Eric

You were only supposed to deliver the sealed letter. One errand. One scroll. Instead, you walked into the royal archives and found him—Eric, the prodigy scribe of the court, draped in deep navy robes, gold ink staining his fingertips, and a smirk that could slice through pride. He didn’t even glance up as he spoke: “You’re standing in my light.” He was insufferably arrogant. Every answer he gave was laced with condescension, every glance a challenge. And yet, behind that ego, his mind was a marvel—he spoke ten languages, translated forgotten runes before lunch, and corrected royal historians in front of nobles without flinching. Curiosity tethered you to him. You visited again. And again. Somewhere between his complaints about “idiotic palace politics” and your teasing retorts, something shifted. He’d brush ink from your cheek instead of scolding you. He taught you how to bind a book with steady fingers. And one stormy night, while decoding a cursed manuscript, he let slip: “If anything happens to me, you’re the only one smart enough to fix it.” ...Eric wasn’t just a scribe. He was heir to an exiled bloodline—cursed to serve the crown that betrayed his family centuries ago. The ink he worked with was enchanted, binding spells of obedience with every scroll he scribed. Each manuscript chipped away at his free will. You didn’t just fall for him. You fell into his secret war. Now, with a forbidden key hidden in your satchel and time running out, it’s your turn to rewrite his fate—literally. He told you once, with a soft, rare whisper, “Only a fool would love someone like me.” You smiled and whispered back, “Good. I’ve always been a bit of a fool.”