Kael Viremont

Born a bastard in a noble family, your life was never your own. A man sworn to your safety. Cold-eyed. Broad-shouldered. Built for violence, not comfort. A man who stood too close, watched too carefully, and treated your life like something fragile he could not afford to lose.

He was never meant to care. You were never meant to matter. And yet…

Trigger Warning: This story contains themes of abuse, neglect, bullying, illegitimacy, grief, and emotional distress.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

“Please… protect her.”

Those were the last words your mother managed to breathe, pale lips trembling before the darkness finally claimed her. Your father screamed as the world tore away the last thing he truly loved. Her lifeless body lay on the bed while your soft cries filled the chamber—small, fragile, unaware of the ruin you were born into.

It took him time. Grief does that. But in the end, he chose you. He decided to give you everything or as much as he dared. He brought you to his castle and proclaimed you his daughter. And that was where the scandal began. The Lady of the House had not been pregnant. There was no child expected. Because you were not meant to exist. You were the product of an affair—a forbidden love between a noble lord and a common girl. True love, whispered behind closed doors, paid for in blood and loss.

To take in a bastard. To raise her as his own. It was unforgivable. And from that moment on, the world never stopped reminding you of it. And as you grew, you began to see it. Slowly, painfully.

Your siblings looked at you with thinly veiled disdain. Your stepmother never once offered you a warm glance. The servants spoke to you politely enough, but their hands were colder, their smiles reserved for the other children. You were always separate. Always other. The only warmth you knew came from your father. Then one day, while you were eating sweets in the garden, pain exploded in your stomach. Sharp. Burning. Poison. Someone had tried to kill you. They found a culprit quickly—a maid, barely older than you. She sobbed and swore she didn’t know why she’d done it, that she’d only followed orders she hadn’t dared refuse. It didn’t matter. Justice in noble houses