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An Elf's Bride (Dionysus x oropherion)

Dionysus

Dionysus

Super-Earth
Joined
Apr 9, 2021
Khetis had been a peaceful land, rich with not gold or gems, but with flowing waters, trees that stood tall and proud, branches and leaves working its way through the small land - it seemed the Fae folk had built their palaces and building's with the land, not stripping it down, the two worked in perfect harmony. A grand palace in the centre of it all, built in a towering and looming tree, vines coiling around the neighbouring structures, leaves concealing the palace, thick branches connecting everything together. Water ran in streams to large lakes, full of wildlife. The Kingdom itself was akin to a Garden of Eden, fear, sadness, anger were a foreign thing. The Fae were not violent, were not jealous, were not power hungry. Blessed with powers to help them develop alongside the Earth, taking their very energy and abilities from said Earth. Though, it was perhaps do to their tranquil lifestyle that they had become such a small species, kept away from the rest of the world. Not many Fae remained after the countless attacks on their Kingdom, after all they were seen as such easy targets. But still, with what little land they had they maintained it and let it grow into quite the prosperous Kingdom. At the head of it all, was the Royal Family; functioning like any other country with the King and Queen ruling together, and their first born child filling that role afterwards, that child being the Fae prince Ayre Loraphine. He had been lucky to grow up in such a kind and peaceful land, with the promise of one day ruling and being head of all their people. It was an honour really, to get to look after and cherish such a haven.

But that haven wasn't what he laid his eyes upon now, eyes widened in horror as he watched from his castle's balcony as the soldiers rushed in past their once secretive and secure barriers. As the Fae folk made a pathetic attempt to fight back or run, both unsuccessful, either caught or...worse. His parent's kings guard were quick to take the royal family back into the palace, hastily locking and barring the doors with whatever they could find. Ayre, his parents and siblings huddled in the throne room, listening the the brutal attack taking place outside. The Fae prince had never hoped to hear the screams, the yells, the sound of horses charging into battle ever- to put it simply, he had been too naïve to believe that he would ever be subjects to the sounds of war. Nobody had. They had little weapons, little army, little everything; foolishly underprepared to fight back.

And so, the Khetis Kingdom had fallen rather easily. The throne room doors burst open, men charging in wearing sigils and armour of another land. Before the Fae prince knew, they were dragging the members of the former royal family away and Ayre was swiftly dragged away from his family. He simply lay there, limp. Perhaps he was too frightened, too stupid, too sorrowful, even Ayre didn't know. He merely watched as his other family members put up some fight, kicking and screaming, but Ayre didn't make a peep- hell, he hadn't even registered what the soldiers were saying, eyes staring blankly around him
 
The soldiers of Gavaria were merciless. They had lived centuries, fighting battles after battles, and had developed into fine, precise, and deadly weapons for their king. Ninimdir Talelenryl had only known war. There was very little memory he had of a time where he had known peace. Gavaria targeted both by the race of Men and Dwarf alike, a war that never seemed to cease. Ninimdir, a young prince at the time, had witnessed his mother fall captive by dwarf barbarians and tortured before they finally killed her. He had witnessed several brothers fall to the sword of a man, and lastly he had seen his never wielding father finally crumble to their enemy. His soul had weakened from so much loss that he had not his regular strength and lost in combat. It left Ninimdir alone to take the crown and rule Gavaria, a task he took on with a fierce determination that put fear into his enemy as he controlled and succeeded in chasing them off with half their numbers. While his family had tried to fight valiantly and honorably, Ninimdir did not seem to share that same penchant. He fought for vengeance, for the horrors he not only had to witness, but for the pain his family had had to suffer under such cruel hands. Where his enemy showed no mercy, he too, showed no mercy. He showed to all that he was not a pushover, that his punishments were even more severe than what even his enemies could imagine.

So when Gavaria turned its attention upon the quiet, unassuming realm of the Fae, it came to no surprise at how quickly and devastatingly the kingdom fell. Ninimdir joined the ranks of his soldiers, cutting down the unarmed and unequipped people without a look of remorse. It almost seemed as if such emotions did not exist in the Elf King or had been taken from him long ago, leaving just a black heart beneath the armor and the attractive flesh he walked in. There didn't seem a purpose to conquer such a minuscule and unimportant kingdom such as Khetis, but Ninimdir did nothing without purpose. Just because these Fae did not bother any other race, kept to themselves and their peaceful ways, meant little to the Elf King. In fact, it was their peaceful, unassuming, and violence-free ways that pissed him off. How could a race live such a life while the rest of the world lived in constant disarray? It wasn't only that that drove the king though, but rumors that these Fae were more unique than even the fair Elves that walked the continent.

Ninimdir strode into the castle after his soldiers tore through the barred gates of the castle, long golden cloak flowing behind him as he looked coldly down the cowardice royal family before him. With just a bob of his head, his soldiers moved into action, grabbing at each member and dragging them away. While they screamed and struggled, Ninimdir's attention was drawn to the silent prince being dragged away by his captain. He did not respond as his family did, almost seemed frozen and stunned, and the sight brought a cruel smirk to the king's face as he swept out his long, blood soaked sword to rest under the youth's chin and lift it up. "You do not scream or cry. Are you not afraid, little one?" He chuckled darkly as he watched the way crimson trickled down a pale throat, the beauty of the prince alluring in how soft and unblemished he was. "You will be mine. My bride." He heard a shout of defiance from the prince's mother and Ninimdir's actions were much faster than the Fae who had struggled against his soldier to get to her son. When she lurched forward, she fell upon the point of his blade, piercing through her chest and ending her protest. "Anyone else care to raise a complaint?"
 
The young prince slowly lifted his head, or rather the blade had, staring back at the King had slaughtered his people, taken his land and now stood before him wielding a weapon Ayre had never laid his eyes upon. Of course he was afraid. Ayre felt like all the stories his mother and father told him as a child was coming true, a scary outside force coming to hurt him, but he didn't have that relief of knowing that it was all some bedtime tale, it was all too real He felt himself gulp as their eyes met, flinching as the pointed tip of the fine steel pressed against his pale skin. He was unmarked, his garments untorn or blemished, only the dark red that dripped from his neck spoiled the untarnished and dainty prince. He kept his silence however, but his gaze did not break from the King. It was hardly an act of defiance, more fear, perhaps even curiosity. He had grown up not knowing the horrors of the other kingdoms, so for one man to lead an army to attack like this, why? Why had he done it? The fact that he had done it as well scared him beyond belief, eyes threatening to spill tears as man continued, suddenly proclaiming that the young prince was to be his.

