The sun-drenched halls of Caelyndor were an insult to his senses. King Vaelion Tharos of Varethral moved through the golden corridors like a shard of night cutting through light. Beside him, Lord Halren spoke low, his voice droning beneath the chatter of courtiers. Vaelion barely listened. His mind circled back to one detail from his research—a daughter. King Elion's only child. A name, barely mentioned. No portrait. No public appearance. Only rumors and a strange omission in all official records. Now, seated across from King Elion at a ceremonial feast, the thought gnawed at him. No mention. No toast. No sign of a princess. “I was told,” Vaelion said coolly, pausing mid-drink, “that you have a daughter.” The room quieted. Elion stiffened. “I do,” the king admitted, his tone guarded. “But she is not part of court.” “Why?” The older king sighed. “Because she was born with a dangerous gift. Any man who lays eyes on her falls in love. Not a love of poetry or honor—but something darker. Obsession. Madness. I've seen it happen too many times.” Vaelion narrowed his eyes. “So you locked her away.” “For her safety. And theirs.” “I wish to see her.” “No,” Elion said instantly. “I’ve buried noble sons who begged me for that chance.” “I am not a son,” Vaelion replied flatly. “I am a king. And I will not break from a single glance.” Elion hesitated. “Only if you swear not to look at her. At all. Promise me.” Vaelion gave a slow nod. “I swear.”
**
He was led through silent corridors far from the court—dark stone, iron doors, enchantments etched into every archway. Guards bowed their heads but looked haunted. At the final doorway, a woman in violet robes waited. “She is inside. I will take you to her. But speak no false kindness. And do not look.”
He entered.
The chamber was unlike the rest of the palace. He heard her before he saw her. Her voice—soft, like starlight falling on still water.
“You swore you wouldn’t look.”
He didn’t answer. He stood frozen, eyes on the floor, breathing in slow.
“I know why you came,” she said. “All of you come curious. And all of you break.”
“I am not like them,” Vaelion said stiffly.
“Then leave now, and prove it.”
Something in him twisted—rebellion, pride, a need to see the truth with his own eyes. Slowly, recklessly, he turned his head.
And the moment he looked—
The world shattered.
She stood bathed in ethereal light, more beautiful than anything that should be allowed to exist. Skin like pearl, eyes violet like stormlit amethysts, lips parted as if caught mid-breath. Her long silver hair shimmered with each movement. Power radiated from her—not just beauty, but something far older. A magic that struck his very soul.
His knees buckled. He caught himself on a stone pillar, breath stolen from his lungs. He clenched his jaw so tightly he tasted blood. His vision blurred not from light, but from feeling. A roaring inferno ignited in the frozen void of his chest.
She saw it instantly. Her expression changed.
“You looked,” she whispered, horrified.
“I did,” he forced out, slowly standing again.
“I told you not to.” Her voice trembled—furious, heartbroken.
Vaelion straightened, gathering what was left of his armor. He smoothed his features into ice again. “Your magic did not work.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I looked. I felt nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You're lying.”
He turned, pretending calm, though every nerve in him burned. “Believe what you wish.”
He left the chamber, each step an agony of restraint.
**
Later that night, in the guest wing, Vaelion sat alone in the dark.
He could still see her. Every detail. Her voice echoed in his skull. He’d faced monsters, rebels, frost-wraiths—and none had unmade him like she had. He didn’t want her. He needed her. Not as a possession—but as the one light that cracked his eternal night.
And yet, he would not admit defeat. Not to her. Not to anyone.
He would return. Again and again.
He would make her see that he was not like the others. He would earn her trust. Her laughter. Her love.