Sold To The Cruel Prince

"Why can’t you tell me?" Theron asked.

The question came out quieter than he intended, roughened by something he did not want to name. Frustration. Hurt. A strange, restless need that had been building ever since she began slipping just out of his reach.

He should have been angry. After everything he had done for her, after everything he had given, was it too much to ask for a simple answer?

But the moment his gaze lifted to her face, to those eyes that never quite knew how to hide what they felt... the anger faltered.

"Don’t they say," Aveline murmured, avoiding his gaze, "that prayers won’t be granted if you tell someone else?"

Her voice was soft, almost careful, as if she were guarding something fragile.

She was.

Theron exhaled slowly, leaning back just a fraction. "Then don’t tell me."

The words were calm. Too calm. But beneath them, something tightened.

Was he no different from the rest? Just another person she kept at a distance? Just another boundary she refused to let him cross?

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But, it did.

Aveline felt the shift in him. It was subtle, but unmistakable. Her fingers curled slightly in her lap as she glanced at him, then quickly away. That look... she knew it. She had seen it too many times, on too many faces.

Disappointment. Irritation. Anger.

It made something in her chest sink. She had never needed words to recognize it. Before she could stop it, her eyes stung.

Theron noticed immediately. Of course, he did.

His hand came up, firm but not rough, fingers closing around her chin and tilting her face back toward him.

"What now?" he asked, quieter this time.

"You’re angry at me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

There it was again... that instinctive retreat, that quiet assumption that she had done something wrong.

His grip tightened, just slightly.

"I can’t get mad at you?" he asked, his dark eyes locking onto hers.

The question should have sounded teasing. It didn’t. Something in his expression softened even as he held her there, refusing to let her look away.

"Why?"

Aveline’s breath caught.

Why?

She didn’t know. Or perhaps... she did, but didn’t know how to say it.

"You don’t have to tell me anything," he murmured, his voice deep, almost lost between them.

But some part of him... some quiet, aching part... wanted her to have every right on him.

He wanted her to feel enough to get angry. To react. To care in a way that wasn’t always so controlled, so deliberate.

Theron’s thumb pressed slightly against her chin, anchoring her there. Overbearing. Unyielding. And at the same time... dangerously gentle.

Aveline’s heart stumbled in her chest.

"Wh—what?" she asked, her voice unsteady now.

Being this close to him... it was becoming harder to breathe, harder to think, harder to remember why she was supposed to keep her distance at all.

His gaze didn’t waver.

"You can do anything you want, Aveline," he said.

The words were soft, but they carried weight. Possession without naming it. Devotion without restraint.

Aveline blinked, her lips parting slightly. "Anything?"

A faint breeze stirred through the trees, rustling the leaves above them. The scent of bark and earth wrapped around them, grounding and intimate all at once.

Theron leaned in just a fraction closer.

Close enough that she could feel his breath.

"I would never get mad at you," he added, his voice dropping lower, stripped of everything but quiet certainty.

The space between them shrank, not the physical distance, not enough to touch... but enough to feel.

Aveline’s back brushed against the rough bark behind her, trapping her between the solidity of the tree... and the far more dangerous presence in front of her.

Her pulse quickened. This was wrong. She knew it.

But the way he looked at her... the way his hand still held her, steady and unrelenting...

It didn’t feel like something she wanted to escape.

It felt like something she might step into, if she stopped thinking for even a moment.

"I prayed for three things," she said softly.

The words broke whatever fragile tension had wrapped around them.

Theron blinked, as if pulled back from somewhere he had no business being. His fingers loosened around her chin, though he did not fully let go at once. For a fleeting second, something unreadable flickered across his face, something dangerously close to wanting too much.

He stepped back. He needed distance and control when it came to this dangerous woman.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression settling into something calmer, more measured. "Three?"

Aveline nodded, though her fingers had already tightened in the fabric of her skirt, clutching it as if it might steady her.

"I prayed for my future..." she began, her voice quieter now. "And... I prayed to know why my parents were killed."

The words landed between them, heavier than anything she had said before.

Her grip tightened further, knuckles paling.

Theron’s hand twitched at his side. For a moment, just a moment, he almost spoke.

He almost promised her answers. Almost told her he would tear the world apart to find the truth. But the thought came just as quickly as the hesitation that followed.

It had been a decade. It was too long. Truths buried that deep rarely surfaced clean.

And worse...

A possibility he had never dared to say aloud pressed against his chest.

What if it had been him?

What if the danger that followed his name... his blood... had reached her home that night?

What if the kindness her parents had shown him had been the very thing that doomed them?

His jaw tightened.

He couldn’t even look at her.

Had she made that connection already? Had she come to the same conclusion and simply... chosen silence?

Or...

Was this her way of asking him?

Theron’s gaze dropped, shadows gathering in his expression.

"And..." Aveline continued, her voice softer still, almost hesitant now, "I prayed for you... and your wife."

That did it.

Theron stilled.

Something in his expression cracked; not loudly, not dramatically, but enough. His fingers trembled once, barely noticeable, before curling into his palm.

For a second, it felt like the air had shifted, like something fragile had been struck at its weakest point.

He lowered his head. Then, without a word, he turned. And walked away.

Aveline blinked, her grip on her skirt loosening as she watched his retreating back.

The distance between them grew too quickly. Too suddenly.

Her chest tightened, confusion settling where that fragile warmth had been just moments ago.

"...Did I do something wrong?" she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

But there was no answer.

Only the quiet rustling of leaves, and the unmistakable feeling that something had just slipped out of her reach.

And in the shadows, Kael watched, with a smirk to his face.

This... was exactly where he needed for them to be emotionally. This is exactly where he could protect his liege.