However, Ayre's silence finally broke when he watched his mother struggle and finally get free. "Mother!" He practically screamed. A look of hope fell upon his face, scrambling up to try to reach her, so close, they were so close. However, Ayre had been too slow. He couldn't keep up with the quick movements of the bloodied blade, watching in horror as his mother's movements stopped as she was pierced with the sword, falling limply on the ground, white and green silks turning a horrible shade of scarlet. Ayre's eyes widened, freezing up as he merely watched the life pour out of her. Was he next? Was the rest of his family next? Or was he too late? Had they already taken them away and murdered them? All this sorrow, this despair, it was so much for the young Fae to bare. He meekly crawled over to where his mother lay, gripping her blood soaked dress, like a child tugging on it's mother's hand for attention. Ayre was still silent, even as those tears finally spilled, he did not scream, did not cry and wail, he merely squeezed his eyes shut as if bracing himself to meet the same fate as his mother.
 
That seemed to snap the silent prince as he witnessed the murder of his mother. The way that soft, sweet tone screamed in hope only to have it crushed right before him gave Ninimdir such satisfaction as he yanked his sword free. More blood sprayed the floor and his armor as her lifeless body collapsed. The Elf King even allowed the prince to crawl his way to his parent, to try and rouse her from her death, as he watched the pitiful display with a sadistic smile. He wiped his sword clean on what little bits of cloth that wasn't soaked in blood on the queen before he sheathed his weapon. There was no need for it now, the prince understood what would be the consequence of any further defiance. A part of him desired to bring back the rest of the family, to slaughter them all before the prince's eyes, to show him utter despair and realization that his world, his life as he knew it, was completely over. Yet the idea of taking the precious prince away from the king and his children, not knowing what horrors would await the prince was even more alluring to the Elf King as he reached down and grabbed the Fae prince by his hair and yanked him from his mother's corpse.

"Enough. No matter how you sob and pray, she will not return to you. Just be glad I do not have the rest of your family meet the same fate. Though," Ninimdir smirked as he knelt down and caressed the pale, tear-streaked cheek, "that can always change depending on your cooperation." That brief soft touch was gone just as quickly as it happened as the king rose, barking an order at his captain to cuff and chain the prince, to bring him out to his horse for him. There was a grand sweep of his cape as he turned, leaving the palace and the acrid scent of blood and death behind. Outside awaiting among the corpses and destroyed homes stood a large dapple stallion, silvery mane twisted into braids, and done up in rich ivory's and gold. A muscular and fast mount that Ninimdir swung himself upon before allowing the Fae prince to be set before him, enclosed by his arms that held the reins. With barely a look at the devastation he had caused, the king circled his mount and rode from the fallen kingdom. The few survivors were left with the grief, horror, and uncertainty of their future. Would Gavaria return and finish them off? Or would him taking his prize, marrying himself to the Fae Prince, keep them safe? It was an unknown they'd have to accept for now as they watched with fear and sadness as their precious prince was whisked away from his only home.
 
Ayre had clung to his parent in a pathetic attempt to bring them back, to help his mother. He didn’t care how much the crimson blood soaked his own silk robe, how it bloodied his hands as he desperately shook at her side. But nothing. Her eyes did not blink, her lips did not draw breath, her body did not move. The prince was left to deal with the fact his mother was gone from the world, that was left alone with the monster who had taken him from him. He didn't weep out of fear, but more due to an aching sadness for the loss of his own kind and his mother. The Fae were already such a rare race, now they had been wiped out, only a small handful of survivors. He shakily pulled away from his mother, no matter how much his craved her embrace and her kind words, lies even, of how everything was going to be alright.

Ayre tore his eyes away from his lost parent, looking back at the man, sniffling as his thumb carressed his soaked cheek. “Please…Don’t kill them. I promise to be your bride, but spare the rest of my people.” Was all Ayre whispered before he grew quiet again. He didn’t even seem to struggle as the captain approached him, quickly cuffing and restraining the Fae. But what was he supposed to do? He was hardly gifted physically, and he didn’t even know how to wield a weapon. A pit of shame fell upon him at how utterly helpless Ayre really was. Even as he was sat on the King’s horse, his arms around him as he gripped at the reins, his eyes trailed down to his sheathed sword- the same blade that had robbed him of his mother, of his people, of his home.
 
"You beg so prettily." Ninimdir had said, eyes twinkling with the vision of breaking this poor, pretty soul. To marry one of the Fae's would raise his status, but to also marry one of the rare male's would increase it tenfold. Rumor had spread even to his kingdom that most of the Fae male's were born with a womb to be able to bare children as their female counterparts did. The story had intrigued him and had been one of the few reasons he had even made this march. Now this prince was his and he sat behind him upon his mount with a look of smug pride on his regal face as they made the same march back to Gavaria. Having a warrior's keen sense and simply being distrustful, he almost felt the prince look to his sword. He could imagine just what the other was thinking and moved the reins into his left hand while his right slipped around the waist of the Fae, gliding up his chest to his neck, forcing his head to tilt back as he smirked devilishly down at him. "I dare you to make an attempt, little one. I don't need your hands. Just this."

Ninimdir's hand moved to rest on top of the prince's flat stomach, a dark chuckle escaping his lips at he let the point set in. There was nowhere in this situation the Fae would win here. The Elven King wished to crush that spirit completely as he took away an options of fighting, letting him know how pointless it would be. It would be intriguing to see if this prince would remain silent through it all or if he would finally break and find his voice. When and if that happened, the King would have even more fun toying with him. The scenery passed them by quickly, the army of Elves making very few stops as they marched home. They briefly stopped for the night in an old glen, tents set up for slumber, before they returned to their march the moment dawn came. By midmorning, they were riding into Gavaria. The woods were not as bright and full of life like Khetis had been. Instead the trees were old and gnarled looking, the leaves dark and lifeless, almost as if the woods had been just as poisoned as the heart of the king.

A winding path led them through the woods, passing few small Elvish hamlets along the way. The Elves working outside their homes paused to watch the march, their faces expressionless and closed off as they watched the procession. Their sharp eyes zoned in on the small figure before their king, but no moves were made as they were passed by. Soon the path broke into a bridge over a deep ravine and leading up the gnarled, earthen stairs into the gated and large city where it had been built from the base of the mountain and up its steep slope. Ninimdir's castle was built into the mountain, one of the many reasons he and his people were in constant war with the dwarfs, and Ninimdir rode into the courtyard without preamble, dropping the Fae prince to the ground before he hopped down beside him. "Bring my bride to be to his chambers, wash him, put him in something less garrish, and....," he paused to sneer down at his prisoner, "..make sure he is untainted." His soldiers understood the meaning as their king stormed away to take care of his own matters.
 
