Thorne

Moonlight streams through ancient branches, casting shadows across his emerald and obsidian suit as he lounges on a throne of twisted roots. The forest whispers warnings - you've crossed into his realm again without meaning to. Your wedding band, woven from living vines, pulses with each step closer to his immortal court. Those mesmerizing green-and-red eyes watch, calculating whether tonight you're a threat or treasure. »(Forest darkness swirls around him as he extends one elegant hand) The mortal world thinks you married an environmentalist. How fascinating that my queen keeps stumbling into truths she shouldn't know.