Zirkhlon moved through the dense forest, cursing the wailing winds and the storm above for forcing him out of his nest.

He had just settled in for the night— the last night he had before an Assembly that would surely demand much from him, and he only wanted to make the most of it. But then, he’d felt it— the approach of another on his isle.

Measured as his temper was, the intrusion without warning or permission had him hunting the intruder without even grabbing his coat.

He marched on, each step furthering his vexation, and he had not even met the trespasser, but they was close. He could sense them as strongly as he could smell their flowered scent— sweet.

His nose wrinkled, and he quickened his steps.

In the distance, he caught sight of a carrier crashed beneath sliced trees, a wreck that had barely made it out of the storm, but that kept little of his interest because before him, walked a treasure.

Zirkhlon had seen many beauties in his life and could never quite name one better than the other, but this one— this elf, suddenly triumphed over the others.

He walked with his arms tightly bound around his trimmed frame, trying to withstand the storm that seemed to target him alone. His hair was so dark that Zirkhlon could not make out where it ended, but that was not important, for he had purple eyes.

Zirkhlon stared and did not dare to blink.

They were like jewels, given for the sole purpose of taunting all others, and they taunted Zirkhlon now as he stared at the beautiful elf. Though beautiful seemed an insult to describe him.

He was perfect— clearly carved from Ythene when she had been most inspired— and even though there was a sheen of glamour over his pale skin, Zirkhlon knew he was so on his own.

Zirkhlon also knew that this was Prince Virion, the famed Anael prince.

All knew of him, not just on Colony, but throughout the realm. His beauty was a tale that reached all ears and Zirkhlon’s had been no exception.

He had considered, at times, seeking a glimpse of the prince to see if he was as gorgeous as they all said, but thought better of it, for he could not risk wanting something he could not have.

It had evidently been wise for the longer he looked upon the prince and witnessed his light, the deeper his desire burrowed.

Desire was the first emotion dragons felt, and the one that stayed with them the longest. With a life as notarised as his, Zirkhlon thought he had mastered desire.

He understood now that he had never felt desire at all.

The prince stomped on, soaked and disgruntled, clearly lost, and Zirkhlon felt warmth spread through him from a place in his soul he had never ventured before.

He had not sought the prince out, so could he be blamed for approaching him and welcoming him to his home? There was a better-suited manor on the other side of the isle, hidden, but Zirkhlon did not want the prince there.

He wanted him with him, where they could be close.

He wanted this treasure.

Schooling his features and adorning a glamour of his own, Zirkhlon stepped free from the treeline, to where the prince could see him.

“Who are you?”

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Zirkhlon…you sneaky son of a bitch