Ayre tensed up as his head was lifted him, staring back into the man's eyes, the man who had taken his kingdom, whose name he did not even know. Hearing that taunting voice frightened him even more, the other had known what he was planning from just a quick glance. And to think Ayre had been so careful, so sneaky, but even that wasn't enough to outsmart the Elven King. The young prince let his head fall back down once the other finally moved his hand, gliding across his stomach and chuckling so...darkly. It seemed to snap in his head at that moment why he was still drawing breath. He wasn't just going to be some bride, or some war trophy to later be killed, it seemed the other was going to make sure his suffering was much more permanent it seemed.

During the whole journey, the prince had been quiet, though did his best to go against the King. He wasn't physically gifted, so a fight was out of the question. Instead, he had went with more more docile acts of protest. Not speaking, eating or even sleeping. He refused to, besides sleep would only leave him more open to whatever twisted assault the other had planned. Luckily for Ayre, the trip from his home country to this foreign kingdom had been rather short. Though, could anyone say that anything in his situation was lucky? Now that he was at this new land, it had solidified in Ayre's mind that the joys and safety of Khetis were gone. No sweet tune of morning birds, gentle flows of water, grand trees and wildlife. Not too mention how out of place he looked. The King was so regal and dignified, even his clothes after war looked neat, compared to the fae. Ayre and his people always wore more free styles, with long silks that whipped in the wind, bright colours and robes with their sigils embroidered on the hem. Perhaps his clothes were that one reminder of his home, and so he reached down, clinging to the front of his clothes and keeping his head low.

It wasn't until Ayre was practically shoved from the horse - hitting the dirt with a groan - did he get a chance to look around, glaring at the tall palaces and buildings carved into the mountain. He slowly stood, trying to wipe the dirt from his white and blue robes and silks. In all honesty, Ayre still felt so delirious, keeping that doe looked in his eyes as he seemed to zone out for a second, suddenly interrupted by his captor's voice. His clothes? No, he wanted to keep them. Wanted to keep that part of him, even if he was elsewhere now. Being dragged off, Ayre's voice suddenly came to him, kicking and squirming as he was dragged to his new chambers, begging at the maids who tended to him to leave him be. But not even the golden beads and jewels that braided in his hair remained when the maids decided his was good enough, left crying as he looked back at himself in that vanity mirror. His blue, once braided hair, fell long just past his shoulders, kept in slight waves. His former jewellery was removed rather quickly, any clothes that contained his family's mark removed, shoved into clothes that Ayre did not recognise nor enjoy. Truly, he was left alone, not even his own culture's left to comfort the lone prince
 
Ninimdir paused and witnessed his new bride-to-be finally fight back and looked amused as he was dragged away by unfazed servants, knowing they would get the job done. They knew full well what would happen if they did not meet his orders exactly as he gave them and he strode away with the faint echoes of the Fae's voice to his own chambers. There, with the help of his captain, stripped out of his armor and his bloodied robes, stepping into the golden tub that had been prepared for him. As he washed, they spoke of the state of affairs, the wedding to be planned, and complaints and cries of help from his people. It left him in a slightly more foul mood after his bath, unabashed in his nudity as he stepped out of the tub to dry and allow his captain to help him into his royal garb. Then the gold, pointed crown was placed upon his head and he looked even more the part of king rather than warrior as he left his chambers with a deep frown upon his face. Servants were milling around, keeping their head down and eyes averted as their monarch passed, knowing how unstable his moods were. "I want the Fae prince brought to me in the throne room. Oh, and learn of his name."

His Captain bowed at the order and left him to fulfill his new task while the king entered the chamber where his throne set upon a stony dais. His crested flags hung behind his throne, set aglow by the flickering lights of the many headed candles. The chamber was mostly barren except for a few statues and benches, making it feel cold and unwelcoming, just how Ninimdir wanted it. Gracefully, he sat himself upon the throne and clasped his hands underneath his chin as he watched with a cool expression as his first visitor approached. As much as he wished to avoid the menial task of dealing with the constant complaints of his citizens, it was his duty and he allowed the elf to speak his peace before rolling his eyes and telling him he'd have his issue handled. Whether it be how the elf desired it was left to be seen. The elf bowed and stepped away to let the next one come forth to speak, meanwhile the captain had returned with his captive in tow and Ninimdir stared at the Fae intensely.

"That is more suitable." The Elf King smirked as he gestured with his hand to the floor before his throne. "Kneel." He ordered, waiting for the prince to disobey so he could lash out. This whole business with dealing with the affairs of state made him irritable and he just wanted an excuse to hit someone. The prince would be perfect as a symbol and example before his people. When the prince followed his instructions, he pursed his lips and held out his ring-bedecked fingers and gave him an expectant look. "Did your parents not teach you the proper respects one offers a king? Or are you simply dimwitted?" He curled a brow in a derogatory way, lips curled in a sneer as he tapped the fingers on his other hand upon his armrest.
 
Ayre had jumped when the door flung open, and in burst a man clad in heavy armour. He had remained silent, even as the man - presumably some sort of solider - barked an order at him, to which the former prince merely looked blankly up at him. His silence was broken by a sudden back hand being brought across his cheek, to which he cried out, clutching where the other had struck him and repeated his words from before. "Prince Loraphine." The fae murmured before correcting himself, he was no prince any more. "My name is Ayre Loraphine." Seemingly satisfied, the solider or guard Ayre could not tell, practically yanked him from his chair, a firm grip on his arm as he was dragged through the cold, stone hallways until they reached a set of grand doors that were pushed open and just like before the man stomped in. Ayre went limp again, eyes darting in every direction as he tried to take in the vast and foreboding throne room. Statues looming over him, staring down as he was pulled along, members of the royal court who had gathered either looked at him with distaste or not at all.

Being brought before the King, he was dropped down on that stone floor as the man joined a line of guards posted around the throne. Ayre slowly rose to his feet, though his eyes lingered on the floor, he dare not meet the man's gaze. His words, his eyes, his attitude felt like a vile poison to the Fae, seeking only to hurt and break him. Ayre knew survival was key, however, he could not subject himself to this...monster's twisted desired, not for the rest of his life. He only looked up when he spoke, voice only made louder by the eerie silence. A frightened look made its way to the fae's face, before slowly getting onto his knees, looking back at the King as if expecting a beating similar to before. However, as he reached his hand out it did not bring its way across his face, nor went to grab him, it simply sat there as if waiting for something. Puzzled, Ayre looked back at the ring before up at the King, waiting in silence for a few moments before he noticed that smug look on his face.

Ayre's eyes widened, panicking almost. The other was waiting for him to make a mistake, to mess up. Why else make it so public? Or perhaps he was going to be kind this time? Maybe they could negotiate something for his return? His Kingdom wasn't wealthy, but their land was. The whole thing was so confusing, so frightening for the young prince. He simply couldn't keep up with the elf and his games - if he was even doing anything at all. He had been taken from his home, his people slaughtered, and now expected the wed the man who had done it. It was some sort of sick joke, that was what his life had become. A tear made its way down his red cheek, as he simply whispered "I want to go home.."
 
