Sold To The Cruel Prince

Aveline returned to the carriage, still trying to settle the strange unease that had crawled beneath her skin.

A few minutes later, Theron came back.

With pebbles.

Not one or two, but a whole handful of smooth stones gathered from the riverbank, as though he had decided the evening would be incomplete without them. Aveline stared at him in bafflement as he stepped into the lamplight, the candle glow catching in his eyes and making him look, absurdly enough, exactly like the boy she used to know.

He held the stones out to her.

"For you," he said.

Aveline took them slowly, still looking at him like he might explain himself at any moment.

Then he dragged her out of the carriage, and reached behind his cloak with dramatic flair and drew out something else.

Aveline blinked. "A stick?"

Theron’s expression brightened at once.

"How did you know?"

"I made a wild guess," she said, though the smile tugging at her lips was already betraying her.

Of course, it was a stick. Or rather, something far grander in his eyes. It was not a simple branch at all, but a long, curious staff, twisted through with vines, the top shaped in a way that reminded her of the old depictions of their creator—tall, weathered, and strangely majestic, as though it had been pried straight out of a legend.

Aveline lifted her brows.

Oh no.

That look on his face meant trouble.

It meant he was about to talk. A lot.

"It’s Aelorin’s staff," Theron said, his voice already rising with excitement. "I found Aelorin’s staff, Aveline. Can you believe this?"

She nodded immediately, wide-eyed and attentive, while mentally switching off her hearing for the sake of survival.

Back when they were children, he had done this often. He would discover the most ordinary thing in the world—a stick, a stone, a leaf with a funny shape—and then speak about it as though the heavens themselves had descended to grant him a revelation.

She, on the other hand, had never possessed the patience for such things. She had preferred flower crowns, ribbons, and more interesting games.

Theron, meanwhile, had always been helplessly devoted to sticks.

And apparently, not much had changed.

He began demonstrating, gesturing with his cloak, posing with exaggerated reverence as if he were one of the old paintings come to life. Aveline watched for a moment, then quietly leaned back against the tree beside the carriage.

This was going to take a while.

At some point, the weight of the day finally caught up to her. Her eyelids grew heavier.

Theron was still talking, he wasn’t even half-way through describing this amazing find, when he noticed... She had fallen asleep.

He let out a low laugh, the sound soft and fond.

"As always..." he murmured under his breath.

Still holding the staff in one hand, he stepped toward her and lifted her easily into his arms.

The instant he did, Aveline stirred and, half-asleep, wrapped her arms around his shoulders with complete trust. Her face turned into his neck, and her lips brushed the skin there in the gentlest, most absent little graze.

Theron went very still.

Then, with the faintest hint of exasperation tugging at his mouth, he looked down at the sleeping girl tucked so naturally against him.

Well.

Now he had two very hard sticks to worry about.

-----

Aveline woke with a sharp gasp, instantly convinced she had slept far too long and somehow offended Theron’s embarrassingly intense devotion to sticks.

But she was not in trouble.

She was inside the carriage, tucked beneath a warm fur blanket, and...somehow, changed into a nightgown again.

Her brows shot up.

The man was either a gentleman, a menace, or both.

With great haste, she changed into a morning gown and caught sight of herself in the carriage glass. There, just beneath her neck, was a pink mark that stood out sharply against her pale skin.

She frowned at it. "What’s this?"

She rubbed at it lightly. It did not hurt much, though it looked suspiciously dramatic for something that was supposedly a mosquito bite. A very rude mosquito bite.

For all she knew, there was a giant mosquito hiding somewhere in the forest, specifically targeting her blood because it had developed excellent taste.

Annoyed and slightly offended on behalf of her neck, she stepped down from the carriage.

Theron was asleep up in a tree.

Not under it.

On it.

The sky had only just begun to soften from black to deep blue, and the last stars still clung to the horizon. Aveline stared up at him with growing disbelief. She did not understand why any sane person would choose to sleep on a tree when giant mosquitoes clearly existed and had no shame.

She climbed up carefully to wake him and insist, very firmly, that he sleep somewhere less likely to result in becoming breakfast.

By the time she reached the nearest branch, she found him sitting in an impossibly balanced position, one knee drawn up, one leg bent along the branch, his cloak draped over him like a dark shadow. He looked less like a man sleeping and more like a dangerous, elegant statue someone had abandoned in a tree.

Aveline sat across from him with a pout.

Was he not afraid of rolling over and falling?

She leaned a little closer, intent on checking whether he was truly asleep. What she did not notice was the faint tension in his fingers as she approached.

Theron had not slept much.

Last night had been a disaster in the most inconvenient possible way.

He had changed her out of that dress because it had made her uncomfortable, and somehow that had only made things worse. Then he had taken one reckless liberty, meant only to torment her a little for the misery she had caused him.

A simple kiss on her neck.

That had been the plan. Simple. Brief. Harmless.

But... It had not remained simple.

She had that maddeningly soft scent about her even without perfume, something warm and clean and impossible to ignore. One kiss had become two. Then longer. Then far too intimate for a man trying to maintain any remaining dignity.

And now, just as the morning light was beginning to turn the world pale, she was back again, right beside him. Still scented. Still warm. Still entirely unfair.

Theron exhaled slowly, trying not to react.

He could smell her.

Of course, he could.

And his body, traitorous and immediate, noticed before his mind had a chance to intervene.

"Theron..." Aveline whispered suddenly, leaning closer.

Her breath brushed his ear.

He felt it like a spark.

That did it.

His eyes opened.

There she was, blue-eyed and startled, leaning toward him at exactly the wrong angle, looking far too innocent for the amount of trouble she caused. Before she could even make a sound, the branch shifted beneath them.

Aveline gave a small yelp.

Theron moved at once, catching her before she could tumble, but the branch gave way anyway, and the next thing she knew, he had taken the fall with her safely on top of him.

He landed on the ground with a muffled thud, one arm wrapped around her to keep her from hurting herself.

Aveline froze.

So did he.

The world seemed to pause.

She was straddling him.

Her heart gave a ridiculous, thunderous leap that had nothing to do with the fall and everything to do with the very unfortunate awareness of where she was, how close he was, and the fact that he was looking at her with the kind of quiet focus that made her forget her own name.

Then her gaze dropped.

And all at once her face went scarlet.

Because whatever that was beneath her...

That was definitely not part of the tree.