Third-person POV
The grand hall of the citadel thrummed with restrained energy, its crystal vaults amplifying every whisper into a symphony.
The official introduction ceremony was a spectacle of Thalorian pomp ,floating orbs of Aether light casting ethereal glows over the assembled court. At the dais, Sovereign Thalor Rex presided like a storm cloud incarnate, his presence a gravitational force that bent the room's power dynamics toward him. As the unchallenged ruler, his authority was absolute, his Aether manipulation capable of shattering mountains or mending fractured skies. Flanking him were his sons: Prince Draven, charismatic and volatile, whose Vyrkath heritage granted him unmatched aquatic dominion—able to summon tidal surges or poison mists with a thought; and Prince Soren, cold and strategic, his Nocthrim senses allowing him to pierce illusions and foresee betrayals in shadowed whispers. The royal family's structure was a rigid hierarchy, with the Sovereign at the apex, his heirs jockeying for favor in a web of alliances and subtle rivalries. Vaelor, the eldest and tribrid heir, stood tallest among them, his hybrid power eclipsing his brothers': Nocthrim horns sensing lies at a glance, Vyrkath scales hardening into impenetrable armor, Kragvorn limbs extending for lethal reach. He was the linchpin, the one whose strength could tip the balance of any conflict.
The humans entered as one: Dr. Mara Kade, Dr. Elias Thorne, and Dr. Lirian Voss flanked by wardens. Lirian felt the weight of eyes upon them, the air thick with curiosity and disdain. Mara walked with her chin high, but her gaze kept drifting to Vaelor, who stood rigid beside the throne. As the Sovereign welcomed them anew, Mara leaned close to Vaelor during the formal bow, her voice a low murmur of greeting. Lirian caught the way her eyes lingered, a faint flush on her cheeks.
He nudged her elbow as they straightened. "Careful, Mara. You're gawking like he's a rare comet sample."
She shot him a glare, but her lips twitched. "Shut up, Lirian. He's... imposing."
Imposing was an understatement. Lirian couldn't deny it: Vaelor's features were striking sharp jawline etched like obsidian, amethyst eyes that pierced like laser drills, midnight hair cascading in warrior braids. But it was the way he carried himself that commanded attention: unyielding posture, a warlord's aura that radiated control even in stillness. His brothers were majestic too, Draven's roguish grin promising chaos, Soren's calculating stare hinting at unseen schemes, but they paled next to Vaelor, whose tribrid form screamed apex predator. Lirian knew the prince held humans in contempt, viewing them as weak interlopers. Yet there was something admirable in his restraint, the iron discipline that kept his disdain veiled behind protocol.
The greeting line formed. One by one, the humans approached the dais. When Lirian's turn came, he extended his hand in the Concord-approved gesture, a neutral clasp.
Vaelor's larger palm engulfed his.
The brush was accidental: fingertips grazing in the exchange. But the shock was electric , static crackling up Lirian's arm, a jolt that seized his chest. He gasped, eyes widening.
Vaelor froze. In that instant, Aether surged through him a flash of vision, unbidden and vivid. Lirian's blood, glowing gold like molten starfire, poured into the core's fractures, mending them in radiant waves. The prince's horns burned with recognition, his telekinesis flickering involuntarily, rattling nearby orbs.
He yanked his hand back as if scalded, expression hardening to ice. "Enough," he growled, voice low enough for only Lirian to hear.
Lirian recoiled, confusion twisting into hurt. What had he done? The withdrawal stung like rejection, leaving him flushed and off-balance as the ceremony droned on.
That night, in the shadowed opulence of his private chambers, Vaelor sought normalcy.
The concubine arrived promptly, Elyra, a graceful Thalorian from an allied clan, her skin luminous silver, curves draped in gossamer silks. She knelt before him with practiced eagerness, eyes alight with anticipation. "My prince," she purred, "how may I serve?"
Vaelor gestured her to the bed, shedding his armor with a telekinetic wave. This was routine. Proof. He despised the pull he'd felt earlier, the human's fragile form invading his thoughts. Elyra would banish it.
She disrobed fluidly, revealing pert breasts and the slick sheen already gathering between her thighs, her arousal evident in the musky scent filling the air. She was enthusiastic, leaking with desire as she crawled toward him, lips parting in invitation.
Vaelor lay back, letting her straddle him. Her hands roamed his chest, tracing Vyrkath scales that shimmered under her touch. She ground against his length, wet and insistent, whispering praises.
But nothing stirred.
His appendage remained limp, unresponsive. Frustration coiled in his gut. He closed his eyes, willing the familiar heat. Elyra's pussy dripped onto him, warm and ready, but his body betrayed him, soft, indifferent.
"Leave," he snarled finally, shoving her off gently but firmly.
She blinked, confused, her folds glistening with unmet need. "My prince—"
"Out."
She gathered her silks and fled, the door sealing behind her.
Alone, Vaelor paced, fury mounting. This had never happened. His kind mated with precision, arousal a tool of alliance or release. Inter-species desire? Unheard of. Taboo. Especially for humans—corrupt, fleeting creatures.
Yet the image came unbidden: Lirian in the hall, face red from some hidden turmoil, hazel eyes puffy and teary, lashes clumped with unshed salt. Swollen lips parted in that gasp during the shock. Fragile. Vulnerable.
Vaelor's breath hitched. Heat surged low. His appendage thickened, ridges swelling as blood rushed in. He growled, hand dropping instinctively to grasp its thick base to flared tip, the texture pulsing under his palm.
No. He shouldn't.
But the vision persisted: Lirian's slender neck arched, tears tracking pale cheeks, lips bitten red and full. Vaelor stroked slowly at first, fist tightening around the hardening length. Precum beaded at the slit, slicking the motion. He imagined those swollen lips wrapping around him, hazel eyes gazing up in surrender. The ridges dragged under his grip, sending jolts of pleasure up his spine.
Faster now. His free hand braced against the crystal wall, claws scraping. Breath ragged, he pumped harder—envisioning Lirian's teary face contorted in ecstasy, body yielding beneath him. The Aether stirred faintly, horns tingling as forbidden arousal built.
Release hit like a storm: thick ropes spilling over his fist, muscles clenching in waves of bliss. He roared low, body shuddering.
Then shock. Horror.
Panting, Vaelor stared at the evidence in his hand. This was impossible. Not for him. Not for any Thalorian. Desire for a human? It could unravel everything: the core, the throne, his sanity.
He cleaned himself with telekinetic precision, collapsing onto the bed.
What curse was this?