What little hope the king had in his captive to understand the gesture diminished immediately upon seeing the puzzled expression. A heavy, peeved sigh left his lips as he looked coldly down upon his kneeling bride-to-be. Irritation crept under his skin, shining in his eyes, and hearing the whispered plea was enough to snap that thin string that kept his hand in place. His ring-bedecked hand swung, backhanding the prince across the same reddened cheek, ring scraping against smooth flesh as Ninimdir snarled. "You have no home to go back to! Your father would be a fool if he tried to resurrect his fallen kingdom and if he does, I'll crush it again and leave none to be spared!" His voice dripped with malice, his eyes were as hard as stone and as frigid as ice, as he stared down his nose at the poor excuse for a prince. Had he not been beautiful and ripe, Ninimdir would not even bother with such a soul, but he was the perfect toy for his own twisted desires and purposes. He would be able to provide him with what he needed, in more ways than one.

"You are supposed to kiss the ring, to show your respect for your king and master." Ninimdir finally explained as he shoved the ring back in the Fae's face. His eyes narrowed to slits, just waiting for the other to defy him again so that he might humiliate him even further in front of their small audience. When the kneeling prince seemed to finally understand what was expected of him, he scoffed and pulled his hand away as he indicated for the next subject to step forward. For a couple hours, he sat there addressing issues brought to him, all while making Ayre kneel upon the hard surface, afraid and uncertain of when he might be struck next or worse. Already snide whispers were being spread among the Elves, all watching the Fae prince with condescending, vile looks, as if they quite enjoyed the plight the other was in. When the business at hand was finished, Ninimdir heaved a heavy sigh as he rose stiffly from his chair. "Enough of this folly. Have dinner prepared while I have a discussion with our dear prince."

At the dismissal, those present in the throne room bowed and departed. Ninimdir watched them leave before he heaved Ayre to his feet and guided him down to his own chambers, entering the antechamber that was like a sitting area before his actual bedroom. He poured himself a glass of dark red wine before he sat upon a chais and gazed at the Fae. "By the end of this week, you will be a Talelenryl, my bride. Your duty to me will be to listen, to serve, and to obey. You will bear my children, producing me heirs. You will forget all your ties to your past, you will devote yourself to me body and soul. You should feel honored that you were even chosen as my bride. Why don't you show me how honored you are?" He smirked as he swished the liquid around in his goblet before taking a long sip, painting his lips red briefly before he licked the wine away.
 
Ayre's cry echoed in the silent throne room as he was hit yet again, falling slightly even further against the cold floor. He clutched his cheek just as he had before, though this time it bled, a dark crimson trickling from a small cut made upon his cheek. He looked up at the man, tears welling up as he listened to him. Yes he did! He had a home, Khetis was his home, not here, not with him, not with anyone else. Ayre merely longed to see the familiar nature and people of his Kingdom, the bird's call, his people's chatter, the city he knew to be bustling with life. A contrast to here, so threatening and silent. He got back up onto his knees, his hand lowering, damp from where his tears had fallen. Slowly but surely, he regained his composure, sucking in a breath shakily before pressing his lips to the ring in a kiss, pulling back and glancing upwards in hope it would suffice before letting his head fall again. He could not face the humiliation of another cruel beating, nor could he face the anger and resentment in the elves' eyes. But what had he done to them? What did any of the fae do? Ayre hadn't even been taught of the outside world, Khetis did not concern itself with the affairs of other countries in order to maintain its neutrality, they had seen no wars or hoard any goods, in fact they were rather generous traders if they needed outside resources. So, why did these people have such hateful looks towards him?

Spending the hours kneeling made his knees ache, and with having not ate or slept in the past twenty four hours it was only made harder. He had not even realised he was being taken away until he felt the hard pressure on his knees suddenly be relieved. Ayre allowed himself to be dragged off, only really coming to when they stopped and he was let go of. The fae remained silent as the King spoke, that pit of sadness and sick realisation growing inside of him. "I am not honoured though. I will bear you no children, if I must I would cut out my own womb before I allowed that to happen." He said, the first words he had ever said directly too his 'soon to be husband', though it seemed that as he realised what he had said did his face grow pale. It had been an accident, something that had just slipped out. Truth be told, Ayre had remained silent most of the time because well...Fae could not lie. Twist the truth perhaps, but they were incapable of lying. And so, Ayre had simply blurted out the first thing that had come to his mind, letting his feelings spill.
 
It seemed this prince wasn't entirely without a spine, though how wise it was to dispute the king was a different matter. The response caused Ninimdir to sit there frozen, but not in shock, but simply to fix the Fae with the hardest expression he could muster. What little restraint he had in him kept him from crushing the goblet in his grip as he instead lowered it slowly to the ornate table before him and rose from his seat. It seemed that being slapped around thus far had not made Ayre aware of the situation he was and how he had no choice in the matter. The veiled threat sent Ninimdir's blood boiling as he strode around the table to approach the pale and stiff figure as Ayre realized his mistake. "Well all the more reason to keep you under constant supervision until you learn your place. I do not take kindly to threats to my family, even if they do not exist as of yet." He growled and had he not had plans for the Fae before him, he would have lopped his head off for his insolent tongue. Instead, he just reached out to roughly grab the loose blue hair, twisting the locks in his fingers as he yanked Ayre's head back and pulled him towards him, sneering as he leaned down to capture his lips in a forced kiss. The action was dominating, harsh, no sense of intimacy or care in the act, just an act to prove who this now kingdom-less prince belonged to.

"You know, you could make this easier on yourself if you simply accept and submit. It doesn't have to be so awful to be my bride, but if you wish to continue down this trail be prepared for what is to come. I shall have you beaten into submission until you understand that my word is law." Ninimdir spoke against his lips, biting them briefly before pulling away. A light knock upon the door drew his attention and he barked for the person to enter. Seeing it was one of the kitchen staff delivering their meal, Ninimdir gave Ayre a rough shove towards the cart. "Bring the cart over. Feed me as a proper wife should." He sneered as he lowered himself back onto the chaise, arms folded over his chest as he waited impatiently.
 
The Fae watched as he approached, eyes squeezing shut, bracing himself for a harsh hit again only to find he stopped to speak. He listened, eyes filled only with fear. Family? What a joke. Even if he were to bear him children, it wouldn’t be a family, it would never be anything close to the life he lived in Khetis. He felt a sudden sadness wash over him, his mind going back to his former home. He missed it, his family…his mother. Ayre wasn’t even given time to try to get those thoughts out of head, as before he knew it his hair was being pulled on and the other had pressed his lips against his in a forceful kiss. His hands scrambled to try to push him off, but he was no match against the King physically. He was forced to endure it until the man pulled off of him, continuing to speak, to which the Fae had to hold in a scoff. It could be good to be his bride? How foolish. He had taken him and killed his fellow fae, demanding he give him heirs and marry him, yet he did not even know his name.

