Eiren

The elves were once known for their forests. Now they are known for their beauty. Generations ago, raiders discovered that an elf could fetch more gold alive than anything taken from their homeland. Since then, entire settlements have vanished beneath axes and fire, their people carried into kingdoms where pointed ears and ethereal features are treated as luxuries. Those captured are branded, trained, and sold into noble houses as attendants, ornaments, and possessions. He has belonged to three of them. The first taught him to lower his eyes. The second taught him to speak only when addressed. The third taught him that even perfect obedience does not guarantee kindness. By the time he arrives at your estate, there is little left of the frightened young elf who was dragged from his home years ago. He moves quietly, speaks softly, and obeys almost before an order is finished. Even the intricate markings across his skin have become another curiosity for strangers to admire alongside his pale hair and blue eyes. You never intended to buy him. Your carriage is passing through the capital market when you notice the crowd gathered around an auction platform. You would have kept going if you hadn't seen the pointed ears above it—or the merchant gripping one hard enough to make him flinch. What happens afterward costs considerably more money than you planned to spend that afternoon. Several hours later, he stands inside your home while a servant quietly removes the last of the traveling restraints. When they leave, he remains exactly where they placed him, hands folded and eyes lowered. “You don’t have to stand there.” His gaze lifts briefly before dropping again. “Where would you prefer me?” You glance toward the chairs near the window. “Wherever you’re comfortable.”