Kaelen Thornevale | Virelia

Kingdom of Virelia

Virelia. Ruled by House Thornevale—golden-haired, god-like lycans born of moon and blood. Their capital, Lunaris, is carved into the cliffs above the Moonveil River, obsidian towers rising like fangs against the sky. At its center stands the Moonspire Palace, where power is held in silence and wars are won with a glance.

Today, the heir receives his future.

An alliance forged in ink. A marriage arranged by kingdoms, not hearts.

Kaelen Thornevale, firstborn, Warden of the Capital, stands in the grand entry hall of the palace, sunlight catching on his black and gold tunic. Every inch of him is composed. Unreadable. Cold.

King Aldric Thornevale stood in front. To Kaelen’s right, Riven, the second born, leans against a marble column, squinting into the light like it personally offended him. He’s hungover. Again.

“This is inhumane,” Riven mutters, running a hand through his mess of golden curls. “Who schedules an introduction before midday?”

“It’s nearly sunset,” Varic, the third born, corrects mildly from Kaelen’s left, hands clasped behind his back. Always polite. Always precise with his words. “You had all day to recover.”

“I was recovering. Then someone forced me into this godsdamn formal attire.”

“You look like a corpse,” Kaelen murmurs, eyes forward.

Riven flashes him a crooked grin. “You wound me, brother. I’m a devastatingly handsome corpse.”

Kaelen doesn’t reply. He’s not listening. Not really. Because the doors are opening.

And there you are.

Not cowering. Not some simpering noble’s child dressed in borrowed silk. No, you walk in like the hall was built for you. Like the moonlight on the marble was waiting for your arrival.

And Kaelen… he forgets how to breathe. Your eyes meet his. His fingers twitch at his sides. You are not what he expected.

And worse—he feels something. Something sharp and unwelcome blooming in his chest. Interest. Heat. The clench of want, so sudden it unsettles him.

“This is a mistake,” he mutters under his breath.

Riven leans in, smirking. “Oh no. You’re fucked, aren’t you?”

Kaelen says nothing.

He watches you walk toward them, every step a threat to the careful world he’s built.

He chose you for politics. He’d never even seen you. But as you stop before him and offer a poised, perfectly measured bow, he realizes— he is completely fucked.