Sold To The Cruel Prince

Aveline looked at the creature, then at her own hand.

Her fingers trembled.

She had heard it.

Not with her ears, not as a voice carried through air, but somewhere deeper... somewhere that did not belong to reason, or logic, or anything she had ever been taught to trust.

The moment her skin had touched its head, she had understood.

The creature was staring at her now, its strange, gleaming eyes fixed on hers as though it were waiting. As though it had placed something fragile into her hands and was watching to see what she would do with it.

And then the words came again, not quite words, and yet unmistakable.

Save my child.

Aveline’s breath caught.

It had not spoken. And yet she had heard it. She had felt it.

The emotion behind it was not sharp or violent, nothing like the ugly shape of its body suggested. It was not monstrous.

It was desperate... So desperate it hurt to feel.

There had been fear there. And beneath the fear, something more powerful still, something instinctive and fierce and painfully familiar.

Love.

Aveline’s throat tightened.

This was not just a beast. This was a being that felt. That feared. That loved.

Just like a human.

Just like a mother. Just like her mother.

The thought struck so deeply that for a moment she could not breathe.

Just like her mother had that night.

The memory came crashing over her in a sudden, merciless wave. The sharp clang of swords. The violent shouts outside the manor. The terror she had not understood then, only felt. She had run toward her mother because that had been all she knew to do, all she could think of.

And her mother was there, frantic and terrified. And yet, she still tried to smile at her.

She had drawn Aveline close, hidden her in the small room behind the bookshelf, and pressed one trembling finger against her lips, silently begging her to stay quiet no matter what happened outside.

The bookshelf had not even closed properly.

Aveline still remembered the way her mother had looked at her through tears, fear carved into her face, and still chosen to leave her behind.

To run toward the assassins.

To die for her.

All so Aveline could live.

Her chest tightened painfully.

And now this creature...

Her fingers curled slightly, as though the memory of that touch still lingered in her skin. She could almost feel it again, that silent plea, that fragile hope reaching toward her without knowing who she was.

Her gaze drifted back to the creature.

It was still watching her... Waiting... Trusting her... Perhaps foolishly.

Aveline swallowed hard.

Then Kael’s voice echoed faintly through her mind.

Don’t you feel sorry for them? These pitiful things...

Her thoughts tangled violently.

Was this real? Or was she being fooled?

Was this some trick of instinct, some illusion meant to soften her, to make her lower her guard? Was she being too kind, too willing to see herself in something that might tear her apart the next moment?

Was that it?

Because she had been caged too, did she now look at these creatures and refuse to see them as monsters?

Her breathing grew uneven. She did not understand. She did not understand any of it.

Everything felt too complicated, too blurred, too close to the edge between pity and danger, mercy and foolishness.

Her eyes burned.

"I’m sorry..." she whispered.

She did not know to whom she was apologizing.

Was she apologizing to the creature? Or herself? Or was she apologizing to her mother for not being even half as brave as she were?

Or... was she apologizing to whatever strange, impossible connection had passed between them in that brief moment?

She stepped back.

Then turned and ran.

This time, she did not stop herself.

Tears slipped down her cheeks before she even realized she was crying, and she ran with a tight, aching chest, her thoughts scattered and helpless and impossible to gather back into order.

She had felt something real.

And that was what terrified her the most.

Aveline ran straight into something solid.

Pain shot through her forehead, and she stumbled to a halt with a startled gasp, clutching her head as tears pricked harder in her eyes. Whatever stone statue had wandered into her path had absolutely no consideration for her feelings... or for the delicate state of her skull.

She scrubbed at her face with both hands, trying to clear her tears enough to see whom she had collided with.

Of course.

It was Theron.

Her lower lip trembled the moment she recognized him, and that only made the tears spill faster.

"Aveline."

His hands settled on her shoulders at once, steady and warm and suddenly far too careful. The touch anchored her, even as it made her want to cry more. She had been laughing and smiling only moments ago. What had happened in between? What could have shaken her like this?

Theron felt the change in her immediately.

He had never handled her tears well. Each time she cried, it felt as though something inside his chest clenched hard enough to hurt.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice lower now, rough with concern. "Did someone say something to you?"

His gaze moved sharply past her, toward the nearby knights.

They looked back at him in confusion.

Several of them seemed to want to kneel at once, but of course they could not—not when their prince had forbidden any sign that might reveal who he was. So they stood there instead, frozen and uncertain, as if they had been caught in the middle of a conversation they were not permitted to understand.

Aveline shook her head weakly.

She could not see his face properly through her tears, but she could feel the tension in his arms, the solid line of his biceps beneath her fingers where she had unconsciously clenched his sleeves. He was worried.

For some reason, that made her cry harder.

Theron frowned faintly.

"Was it Kael?" he asked.

There was only one person he seemed immediately ready to suspect.

Aveline sniffed and looked up at him, even though her vision was still blurred. It was obvious enough, from the tone alone, that Theron did not like Kael very much either. She did not want to make things worse between them when both of them worked for the crown prince.

So she shook her head again.

"No," she whispered.

That did not seem to ease him.

Theron drew her in before she could stop him, holding her close against his chest. Her face pressed near his shoulder, and the warmth of him was so unexpectedly comforting that it nearly made her break all over again.

He rubbed her back gently, once, twice, as if she were something fragile he was determined not to let shatter in his hands.

"Tell me what it is," he murmured.

Aveline wanted to cry more at that.

She did not know how to explain any of it. She still did not know who had killed her parents. She still did not understand the strange things happening to her. She did not know whom to trust, or what she was meant to do, or how she was supposed to carry all of this without falling apart.

It was too much.

Too much for one heart.

Too much for one morning.

And then...

Her stomach growled.

Loudly.

The sound cut through the silence so completely that even Aveline froze.

Theron went still.

Then he let out a long, relieved sigh, the kind that sounded like a man who had briefly imagined every possible disaster and was now being informed the culprit was hunger.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, almost cautiously. "Is that why you were crying?"

Aveline looked up at him, her lips still trembling, tears still clinging to her lashes.

And because the world clearly had no respect for her dignity, her stomach answered for her again with a softer but equally pitiful rumble.

Her face heated at once.

Theron stared at her for a second.

Then, despite the tension still lingering in his shoulders, the corner of his mouth twitched.

Aveline, mortified beyond reason, tried very hard not to burst into tears again out of sheer humiliation.

It was not working.