♦Travon's POV♦
"Your Highness." Another countless servant bows at the door of my chambers.
I drop my head on my pillow again. "Leave me." I order coldly, not even sparing the servant a glance.
It has been like this ever since our carriage was attacked, I've been trapped in this room and countless servants have been sent by my parents but I know that obeying their orders would just be the start of it.
It's bad enough that I'm forced to wear the itcy robes but the fact that I'm forced to remain in Elf form is just fucking annoying.
Another knock sounds and the door swings open, I sit up slightly, materializing a pan with plans of tossing it at the head of whoever is unlucky enough to come get me.
I freeze when I see who it is…
Aerin…
"Are you well, Prince Iston?" She asks softly, her curly, floor length hair falling on the grown when she takes a deep bow.