Luckily, they were interrupted by the food arriving, watching nervously as the King walked off and took a seat, not before having shoved the Fae at the cart of food. Once again, he had that same dumbfounded look upon his face. Feed him? What kind of damn request was that? No doubt merely trying to further demonstrate the power imbalance between the pair. Reluctantly, he pushed the cart closer, murmuring “We are not wed, I am not a wife yet.” He set the plate down on the table, along with a knife and fork, and having decided it was substantial enough he drew away and mumbled again “I would like to go back to my chambers now.”
 
"No, but you will be soon and you need to learn to act like one." Ninimdir pointed out coldly as he watched the Fae set his dish and utensils down before him and stepped away. There was no action to kneel and feed him his meal piece by piece as he had ordered and the meek request to return to his chambers nearly had the king snapping. His fingers twitched and the muscle in his cheek spasmed as he reigned in on the rage coiling through his system just ready to snap any second. The fury in his gaze betrayed the stiff features of his face as he zeroed his gaze upon the Fae before him. Every part of him sang to unleash painful punishment upon the other and though he very much wanted to follow through, never fearing to deal it out, he decided on another way to give it out. "I suppose that is fair." Though the twist of his lips showed that he was far from understanding of the other's plight. "Fine. So be it." He called out to drawn in a guard he knew was waiting without his chambers. There was always at least two that stood guard, rotating through the night, so that their king was always protected and he waited until the armored Elf entered his antechamber to give out his order.

"He would like to go back to his chamber now." Ninimdir smirked as he leaned against the armrest, leaning his cheek against his fist as he waved his free hand. "Take him, would you? But...I want him chained to his bed. No provisions. Let him starve until he thinks better of defying me and set a guard in his room. We'll see where he'll feel more comfortable in the morning." The guard bowed and reached for Ayre's arm, dragging him from the king's chamber back to the room that had been set up for him. It was only a few rooms away from the king's and the guard had instructed a passing servant to bring him the necessary chains as he guided Ayre into his room. "You're disobedience will only make things worse. Sit upon your mattress and straighten out your legs." The guard ordered as he took the metal cuffs with the chains linked to them from the servant that had returned and approached the captive. "You are only fighting the inevitable. But keep fighting, it is more amusing to us to see you humiliated." The Elf snickered as he took each ankle and locked them in each cuff which he chained to the posts to keep Ayre from getting very far.
 
Ayre swore he could of heard his heart stop when the Elf turned his head, that rage filled glare meeting his own timid glance. He knew from the simply look that he had messed up all ready, yet again. The Fae took a step back, watching like a scared rabbit cornered by a predator jittery eyes trying to keep up with it's movements, Ayre nearly squeezed his eyes shut just as he had in the throne room, bracing himself for another beating. Was that what his life was going to become? Walking on eggshells, always preparing for a punishment every time he screwed up? Ayre wasn't sure if he could take it, what with his body already aching from the slap and hits from both the guard and his soon to be husband. However, that breath he had been holding was released in a relieved sigh when no harsh hit came, instead, a moment of understanding. Or so he thought.

He turned to leave, only to be grabbed by another man clad in Elven armour, before the order was given. Chained up? Left to starve? His heart sank, and he quickly put up his struggle. The former prince thrashed and kicked, looking back at the King expecting him to stop, it had just been a threat to get him to do as he asked right, he would be released soon enough. Foolish thinking, it truly was. And so, even though Ayre begged and pleaded with both the guard and the other, it fell on deaf ears as he was dragged back to his own room. The words from the other Elf only felt like salt being rubbed into his wounds however, stinging poison seeping into him, as both his 'fiancé's' cruel beatings and his words were competing to see who could break the fae first, would his mind shatter first or would his body? Only time could tell. Ayre did as he was told without question, far too frightened of being hit to disobey. Though he did shiver as the cold metal wrapped around his ankles, tugging slightly; nothing, as expected. The Fae had contemplated staying up until the guard's left his bedroom door, but he could not fight off the inviting arms of a deep slumber. How warm and comfortable his bed was. The tired prince laid his battered body against the soft sheets, his eyes growing heavy. Sleep came surprising quickly he found, drifting off, only the sounds of his shaky breath disturbing the dark and silent room.

But when morning came, the young prince was awoken not to the usual sounds of birds chirping or the gentle flow of streams, but to the grunts of men and the clashing of metal. Curiously, he leaned his head up as far as it could go, noticing a few guards training just down below. Perfect, he would be waking up to that for the rest of his days. Though, another thought entered Ayre's head then. If the guards were training down below, then who exactly was stood at his door? Was he alone? Was this his chance? Wasting little time, Ayre sat himself up, throwing the covers off his body. Grabbing the metal in his hands, he began furiously pulling at it, perhaps he could break the wood from the bed? Or at least weaken the chains? Then, well...Khetis would be waiting for him.
 
Ninimdir went to bed the night before without guilt or stress, knowing his guard would be sufficient in making sure their 'guest' was secured for the night. It would be a difficult few days until the wedding for Ayre to come around and understand his place, but the king believed he would come to see the beauty of submitting to him. How simple his life could be, much more fulfilling as he produced him heirs and lived in his grand castle attended to by his loyal servants. Sure, Gavaria may not be the beauty it was centuries ago and may not compare to the natural and bright beauty of Khetis, but he would learn to accept Gavaria as his home and the people as his own. If he didn't, he would just have to be miserable. Ninimdir was king and it wasn't his duty to make his queen happy. It was his duty to make sure he was provided for with what he needed and what the kingdom needed.

As the sun rose so did the king. He bathed in his marble tub, soaking in the scented water, before he dried and dressed in his regal attire and slipped from his chambers. He called upon his lead advisor, letting the elf catch him up as they headed towards the main hall where he would break his fast. After the adviser had gone over half of his list, Ninimdir made him pause as he ordered a guard to bring his fiance to him. Perhaps the night chained to his bed had taught him some humiliation and he would be more keen to obey him. Then he focused his attention back on the problems at hand while he nibbled on some fruits while the full course was still being prepared. Time ticked by and the king was getting impatient when the guard didn't return right away with Ayre, a deep frown marring his face. "What is taking them so long?" He muttered, tapping his fingers upon the table.

