The Unforgotten Bloodline

— Flashback — (Two Years Ago)

The trumpets screamed celebration for the union of the kingdom's two strongest noble factions: the engagement of Malven's only daughter and the heir of the Rennar family.It should have been a grand celebration of unity. But the groom never came.

Elira stood alone beneath the rose-laced balcony, her veil fluttering like a warning flag. Nobles circled below, sipping from crystal goblets, whispering behind jewelled fans. The air reeked of wine and mockery.Kael Rennar—infamous war hero, borderland champion, the dream of every woman in the kingdom, her father's perfect pawn—had accepted the engagement. And then vanished.

Three weeks. No letter. No word. No refusal. Just silence.

Now, Elira stood here, a bride without a groom, paraded like a prize no one claimed.

"She's lovely," someone near the fountain murmured.

"But all Malvens are ice. I suppose even war heroes have their limits."

"She was always too proud," came the reply.

"No wonder he ran. Maybe he just wanted to be with the princess."

Elira kept her chin high. She didn't flinch. But beneath the silk and steel, fury bloomed—sharp and slow.

Coward. You left me to bleed in public. To stand alone in whispers while you played soldier. 

Sunlight caught the Malven crest on her ring before she tucked it into her sleeve.

Let them talk. Let them spin their stories.

Because what they didn't know—what no one could guess—was that Kael's silence had opened a door.

No fiancé. No orders. No distractions.

Just space. Dangerous, breathless space.

She left the square with unhurried steps, her guards ghosting behind her. At a fruit stall, she bought a plum she didn't want, fingers curling around its warm skin.

I didn't ask for this engagement.

She had been trained to wield power, not wear lace. But power came in many forms—and marriage, her father reminded her, was the cleanest blade of all.Kael Rennar had been a convenient match. Distant. Predictable.And worst of all—indifferent.That, more than his absence, stung.

Elira turned from the stalls, the untouched plum in hand, and walked toward the one place in the city where her name meant nothing.The library.Where silence wrapped secrets in shadow, and truth lived on parchment.The old building exhaled cool stone and dust. A different kind of breath filled her lungs—fuller, deeper than anything she'd known in days. She pulled back her veil and stood still, just for a moment.It felt like the ground shifted under her feet.

Somewhere beneath her skin, something stirred. A flicker. A hum. A pulse she didn't understand.

Deeper inside, half-shielded by a marble pillar, someone muttered in irritation.

"No, no—that's not right. If we send that much grain to Port Cera, the inland villages will starve."

She tilted her head.A man hunched over a cluttered desk, curls in his eyes, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Ink stained his fingers. His boots were worn. No crest. No guard. No fear.

"You talk to scrolls often?" she asked, unsure why she felt a sudden urge to speak to him. Where did that curiosity come from?

He startled, looked up—eyes locking with hers.

And Elira stilled.

The sensation returned—louder this time, crawling up her spine like heat and storm, ancient and alive. Like stormlight in her blood. Her breath caught. Not in fear.In recognition.Her heart thumped once—then once more, hard enough to echo.

She didn't know his name.

Didn't know why her skin suddenly prickled or why her lungs felt too full.Only that something inside her had just shifted toward him.Like instinct.Like home.He blinked once, then smiled.

"Only when they lie," he said, his voice light, smooth, soft.

"Which is most of the time."Her fingers tightened around the plum.

"What's this one say?"

"That the council's plan is sound," he said, shaking his head.

 "It isn't."

"You speak like you know better."

"I do." A pause.

"Not a scribe. Just someone who lives where the mistakes hurt."

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Thane," he said, like it meant nothing. She raised an eyebrow.

"No family name?"

"Do you always give yours first?"She paused. And something in her—something buried deep—flashed warm.

"Elira," she said. 

Just that.He didn't blink. Didn't bow.

"You don't move like most people."The words weren't meant as flattery—just an observation, said with quiet certainty, as if his body recognized patterns hers didn't know it followed.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"You listen before you speak. Like something used to watching."A beat passed between them, charged and uncertain.

"Well, Just Elira," Thane said in the end, already turning back to his notes.

"You're welcome to stay, but I argue with paper and talk to myself."But her feet didn't move.He pushed a spare quill toward her without looking.

"Page thirty-two. Second column. What's wrong?"

She took the seat.Not because she was curious.Because her bones leaned toward him.Because her breath wouldn't calm until she did.

