Sold To The Cruel Prince

Aveline stood before the so-called "cage" Theron had mentioned, blinking at it as though she had misunderstood the entire language of the forest.

It was pulled by four horses, not because it was large, but because of the sheer magnificence of what it held.

It was not a cage at all.

It was a carriage.

No, more than that. It was a beautiful, extravagant carriage, polished and elegant, larger than any she had ever seen, the kind of vehicle that looked less like something meant for travel and more like something a king might use to make a dramatic entrance and ruin everyone else’s self-esteem.

Aveline stared at it, then at Theron, her eyes narrowing in open skepticism.

He said nothing.

Of course, he said nothing. Instead, he simply reached out and opened the door.

Aveline’s mouth parted slightly.

Her gaze moved back to the carriage, then to him again, then back to the carriage, as if her eyes were struggling to accept the insult of its existence.

This was her "cage"?

Her eyes widened.

A carriage this grand? For her?

She looked at Theron in stunned disbelief, as though he had personally taken her for a fool. Theron only stood there with infuriating calm, his expression unreadable.

Aveline slowly turned back to the carriage. Then back to him. And then, very carefully, she asked the only reasonable question.

"Are you sure this is not enchanted to look luxurious, but is in fact a small part of hell?" she asked.

She really did need to be sure. Lately, she had learned far too much, and at this point she trusted almost nothing that looked too beautiful.

Theron let out a long breath through his nose.

So even after he had taken care of her, after he had made sure her wishes were granted, after he had arranged for her to travel in his own carriage instead of making her ride in some miserable cart, she still looked at him as though he might be hiding a trap beneath the cushions.

What exactly was he supposed to do to earn her trust?

"Take it," he said dryly, "or take the other cages and share a room with the monsters."

Aveline said nothing after that. She stepped inside. And the moment she did, her skepticism faltered.

The first thing she noticed was the roses.

She frowned, bending to take them in her hands. They were the same flowers he had gifted her the previous day. She didn’t see it when she left and was worried. Had he brought them here in advance?

Before she could think too much about that, her gaze moved around the carriage, and her eyes widened.

There was a soft, comfortable couch that looked far too good for mere travel. Fixed tables. A basket of fruit. Plush seating. Elegant fittings. Every detail spoke of quiet, deliberate extravagance, the kind that seemed almost unfair to look at.

This was not a cage.

This was a moving palace.

Aveline turned slowly to stare at Theron, speechless for once.

He only stood there with his usual composure, as if he had not just caused her entire understanding of the word "travel" to collapse.

Her lips parted.

Then closed again.

Then, at last, she muttered, "I can’t believe this."

Theron’s mouth twitched.

Her admiration lingered on her face for several long, betrayed seconds before reality finally caught up with her again.

Why would they give her a carriage like this just for the journey?

"Where are you staying?" Aveline asked at last.

"I’ll be riding the horse," Theron replied.

Aveline looked at him, then down at her skirt, her fingers curling tightly around the fabric. She understood, of course, why he would not be sharing the carriage with her. Whenever they were too close, something always happened. Something warm. Something dangerous. Something that made her heart forget its proper rhythm.

Still...

"Is it really all right for me to stay here?" she asked, glancing around the lavish interior once more. "This seems far too extravagant."

At first, Theron felt a flash of irritation. Why was it so difficult for her to simply accept what he gave her?

Then he looked at her properly. Really looked.

And what he saw made the irritation fade almost at once.

She was not being difficult. She was hesitant. Uneasy. As though luxury itself made her uncomfortable, as though it had been placed in front of someone who had no idea whether she was allowed to reach for it.

As though she felt she did not deserve it.

His throat tightened.

"If the blanket is not warm enough, tell me," he said, his voice gentler now. "I have a better one. It will get chilly at night."

Then he stepped down from the carriage before he could do something foolish, like draw her into his arms and tell her with absolute certainty that she deserved every comfort in the world simply because she existed.

He wanted to say it.

He wanted to make her believe it.

But he did not trust himself to do that without revealing too much, without pressing too hard against the fragile distance she was still trying to maintain.

And her question still lingered in his mind, quiet and stubborn.

Do you have a wife?

He should have told her the truth. He should have said that he was expected to marry someone once he returned.

But for some reason, the words would not come.

That strange feeling in his chest only deepened, unfamiliar and stubborn and impossible to ignore.

What was it?

-----

Aveline sat by the window, her fingers lightly resting against the frame as the world passed her by.

There was nothing but trees.

Endless, towering, whispering trees.

And yet... it did not feel empty.

It felt watched, as though something lingered beneath the roots, within the shadows, in the spaces between branches where light dared not settle. Even the air felt heavier here, thick with something unseen, something waiting.

Her gaze drifted downward.

There...again were those strange, glittering rocks scattered along the forest floor.

They caught her eye like they always did, shimmering faintly, almost... calling to her.

Her fingers twitched.

She wanted to stop the carriage. Just for a moment. Just long enough to gather a few.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Because wanting them meant explaining why she could see them so clearly... and that was a truth she was not ready to give away.

So she stayed where she was.

And then there were the screams.

Even from inside the carriage, insulated by soft cushions and polished wood, she could hear those terrible, broken cries from the monsters, faint, but present.

It made her chest feel tight.

Where were they taking them?

The question sat heavily in her mind all the way until evening.

By the time dinner was served, she had almost gathered the courage to ask. Almost.

But when she stepped out and saw Theron, the words faltered. He looked... different. Quieter.

His hair, slightly longer now, brushed against his shoulders, falling forward as he kept his head bowed, focused on his meal. There was something distant about him, as though his thoughts were elsewhere, far beyond the forest, far beyond this moment.

For a second, she simply watched him.

Then, before she even realized what she was doing, her hand moved.

Her fingers reached out, gently brushing the strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead.

"Are you worried about something?" she asked.