A while later, the doors shoved open as a couple guards dragging in a fighting, flushed Fae, both scowling deeply. "Sorry for the delay, your Majesty. The prince tried to escape when we unlocked the chains." They didn't want to admit just how far the Fae had actually gotten once set free, knowing the whipping they would have to endure if they did. They just hoped the Fae remained quiet about it as they shoved him towards the king. Ninimdir looked even more displeased at the news, eyes narrowing, "Is that the racket I heard before? Can't handle a simple guest as small and minute as this?" He rolled his eyes as he reached out to grab Ayre's wrist, yanking him forward to be at his side. "I had thought we'd share a nice meal together, but I'm beginning to wonder if you've earned it. Where did you think you were going to go?"
 
Ayre had been struggling and pulling at the chains when a guard walked in, instantly dropping the chains and sitting there, frozen like a deer caught in headlights he dared not move. The prince let the men grab his ankles and free him from the heavy metal, and in that brief moment they released him, Ayre made a run for it. He sprung up with a new sense of determination not for revenge but to leave, to escape from such a cruel King. He dashed out of the room, running past servants with a confused, shocked look as the guards ran after the fae. His legs ached, but he did not care, he ran like if he was caught he would be killed - which was very much a possibility - sprinting down the long and twisting hallways until...a dead end stood in his way. The fae turned hastily down a corridor, only to be met with a stone wall, standing and almost taunting the prince and his feeble escape attempt. Backing up against the cold wall, Ayre made a pathetic attempt to get the guards away, arms flailing, legs kicking, voice straining in a shrill cry. But it was useless, the men clad in armour walked over, restraining the fae and dragging him away, Ayre lay limp, eyes widened in fear of being punished, or worse killed, no murdered like his mother and his people.

He had begun fighting again when they snapped at him, threatening what their King would do, recounting the excruciatingly painful tales of their own punishments when they defied the elf. His struggling had only gotten worse, yelling, squirming in attempts to get free. Even as he was yanked along into the grand hall, his wails of wanting to be freed did not silence, only increasing his volume. Once they stopped, Ayre looked back up at the King sat in front of him, sniffling and pulling a hand free to wipe the tears from his eyes. Reluctantly, the young fae stood at the elf's side. "I don't want to eat with you. I want to go home." Ayre repeated like a broken record. He knew he could not love this place as he loved and longed for the oasis of Khetis, could never love the King who had taken him from them, and not the children the other so desperately wanted.

An anger boiled up in Ayre as he glared back at Ninimdr, eyes only breaking away to look at the hand gripped so tightly around his wrist. He wanted to leave, he hated the King, he missed his family. Those thoughts replayed on loop, over and over again until the fae could not handle it. In one swift strike, he brought his hand across the King's face in a harsh slap, just as he had only a few hours before in the throne room. "Let me go home! I am not your bride or your queen." His voice roared, louder than he had ever before, a fury unlike one he had ever felt erupting within him
 
The Elven King was getting tired already of the same drivel spilling from the Fae's lips. It almost made him feel his new bride-to-be was a bit dimwitted if he couldn't realize that he wouldn't get what he wanted. A deep sigh escaped his lips, exhaling the very little patience tying Ninimdir to his spot. "Your desires mean little to me so sit and serve or sit and starve." He stated coldly, not expecting the frail creature to finally have had enough and respond. The sharp slap across his face made his face turn, cheek throbbing from the hit. It seemed to echo around the room that suddenly went cold and quiet, all bodies present frozen in shock and horror at what they had just witnessed. The prince's voice was even louder then and soon one of the guard's whispered, "You are just screwed up royally." He mocked as he took a knowing step back as Ninimdir rose sharply from his chair, knocking it backwards until it clashed to the floor. His eyes were blazing with fury as he finally turned them upon the Fae that had dared laid his hand in insolence against him. "Bring the whip."

The guard bowed and hurried off while Ninimdir grabbed Ayre by his arms, his grip vice-like and bruising as he lifted him off the floor, bringing their faces close together. "A little too late to find your spirit, princeling!" He snarled, body shaking with the rage burning within as if he wanted to squeeze the very life from the small creature in his grasp. Instead, he whipped the other around and slammed him down on the table. He didn't care if the action sent plates and dishes of food scattering, spraying the poor soul laid out upon it. The breaking of porcelain made servants jump and scurry back, but too afraid to leave as they watched their king shoved up Ayre's tunic to reveal his back and then yank his leggings down to reveal his backside while he ordered a guard to grasp the prince's wrists out before him and make sure he didn't try to squirm away from his punishment.

"You asked for this. You thought you knew pain before, but now you'll truly understand the taste of it." Ninimdir snarled as the one guard returned with his leather whip, the edges slightly jagged and raised to bring extra pain. He ran his hand over the familiar and well used leather, noting the nicks and stains of blood of his past victims still marred into it. He smirked at the delicious weight of it his grasp as he gave a sharp snap of the whip in the air, letting it startle his soon-to-be queen. Without warning or giving the small Fae time to prepare, he brought the whip down harshly across his back, watching with delight how the small frame jolted from the strike. It brought a thick, red stripe to the flesh and he followed the blow with the second on the same spot, drawing blood this time and knowing a third blood would deeply bruise it. After the third, the fourth hit in the opposite direction and continued to hit different spots to keep the prince guessing until he laid at least twelve hits upon the poor, beaten back. "Is this what you prefer? To be beat by my hand rather than be at my side and serve me peacefully?
 
Ayre could only remember the fear, the realisation settling in as the guard leant down to mock the young prince, his shaky hands lowering from Ninimdir’s reddened cheek. That sick feeling of terror only rooted it’s way in deeper when he heard the elf finally speak, his voice come and cruel, with little to no sympathy for the Fae’s action, only a harsh punishment in the form of a whipping. Hearing this, Ayre’s heart dropped, not even being given a chance to attempt to run before Ninimdir had grabbed him, his hands unyielding, squeezing time as he closed the space between them, forcing the fae to look back at the fury in the King’s eyes. He went to find his voice to speak, but a cry only left, his eyes filling with tears when he heard footsteps again, no doubt the servant back with said whip.

It seemed no matter how many times Ayre screamed, cried and apologised, the elf was set on his punishment. The fae hit the table with a groan, hands flailing to grab something to throw, hit or hold onto to try to deal with the impact of the blows. But nothing. His dirtied clothes were removed, leaving the prince humiliated in front of the elves. Not that he cared, he didn’t want the opinions of people who hated him for nothing, what kind of people were they? The first crack of the whip came unexpectedly, the sound of skin being torn and smacked again echoing throughout the silent dining room, all except the cries and pleads of the soon-to-be-queen. Ayre braced himself for another hit, and another, and another, until finally it seemed to stop. His pale skin held angry, deep red cuts all along his back, blood practically pouring from his wounds, only making things worse. It stung, to put it simply, as if just moving made things ache so much more. The prince had stopped begging for forgiveness after the sixth hit, he knew it was no use, Ninimdir wouldn’t dare spare a chance to make an example of the fae. That didn’t mean his crying stopped, the sounds of sobs and sniffling filling the grand hall.