They worked in silence—though it didn't feel silent. The air thrummed with something unspoken. Her skin prickled near him, like the world narrowed to this desk, this parchment, these steady, ink-stained hands.Eventually, Thane leaned back.

"People think power sits on thrones. But it lives here." He tapped the scroll.She looked at him.

Just... him.

"Careful," she said.

"You sound like someone who wants to change the world."

"Don't you?" he challenged.

That question burned. Because no one had dared ask.A chime echoed through the hall. He rose.

"Duty calls."

"What duty?"

"Delivering lies to people who like them tidy." Then, just before leaving, his gaze lingered on her veil.

Not her name. Not her rank.

Her.

And then he said,

"Whoever he is... he's a fool to leave someone like you waiting."The words struck deep.Not because of Kael.But because her wolf—though still unnamed—howled in silence.

— Present Day —

Kael sat in the study of the Rennar estate, firelight flickering over the desk. He did not look up from the letter.It wasn't sealed. It had never been sent.Yet the ink had long since dried—clear, precise strokes in Elira's restrained hand. Still, the words were raw.But it wasn't just the pain in her voice that made Kael's skin crawl.It was what lay underneath.The scent of something... primal.

The echo of something ancient.Not love. Not heartbreak.

Bond.

—

Thane,I asked if you'd stay—if I left him.You said no.But you couldn't look at me when you did.And somehow, that hurt more than if you'd shouted.You thought walking away would protect me.It didn't.You let me go.I looked back anyway.Maybe you wanted to call me back.But maybe wanting wasn't enough.There's no reason for me to write this, but I do anyway. Maybe because if I don't let these thoughts out, they'll eat through me.

Kael's jaw tensed.

You never asked for my trust, but you had it.Maybe that's what made it unbearable.You smelled like rain after a fire. Like air that knew thunder was coming.(Why did I even write that?)It didn't make sense, but it made me breathe easier.

Kael froze, rereading the line.

"Smelled like rain after a fire..."

Not a poet's flourish. No, it read like instinct. Something bone-deep. Most people didn't notice scent like that. Not unless they were trained for it—or born with it.A prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck.He continued.

You looked at me too long, and I hated that I didn't look away.You looked at me like you knew something I didn't—and maybe you did. Maybe you still do.I remember your eyes. Not their colour—though I could still draw them in ink if I tried. No, what I remember is how steady they were. You didn't flinch when I stared too long. Like you were used to holding someone's gaze. Unblinking. Undaunted.You spoke in short sentences, but I remember every word. Not because they were kind—because they were clear.There's a steadiness in you that made my own stillness falter.You didn't make me feel safe, exactly. But you made me feel like I didn't have to lie. And that's worse, isn't it?

Kael swallowed. His pulse ticked faster. He stared down at the ink, fingers tightening on the edge of the parchment. His instincts—long quiet since the last hunt, since the last diplomatic inquiry into "unusual activity" in the northern woods—stirred.

I don't know why I trusted you. But something in me—deeper than logic—just knew. You quieted a noise I didn't realize I'd been carrying in my chest. Like silence after a hunt. And I hated you for that. Because it made me forget who I was supposed to be.

Kael stared at that line.

"Like silence after a hunt."

He'd heard that phrasing before—once, in the field, among the wolves they used to track. It was a feeling they recognized in their prey. The calm that came after the fear.How would she—how could she know that?

He felt it then. The ancient echo in his blood. The training passed down through generations. His grandfather's voice.

A wolf never reveals itself fully. But it can't help what it senses. Or what it bonds to.

The letter trembled between his fingers.Was it Thane she trusted—or someone like her?

Or worse—was she never meant for a man like him at all?He thought he had known what she was.

But maybe—just maybe—Elira Malven was not entirely human.The flame on the desk hissed.He turned the letter over, but there was nothing more. No signature. No sign-off. Just her words, bare and exposed.

Thane. A common name. A nobody.

Kael turned toward the fire, eyes cold.

"Find him," he said.

A figure stepped forward. Cloaked. Silent.

"A man named Thane. No title. Ink on his fingers. Lives near the council archives."The figure bowed."And if he's had contact with Lady Malven?"Kael stared into the flames."Then I want to know what he gave her... that I didn't."His voice dropped lower."And what he is—before she becomes something I can't control."