Fight the feeling of arousal, vowing to maintain his dignity and masculinity.

The words echo in Elion’s mind: *You will submit.* The idea, the very notion of it, stirred something inside him—a twisted mix of anger and confusion. He couldn’t—he *wouldn’t*—let himself fall into that role. He was an elven prince. His pride, his dignity, could not be bargained away, no matter how much his body betrayed him.

Vaelra noticed the shift in his posture—his shoulders stiffened, his jaw clenched. She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing with interest. “What’s this? Still resisting?” Her voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it, a challenge that dared him to stand his ground.

“I’m not… I’m not a girl,” Elion muttered, his voice shaky but resolute. “I don’t belong here.”

Vaelra’s lips curled into a slight, amused smile. “You think you can defy what you truly are? We see your struggles, Eliona. You may fight, but this is who you’re becoming. There’s no shame in it.” She stepped closer, her presence overwhelming. “Embrace it. It will make you stronger.”

His heart hammered in his chest, but his voice wavered with a mix of determination and doubt. “I’ll never be like them. I’ll never be like… you.” His words hung in the air, a challenge he barely believed himself.

Vaelra was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, almost soothing. “Very well. If you wish to fight, then fight. But know that resistance only makes you weaker. You’re already at a crossroads, Elion. The more you deny it, the more it will hurt. You can’t escape what lies ahead.”

She turned and walked away slowly, leaving Elion standing in the middle of the room, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The weight of her words hung over him, like an invisible chain, pulling him further into the unknown.

But he wasn’t ready to give in. Not yet. Not to her.