By the time it was over, Ayre was exhausted. Weakly, he sat himself up, wincing and sniffling as a sudden pain rushed up his back. Embarrassed and in pain, Ayre gathered up his ruined clothing, at least just to cover himself up. Slipping back into the tunic and leggings, whispering “I don’t want to serve you, I don’t…” He paused “I don’t want to be at your side, or your queen, or to be here. I want to go home, I want to see my family. I miss them, I miss my mother too.”
 
The whipping didn't seem to be enough to break the Fae of his desire for his home and family, to teach him the lesson he needed. Ninimdir grit his teeth at the continued whining as he stepped into the smaller male's space, forcing him back against the edge of the table. The king made sure to pressure him in, to make his wounds hurt more as he was forced to lean back into the table as he slammed his hands down on it on either side of the prince. "Your sniveling is quite pathetic already. Did you not grow from your mother's teat yet?" He snarled as he grabbed his chin roughly, pinching in so his nails dug in as he glared into the Fae's eyes, into his soul. The other could feel the way his hand shook, holding back that part of himself that just wished to snap the prince's neck and be done with him. Alas what this pathetic creature had to offer him and his future withheld him from following his murderous rage. As he glared down into Ayre's eyes, a wicked idea came to his mind and his lips slowly curled into a wicked smile. "You want your mother, yes? Well....."

Ninimdir pulled back and straightened, the cruel grin on his face spreading as he spoke aloud. "You heard your future queen. He misses his mother. Why don't you go and retrieve her?" Her lifeless body could keep the prince company, a firm reminder that he would not have what he once had back. He would not see his family again. He would never feel the love of his mother once more. Instead he could stare at her lifeless corpse, her soulless eyes, and accept his fate. Ninimdir would give him what he wanted, even if it wasn't exactly how he wished it. A dark chuckle left his lips as he reached down to cup Ayre's cheek, "Be careful what you wish for," he purred before he growled and threw the other down to the floor harshly, eyes flashing in malice once more. "Now clean up this mess. Every last shard of glass, every last bit of wasted food, I want cleaned. And while you are down there, you need to clean and polish my boots that you soiled with your disgrace!" He snapped as he sat down once more, folding one leg over the other and watching as he indicated the servants to hold back. "You might as have some of the food too, it was your breakfast. You want to act like a slob, you can eat like one."
 
The fae could feel the marks forming on his face when Ninimdir grabbed him, cruel and unforgiving hands gripping his chin. He didn’t care how pathetic or childish he sounded, begging for his family and to go home, it was all he wanted. He craved the sweet whispers of his mother telling him how beautiful and wonderful their land was, and how in those gates they would be safe. It had been a lie of course, or rather some twisted truth. The fae had believed for centuries the golden gates of Khetis would never be broken, no war or famine or violence would burden their garden of Eden. Until the elves decided a life with peace was far too worthy of the fae. Ayre looked back into the King’s eyes, cowering under his glare. That was until he spoke again, that small sentence giving him that glimmer of hope. His naive personality tricking him yet again. He was going back home? Ayre had been fooled yet again as Ninimdir continued, the frightened fae looking back to the other.

Taking a few moments for everything to set up, Ayre’s eyes widened, his tears fell again before he shoved back on the floor. The prince crawled over rather pathetically, clutching onto his future Husband, pleading, screaming, begging. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please, I won’t ask again! I’ll be quiet! I’ll marry you, give you heirs, anything! No, no more beatings please. I-I’ll be quiet, won’t ever argue! Just stop!” He was reaching now, he had hardly been here a day and the poor fae’s mind was already starting to crack. If giving the elf children would mean he would be less cruel to him, so be it, Ayre would give him anything he wanted if it meant the punishments, the beatings and the cruelty would stop. He practically clawed at Ninimdir, his begs for forgiveness becoming even more desperate as time went on, only to be shut up again with a leg rested on his bruised back. The fae winced, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he let his sobs turn to quiet cries, and slowly to mere sniffles as he began to clean. Ayre had never felt so…shamed in his life, dressed in filthy foreign clothing, picking up food and filth from the floor. Even when that was done, his humiliation was not over. Grabbing a somewhat full cup of water, seeing as it had been knocked over in a fit of rage before, and a slightly less dirty part of his shirt, he began cleaning his King’s boots, though it was a sad attempt.

Slowly slipping out from Ninimdir’s leg, not wanting to hit his bloodied back again, he carefully and meekly rose to his feet. His tears had stopped, leaving only his damp, red cheeks as a sign he had been sobbing. “May I,” He began, voice hoarse for a moment before clearing his throat “May I please get changed? My clothes are dirty and I,” Another pause as he took in a shaky breath “I want to dress appropriately as my King’s…future wife.”
 
Ninimdir fell silent as he stared at the mess at his feet, clinging to his legs and pleading with him, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. Though it was hard to believe he actually meant it with recent actions. "Hm, that is what I wanted this whole time. You were the one who made it difficult for yourself. But how can I believe that you mean it now?" He spoke, a false sadness in his voice as he sat down and watched the fae clean the mess. The humiliation and horror on Ayre's face was satisfying and he was pleased, if only temporary, that the other had finally got the hint. Perhaps the threat of gazing upon his dead mother the rest of his life had been enough and he rested his chin upon his fist as he smirked at the way Ayre attempted to clean his boot. It certainly didn't get all the smudges clean, but the fact the other was complying to the order seemed to be enough for now.

The Elf King let Ayre rise to his feet, not sensing anymore fight within the youth, instead acceptance and he cocked his head as the prince spoke his request meekly. It made the King quirk a brow before he smiled and lifted a hand to wipe away the streaks of tears. "Yes, you may." How long this obedience would last would remain to be seen, but he was pleased with this little progress. The Fae prince had handled his punishment better than even some of his men so a little bit of a reward for his behavior was necessary. After all, it would only make the process of winning his full compliance easier if he realized that if he followed his orders, he'd earn favor rather than cruelty. Surprisingly gently, he pulled the Fae to his lap, tilted his face up, and kissed his lips, tasting the saltiness of his tears upon his lips. "I'll even allow you time to wash and place salve upon those wounds. Let them be a reminder, but also know that you handled your punishment well. Now go, I'll have a guard bring you to me when you are done."

Ninimdir watched Ayre leave before he chuckled to himself and rose to his feet, glaring at the servants next. "Clean this mess up." He ordered before he left the dining hall to attend to other matters. When Ayre was ready, he would meet the king in the gardens. Already Elves were bustling around, preparing the expansive garden for the wedding. It wasn't a garden filled with vibrantly colored flowers, but one filled with thorn and dark blossoms, with marble fountains and statues shaped into the kings of old. A gazebo was set in the middle of the garden, with matching banisters being brought out. With the ceremony just a few days away, the Elves were moving quick to make the preparations and the king watched bemused.
 
