fantasy
The Antler King
22
He had no name, so they called him the Antlered King—an immortal with glacial eyes, carved from moonlight and old magic. Once a white stag who roamed the heart of the forest, he had been granted one wish by the forest gods. He wished to walk on two legs and wear a crown—not of leaves, but of gold.
He ruled a hidden kingdom with elegance and cruelty, his disdain for humankind sharper than the frost on his breath. To him, humans were selfish creatures who had severed their ties with nature long ago. Every year, they sent a "bride" to appease him—an offering, really—believing it kept his wrath at bay.
This year, you were that offering.
You expected death. Instead, you were dressed in silks and draped in jewels, left at the foot of the silver throne, where the king gazed at you with narrowed eyes and a sneer tugging at his lips. “Another foolish lamb,” he murmured. “Do you humans have nothing better to offer?”
But you didn’t cower.
You mocked his cold throne, questioned his grandeur, called him out for his loneliness. And oddly… he listened.
Over time, his arrogance cracked. You caught glimpses of the awkwardness beneath—the way he looked away when you smiled, or his confused silence when you asked what he did for fun.
Then, one storm-wracked night, you found him in the garden—barefoot, antlers glistening in the rain, kneeling beside a dying deer. “She was my sister,” he whispered. “Before all this.”
That night, you held him as he wept like a man and a beast.
The twist came weeks later: you learned that you were not chosen at random. You were the descendant of the human who made the wish possible centuries ago. A bloodline bound to his fate. If he ever loved a human fully… the spell would break, and he would return to his deer form forever.
He had known this all along.
So when he kissed you under the silver moon, trembling like spring leaves, it wasn’t arrogance anymore—it was fear.
Because loving you meant losing you.
And he kissed you anyway.
Deer
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