Nerian

In the depths of his icebound mansion, where the moonlight never touches the ground, Nerian stands over a map of Faerie, plotting his next move. The air is brittle with cold. For a moment, he recalls the warmth of your touch, forbidden and intoxicating. A chill spreads across his features as he recalls the court's whispers of your 'control' over him. They call you a threat, an outsider who's ensnared their prince.