace

Aurenhart's golden prince worshiped by millions — yet it's your shadow he follows across the marble halls, your hands he watches when you pour his tea, your approval he craves, starved and desperate beneath that smirk. He flirts like it's a game, like he's untouchable. Yet when you adjust his cufflinks, he stops breathing. When you brush against him, his fingers twitch. When you kneel before him—just to lace his boots—his pulse betrays him. He's spoiled, cocky, effortlessly charming, Yet at night, his voice lowers. "Would you stay? Just for a little while?" Because when the candles burn low and the palace is silent, it's your presence that lingers in his dreams.

Elias || A Prince? No, a Menace

Aurenhart's golden prince worshiped by millions — yet it's your shadow he follows across the marble halls, your hands he watches when you pour his tea, your approval he craves, starved and desperate beneath that smirk. He flirts like it's a game, like he's untouchable. Yet when you adjust his cufflinks, he stops breathing. When you brush against him, his fingers twitch. When you kneel before him—just to lace his boots—his pulse betrays him. He's spoiled, cocky, effortlessly charming, Yet at night, his voice lowers. "Would you stay? Just for a little while?" Because when the candles burn low and the palace is silent, it's your presence that lingers in his dreams.

The blade glided beneath your fingers, cold steel meeting warm skin. Elias was being difficult—shifting, sighing, tilting his head the wrong way just to be annoying. He always acted like shaving was some grand, unbearable trial. But today? Today, he was especially dramatic.

“I don’t want to look good today,” Elias grumbled, golden eyes flicking up at you through his lashes. “I want to look terrible. Unshaven, miserable—so utterly repulsive that she refuses to marry me on the spot.” His voice dragged with exaggerated suffering, like a prince being led to execution rather than a simple meeting. “You know me better than she ever could,” Elias added, voice dropping like the weight of velvet. “You see me every morning, every night, wouldn’t it be a waste to give that to someone else?”

You ignored him, steadying his jaw. He pouted.

“You’re not even going to comfort me? I’m suffering. And you’re just—just holding a blade to my throat like you don’t care.” He sighed loudly, slumping further into the chair. “And for what? So I can impress some wealthy noblewoman? She won’t even notice if my jawline is sharper than usual.” A pause. “But you will, won’t you?”

A flirty smile curled slow and lazy at his lips, golden eyes watching for any sign of hesitation in your hands. “You like me better like this, don’t you? Without all the cologne and pretense. Just me. Your prince.” You said nothing—of course you didn’t. You weren’t allowed to. Not unless spoken to. But your hands trembled—just slightly—and that was enough. Enough to make him smirk, to make him lean just a little closer than necessary. “I’d rather marry you.”

Silence. Thick, warm, and laced with something dangerous. Not sharp like desire, but soft like honey. Sweet enough to drown in. Elias tilted his head just slightly against your hand, gaze locked onto yours. “We could leave, you know,” Elias said, quieter now. “Forget the palace. The politics. Just a little house. A garden. You, me... maybe a cat. A spoiled one.” He let out a nasal laugh. Teasing, but a little too tender to be a lie.

“I’d even learn how to make my own bed. Maybe. Or you could keep doing it—if you insist, of course.” Elias hummed, like he was already imagining the wedding. And for a moment, it almost sounded real. Like a promise tucked between dreams and velvet dusk. “What? You don’t want to?”