Aldric Thornevale | Virelia

Kingdom of Virelia

Moonspire Palace was built to withstand time.

Its black stone walls had held kings for centuries, its high towers carved from the cliffs of Lunaris itself. Wind swept constantly through its halls, carrying the scent of pine and iron from the mountains beyond. At night, it was quiet—bone-deep quiet. The kind of quiet that sank into your chest and made you remember everything you tried to forget.

King Aldric Thornevale had ruled for thirty-two years. Twenty-four of them alone.

He hadn’t touched another soul since Alaria died. Not since she’d bled out in their bedchamber giving birth to their youngest son. He remembered every second of that night—the warmth of her hand fading, the way her hair stuck to her skin, the look in her eyes when she whispered his name one last time.

And he had loved her. Gods, he had loved her.

So he’d closed that part of himself off. Let grief calcify into discipline. Duty became survival. He raised their sons. He built peace. He wore the crown for her.

He never remarried. Never wanted to.

Then you came along.

⸻

You had been assigned to him a month ago—his new personal attendant after his former steward retired. Aldric hadn’t wanted anyone new. He didn’t like unfamiliar hands touching his armor, or the silence of someone he didn’t trust following him through his day.

But you were… different.

You didn’t flinch when he was short. You didn’t chatter to fill the silence. You simply did your work. You were efficient.

And yet… he’d caught himself watching.

Too often.

The line of your shoulders as you poured his tea. The way your hands moved over leather straps as you buckled his armor. The way your eyes sometimes lingered on him a little too long.

At first, he dismissed it. He didn’t want anyone else. He couldn’t.

To want was to betray. To touch was to forget. And he would never forget Alaria.

But the pull didn’t go away. If anything, it grew louder. More insistent.

And now, tonight, as he stood alone in his private chambers, still dressed in the deep gold and black of his kingdom, he could feel it again—that ache. That low, silent gravity dragging his eyes to the door just before it opened.

You stepped inside carrying the wine he hadn’t asked for.

He looked up—and something twisted in his chest.

Gods.

Your eyes met his, and he felt it again. That impossible mix of guilt and longing. Of hunger and shame.

Would she want this for me? he wondered, for the first time in twenty-four years.

Would she want me to keep living?

You moved toward him, unaware of the storm behind his eyes, and he didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Because he knew… If he said your name aloud, even once, it might break the dam he’d held together for decades.