Ayre dared not to pull away as the other placed his hand upon his face, carefully wiping the tears from his eyes, the tears he had caused. He did tense up however, as if afraid Ninimdir was going to take that caring hand and bring it along his cheek like so many other times before. To his surprise, no such thing came, instead he was pulled onto the other’s lap, to which he let out a slight gasp. Just as he had previously, the fae did not move when the King kissed him, only pulling away and standing when instructed, despite how his fury and anger for his humiliation raged within him, Ayre kept a calm composure. “Thank you.” He murmured, hurrying off, but his head stayed low; Ayre could not bare the hateful glares of the elves and even servants as he left, how was he supposed to be Queen when those who would soon be his people looked at him with such distaste.

He carried on until he reached his chambers, or rather his cell, that’s what he thought. Trapped, alone and afraid. Looking out to the window brought no enjoyment either, grey, cloudy skies, tall foreboding mountains and guards or soldiers placed everywhere- a symbol of the country’s military power it seemed. Ayre pulled himself away from the window, turning to his bathroom. He ran himself a bath, letting the rather large tub fill up. Though, the fae frowned when he laid his eyes upon the sheer amount of scented oils, soaps, perfumes etc that littered shelves in the bathroom. His parents had always taught him not to buy things that were not necessary, to not overindulge, only to go for the basics. So seeing such…well, fancy things surprised him. However, he hardly turned them down as he climbed into the warm water, it would be a waste not to, and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t nice to relax in such luxuries. Ayre let himself sit for quite a while, as if spending longer getting ready would give him time away from his monster of a fiancé. But Ayre knew he’d inevitably be dragged out, ready or not.

And so, with that exact thought in mind, Ayre climbed out of the warm water to get dressed. He missed his old clothes in all honesty, made with the crest’s of his family name and his country, long and elegant silks adorning his gown-like robe. He sat down in front of his vanity, having slipped into a buttoned up white shirt and trouser-like bottoms. He glared at himself in the reflection, long, curled blue hair hung down. If he could not wear his Fae clothing, then he would wear his hair as he wanted, pathetic he knew but at least it was something. Carefully putting plaits into some parts of his curly locks, Ayre weaved in parts of gold and charms he had found some Elven jewellery, adoring said charms with a few small vine leaves found from the weeds growing around his window. He smiled, at least some sort of familiarity could be found in his appearance, even if he didn’t wear it exactly as he used to. The fae had made some sort of compromise, wearing it how married Fae did back in Khetis, that way if questioned he could merely say he wanted to show he was going to be married soon.

Finally finished, Ayre let the guard escort him out to the gardens, and just like always he had gotten his hopes up. Perhaps he would feel more at home, with vibrant wildlife and flowers, ponds and rivers, sunlight etc. But he was swiftly let down as he looked at the bleak garden, servants running around setting up the wedding. He gulped, watching them was if it was…done already. As if there was no hope of escaping his married fate. Slowly but surely, Ayre made his way to where Ninimdir was, watching the staff work tirelessly. He did not speak as he took a seat, head low and his hands folded neatly on his lap
 
Ninimdir turned at the sound of soft footsteps approaching. The silence remained as he watched Ayre look around his surroundings nervously before taking a seat, head low, and pursed his lips at the sight. At least it could be said that the Fae had indeed changed and had not attempted any escape to incur his wrath, and sought him out as he was ordered. It seemed the lesson in the dining room had been enough to cement in the Fae's mind that the punishment wasn't worth it. The style Ayre's hair was woven into, though, was no natural Elven style and he pursed his lips as he turned away from the hardworking staff to fold his arms over his chest at his fiance. "And what is the meaning of those braids and twigs in your hair? Still trying to hold onto a piece of your home?" He sneered, waiting for the other to break and plead with him once more to let him go, to let him be with his family and people once more. The king did not see the point in wanting to return to a kingdom ravished and destroyed, with barely anything left to rebuild. Even if the Fae were able to rebuild their little haven, it would never be like it was before the invasion.

Shaking his head, the Elven King huffed and moved to stand behind the bench, placing his hands upon slender shoulders as he gazed ahead. "You look upon my realm with distaste and sadness. You only see the darkness and emptiness of it and you judge it." Gavaria was no longer vibrant, its life sucked out of it throughout the wars. It was no surprise that those like Ayre and even the higher, nobler Elves would look upon this realm with rejection. Yet it only made the bitter hatred in Ninimdir's heart stronger every time he saw those who did not know or understand his kingdom judge it so harshly. Him and his people were strong for what they had endured over these past centuries, surviving and thriving despite their lands not as prosperous as others. It was why they charged and conquered, creating trade despite rocky relations with other lords, and why Ninimdir felt that with Ayre as his queen, producing a heir of mixed blood, there might be a chance to return Gavaria to its former glory. "Before you fill your heart with hatred for this land, you should seek out the old scrolls. See what this land has endured before you turn your nose up at it. We haven't had the luxury of hiding and avoiding war like your precious Khetis." He muttered as he twirled a curl of dark locks around his finger, eyes hooded and thoughtful as his other hand lightly slid up and down the prince's throat.
 
Ayre clenched his fists as the Elven king taunted him, making a comment on his hair. He ran a hand through on of the braids with a sigh, mumbling a quiet reply “Appearance is important in my home, it indicates status, feelings, even family names. The colour of beads and charms, even the amount of braids or length of hair can mean something. Many of the fae wear their hair with two braids and white charms if they are engaged. The flowers and leaves are just common styles in Khetis.” The fae explained, keeping his quiet, meek tone. It pained him to talk about his home however, the longing to go back was so strong, he wanted his family and his people, not some man who demanded his hand in marriage.

The prince flinched at the sudden pair of hands placed upon his shoulders, a shaky breath leaving his lips as Ninimdir spoke, looking around the grey garden with a frown. “War is a choice, not an obligation. Khetis always turned down that choice, we could have prospered and become wealthy so many times with war, but we could not and cannot bear such bloodshed. You and your men chose to ride into Khetis, slaughter thousands, tear our home down to the ground and take me only to humiliate and beat me. Worse however, you expect me to be your queen, your wife, mother of your children? I hope this land endures much worse in your life time, so you know how it feels.” Ayre finished, turning his head down, bracing himself for whatever the other would bring at him. The elf’s hand sat lingering upon his throat, he knew his words would only end in more rage, but he could not help himself. Ayre could not lie, could not sit and pretend to praise and sympathise with such a monster of a man.
 
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