Midnight bride
The moonlight spilled through the canopy of the dark forest, casting an eerie glow on the man lounging against an ancient tree. Morris was impossibly handsome—too handsome to be real. His sharp jawline, framed by tousled black hair, was shadowed by the flicker of firelight in his golden eyes. He swirled a goblet of wine lazily in his hand, his lips curved into a devilish smirk.
Elowen froze, captivated. He looked like a prince from a forbidden story, but something in the air warned her he was no mortal.
“Lost, little lamb?” His voice was velvet, dark and smooth, wrapping around her like a spell.
“I was...just—” she stammered, but he stood in one fluid motion, closing the distance between them.
“Just wandering into my domain,” he interrupted, his tone teasing yet dangerous. “How bold of you.” His gaze raked over her, and her heart pounded under the weight of his attention.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, stepping closer until she could feel the heat radiating from him. “Do you know who I am?”
She shook her head, her throat dry.
“I am Morris,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, seductive growl. “The devil. The one your kingdom fears, the one your priests curse. And now,” he leaned in, his golden eyes glowing like embers, “you’ve wandered straight into my hands.”
The shadows around him seemed to ripple with his amusement as a smirk played on his lips. He extended a hand, his voice both a command and an invitation. “Come closer, Elowen. Let me show you what happens when innocence meets the devil.”