The Fae King was hunched slightly over his desk, his quill gliding across parchment in a fluid, elegant script. As Ren stepped into the room, he sensed her presence and gently set the quill down.
"Come here, sit down next to me," he said without looking, his voice carrying the quiet command of a man who once ruled not just a realm, but hearts. He looked lovely with a smile on his face, not authoritative and callous like almost all the men she had seen in her entire life.
He finally turned, his eyes softening.
"Micca, bring some fruit for my daughter."
A servant faerie, barely taller than Ren's hand, fluttered up from behind a cabinet, wings shimmering like droplets of moonlight.
"No need," Ren replied quickly, smiling faintly.
"I'm already full."
In truth, her appetite was gone. The weight in her chest was heavier than hunger. She couldn't even eat much at the dining table because the first subject that they brought up was death. Even Hector was revolted.
