The Prince and the Enchanted Forest

Chapter 1 : Her and children

The royal gardens shimmered under the golden sun, its rays casting long, dappled shadows through the canopy of ancient trees. Birds chirped, their melodies entwined with the soft rustling of leaves, while a gentle breeze carried the faint perfume of roses and jasmine. But inside the towering palace, beyond the serenity of nature, tension brewed.

Prince Eryndor sat on a grand chair in the throne room, his brow furrowed, his hands clenched on his lap. Before him stood the king and queen, their expressions a blend of concern and authority. His father, King Ardan, spoke in a tone that demanded respect but hinted at his exhaustion.

"It is time, Eryndor," the king said, his voice steady but firm. "You are the heir to this kingdom, and it is your duty to marry and secure the line."

Eryndor remained silent, his gaze cast downward. His mother, Queen Lysandra, stepped forward, her soft features radiating sympathy.

"We've invited princesses and noblewomen from the farthest reaches of the land," she said, her voice gentle but insistent. "They have come from distant kingdoms, bearing gifts and hopes of uniting their families with ours. You must make a choice, my son. The future of the realm depends on it."

Eryndor swallowed hard, his chest tightening. He had heard these words countless times over the past months, yet each time, the weight of them seemed to grow heavier. Marriage, duty, heirs—words that felt distant, hollow, like responsibilities thrust upon him without any connection to his heart.

"I understand," he finally said, his voice low. "But I am not ready. Not yet."

His father frowned, about to speak again, but Queen Lysandra raised her hand gently. "We'll give you more time, Eryndor. But time is not infinite. The kingdom watches, and soon, you must act."

Eryndor nodded, rising from his seat. Without another word, he strode toward the tall windows, needing air, needing space. The gardens below seemed to call to him, but it was not the blooming flowers or the royal paths that drew his attention. It was the dark line of the forest on the horizon, where the trees grew tall and twisted, casting deep shadows that never seemed to fade, even in the brightest daylight.

The Dark Forest.

It was a place of whispered legends, where magic lingered, wild and untamed. No one from the kingdom ventured there willingly. They said the creatures that dwelled within were dangerous, unpredictable. But to Eryndor, the forest represented freedom—freedom from the burdens of the crown, from the parade of suitors, from the expectations that suffocated him.

As the day wore on and the sun began to sink lower in the sky, Eryndor took his usual walk along the edge of the forest. His boots crunched against the leaves as he moved further from the palace, his thoughts swirling like the winds between the trees. He had always been drawn to the forest's mystery, though he had never dared to venture inside. But something about today felt different.

As he walked, lost in his thoughts, he heard a sudden burst of laughter, high-pitched and full of joy. Startled, Eryndor turned toward the sound. A group of children from the village had gathered near the treeline, giggling as they chased one another. His heart softened at the sight—innocence, untouched by the weight of duty. But then, his blood ran cold.

One by one, the children darted into the forest, their laughter echoing eerily as they disappeared into the shadows.

Panic surged through him. The forest was no place for children. He had heard stories—stories of creatures lurking in the darkness, waiting for those foolish enough to wander too deep. Without a second thought, Eryndor broke into a run, following the path the children had taken.

The deeper he went, the darker the forest became. The trees seemed to close in around him, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. But the sound of the children's laughter continued to guide him, pulling him further and further into the heart of the woods.

"Wait!" he called out, his voice swallowed by the dense foliage. "Stop! It's not safe!"

But the children did not stop. They ran, laughing and skipping, as if unaware of the danger that surrounded them. Eryndor's breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to keep up, his heart pounding in his chest.

And then, just as suddenly as they had disappeared, the children stopped. Eryndor stumbled to a halt, his eyes wide as he saw them standing in a clearing, their faces lit with joy and wonder.

Before them, under the dappled moonlight, a figure danced.

She was unlike anything Eryndor had ever seen—a woman, but not quite. Her skin shimmered with an ethereal glow, and her long silver hair flowed like a river of light down her back. Her eyes, as green as the deepest parts of the forest, sparkled with mischief and wisdom beyond mortal years. As she danced, her movements were fluid, graceful, as though she were one with the wind itself. The children watched her, enraptured, their small faces lit with awe.

And then she began to speak, her voice like the soft rustling of leaves, telling a story in a language Eryndor didn't recognize, yet somehow understood.

The prince stood frozen, hidden behind a tree, his heart racing. This was no ordinary woman. She was an elf, a creature of the ancient magic that still lingered in the forest. The very magic he had been warned about his whole life. But instead of fear, Eryndor felt something else stir within him—a deep, irresistible pull toward her.

He watched as she finished her story, her eyes locking briefly with his through the trees. For a moment, time seemed to stop. The world around them—the children, the forest, the darkening sky—faded away. All that remained was the prince and the elf, bound by something neither could name.

And in that moment, Eryndor knew.

This was what he had been searching for. Not a noblewoman from some far-off kingdom, not a marriage of convenience or duty. But her—this mysterious, magical being who had captured his heart with a single glance.

As the children began to wander back toward the village, giggling and chattering, Eryndor remained rooted in place, his eyes fixed on the elf. She gave him a knowing smile, her lips curving with the faintest hint of amusement, before she disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

Eryndor stood there long after she was gone, his heart racing, his mind spinning. He had ventured into the forest to save the children from danger. But it was he who had been caught—caught by the beauty, the magic, and the mystery of the elf who danced in the moonlight.

And he knew, without a doubt, that his life would never be the same again.