Sold To The Cruel Prince

Aveline blinked at him, confusion flickering across her face for only a few seconds before she caught the meaning of his gesture.

Her cheeks flamed.

"Oh," she said, scandalized.

His hand lifted again, making that same unmistakable motion, and Aveline gasped, then shoved him away and darted off, her face burning even hotter as last night flashed through her mind. He had nearly come close to her chest, and now that awful suspicion settled in with humiliating clarity.

Was that what he had meant?

Of course, it was.

She circled the bed in a flustered blur, only to realize, too late, that there was nowhere for her to run in her nightgown. The only thing left to do was push him out.

And so she did, finally, with enough force to send him back toward the door.

Theron leaned there with a lazy smile on his face, remembering her darting about in flustered panic. She was the most entertaining thing in the world. But slowly, the smile faded.

He could not keep this up forever.

Not when every look at her threatened to undo the discipline he had spent years building. He should be careful for his sake and hers.

Inside, Aveline pressed a hand to her chest as she leaned against the door, trying to steady her breathing.

This was becoming far too dangerous.

She needed to keep her head clear. She needed distance. She needed to remember what was at stake.

So she dressed quickly.

Since he had said they were leaving, she packed her things as well. She kept only two dresses and gave away the rest of the silk ones. Theron glared at her when he noticed, but she did not care. The tavern owner’s daughters were delighted to receive them, and that satisfaction mattered more to her than his displeasure.

Silk was not for her. Not anymore. She was not a lady. And perhaps she needed to remind herself of that often.

Later, Theron led her deep into the forest. The other Greenvale knights made a formation around them. From between the trees, Aveline caught sight of the slave market in the distance, that dilapidated building where everything had begun.

Her stomach twisted.

It was humiliating enough to remember being there herself, but what struck her harder was the thought of all the other girls and women who were forced through the same degradation every day. Bought. Sold. Reduced to objects before they had any chance to become anything else.

No one deserved that fate.

When she spoke, her voice came out quieter than she intended.

"Can you do something?"

Theron glanced at her, and as always, there was something unnervingly close in the way he did it, as though even a simple conversation carried a weight she had not yet learned to name.

"Anything," he said, leaning a little closer, with a smug smirk.

Aveline instinctively shifted back.

Too close. Again.

Every word he spoke, every movement he made, seemed to carry some second meaning she did not understand. This was not the Theron she knew, or at least, not the one she had thought she knew.

He noticed her flustered expression and leaned back at once, his face smoothing into something more careful.

"What is it?" he asked.

Aveline hesitated. She did not know how to ask this. She did not even know whether she had the right to ask.

"There should be other women there..." she said at last, keeping her distance, though her gaze had already fallen toward the market. "Women like me."

She swallowed.

"I do not know whether it is my place to ask you this. But before I leave for good, I want to know that no one else has to be treated like merchandise."

She looked up at him then.

Theron said nothing. He only stared at her, unreadable and still.

Aveline’s courage faltered under that silence. "Never mind, It’s getting late," she said quickly, turning away before she could hear whatever answer he might give. "Let’s go."

Maybe she was asking for too much.

He did not have to listen to her. He could not buy every woman there, and even if he managed to free the ones in front of him, there would always be more tomorrow. More girls. More cages. More hands eager to profit from human misery.

What could one man do against all of that?

Theron took her hand without a word.

He led her through the trees and toward the slave market, his grip steady, his silence strangely deliberate. When they reached a place where the branches overhead grew thick enough to conceal her, he told her to climb a tree and hide.

Aveline did as she was told, her pulse quickening as she settled among the leaves. From her perch, she could see everything below.

Theron gathered the knights.

And beside him stood the Shadow Spider.

For some reason, when the man looked up at her hiding place, something cold and hostile flashed in his eyes. Aveline frowned.

What was that about? Had she done something to offend him?

She did not have long to wonder.

Within half an hour, the knights had the slave market surrounded. Their movements were swift and precise, as though they had rehearsed this many times before. The slave merchants were seized before they could react, the frightened buyers scattered in every direction, and Theron moved through the chaos with the cold efficiency of a man who had already decided their fate.

One by one, he branded the buyers’ faces before allowing them to be taken away.

Aveline stared, stunned.

The women were released soon after. Their fear gave way to overwhelming gratitude, and they thanked Theron again and again before hurrying away, free at last.

As for the merchants, Theron chained them and said something low to the Shadow Spider. The other man gave a short nod, and in the next moment, they were gone. Disappeared into the shadows.

Aveline could hardly believe what she had just seen.

Then Theron looked up.

"Get down," he said.

Only then did it strike her. She had always had trouble climbing down from trees.

Theron remembered. A small smile curved his lips as he held out his hand.

"Grab my shoulders," he said.

She did, and the next moment his hands closed around her waist.

Aveline flinched, but only slightly. Theron lifted her down with careful slowness, as though he had all the time in the world. Her skirt brushed against his clothes, the brief contact enough to make her breathing turn uneven.

He lowered her inch by inch, his gaze following the line of her body with an intent so quiet it felt almost more intimate than touch. It lingered on her face, then on her lips.

Aveline bit her lip.

And Theron saw it.

His grip tightened, just slightly.