Sold To The Cruel Prince-Chapter 33: Her Coldness

Theron’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying her now with a different kind of focus.

Aveline wasn’t looking at him.

Her chin was lifted, her shoulders squared, her entire body brimming with defiance as she faced Flora, like a girl who had just thrown the biggest stone she could find and dared the world to do something about it.

And then it clicked.

Ah... Of course...!

A slow, almost amused exhale left him, the tension in his shoulders easing.

It was not truth. She had used a weapon. She hadn’t uncovered anything. She had chosen the most outrageous, untouchable claim she could think of, and thrown it like a dagger.

Because if they mocked her, she would mock them harder. If they called him nothing, she would crown him everything.

Theron’s lips twitched.

Reckless... Ridiculous... Entirely her.

Flora’s laughter cut through again. "The crown prince?" she scoffed. "How convenient. Why not say he’s a god while you’re at it?"

They laughed more.

Theron stepped closer, just slightly, just enough that his presence pressed warm and solid at Aveline’s side.

His voice, when he spoke, was calm; dangerously so.

"And if I were?" he asked lightly.

The laughter stumbled, just a little.

His gaze swept over them, unhurried, unimpressed, for he was a man who had stood in rooms far grander than this, before people far more dangerous than these girls pretending at cruelty.

Then, deliberately, he looked back at Aveline. There was something new in his eyes now.

What are you playing at...?

He seemed to ask, but beneath it, there was something warmer, and something he didn’t bother to hide.

Because, if this was her game... He would play along.

Aveline couldn’t bring herself to look at Theron. It was only after the words had left her mouth, that the weight of them truly settled in. He worked for the Crown Prince of Greenvale, and what she had just done could very well be twisted into impersonating royalty. A capital offence. The kind that didn’t end with a scolding, but with a noose.

Ah... I went too far... she thought, a flicker of unease curling in her chest.

But she had already said it.

And Aveline was not the kind of person who retreated halfway through a battle she herself had started. If she had gone too far, then she would simply have to go further and make it worth it.

Flora blinked once. Then twice. And then, as if the absurdity of it finally caught up with her, she resumed her laughter, light and mocking, her lackeys eagerly joining in as though they had been waiting for permission.

"Oh, of course," she said, waving a hand as if brushing away something distasteful. "And I suppose I’m the Empress of the North."

The tension cracked, dissolving into laughter. To them, it was too ridiculous to consider, too outrageous to be anything but a desperate lie.

Aveline let them laugh.

Theron, however, was no longer paying attention to them.

His gaze lingered on Flora, thoughtful, searching, as a question quietly took root in his mind.

How does she know me?

Then he turned to Aveline. He studied her, and in her place, he almost saw a younger girl, surrounded by a swarm of children who followed her every word as though it were law. Aveline had always been like that. Even as a child, she had ruled her little world with effortless authority, urging the others into mischief, into games, into whatever caught her fancy in the moment.

And him...

He had never been part of that circle.

He had been the outsider that the other "noble" children delighted in tormenting.

In those early years, Aveline had not helped him. She would simply watch, her expression unreadable, stepping in only when things went too far, when cruelty tipped into something even she could not ignore.

He had never expected her to defend him, not truly. Because when she didn’t, she would make up for it in her own strange way. She would sit with him afterward, sometimes the entire night, filling the silence with stories and chatter, telling him in a half-muttering way that she didn’t even like those children, but she needed them; needed the noise, the company, the illusion of belonging.

He had accepted that.

Or at least, he had told himself he had.

Until that day.

They had planned it like it was a grand joke. His dark hair, darker eyes, and unnaturally pale skin had already set him apart, earning him the name "night fox," and because he was an orphan, somehow that alone was reason enough to deserve to be drenched in horse piss.

And Aveline... Aveline was there... Leading them.

She had stood with them, not stopping it, but planning it.

He was shocked.

No, that wasn’t the right word.

He was... broken.

Because she had been the only one who stayed. The only one who made the rest bearable. And... even she had stood with them, against him. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

---

"Where is your other lackey, Beatrice?"

Aveline’s voice cut cleanly through the memory, pulling him back to the present.

Flora’s laughter died abruptly, as though someone had snatched the sound straight from her throat.

"What do you think happened to her?" Aveline continued, her tone deceptively light, though there was something sharp coiled beneath it. "Do you know how I’m out and about today?"

Flora scoffed, though there was a slight stiffness to it now. "She probably has a stomachache from overeating cake last night."

Aveline didn’t even bother responding to that. Instead, she turned sharply and stopped a passing vegetable peddler, catching the woman so suddenly that she nearly dropped her basket.

"Do you know what happened at the Willowgrave Mansion last night?" Aveline asked, her voice bright with curiosity.

The woman glanced around, as though checking whether she should be saying anything at all, and then, predictably, gave in to the irresistible pull of gossip.

"They say the true heir was found," she said in a hushed but eager tone. "The impostors were imprisoned. Though I heard the wife and daughter managed to escape."

With that, she hurried off, leaving behind a silence far heavier than before.

Flora’s eyes widened despite herself. Her gaze flickered to Aveline, then to Theron, only to falter under the weight of his quiet, imposing stare. She quickly looked away, as though even a moment longer would be too much.

Aveline leaned in slightly, her smile soft, almost pleasant.

"I’ll tell you," she said, her voice dropping into a whisper meant only for Flora.

"Beatrice and her mother are dead." She let the words settle, watching them take root. Then, just as gently, she added, "You should apologize while you still can."

Flora gulped, her hands clutching her skirts.

Aveline looked at Theron with a smirk. Theron’s gaze shifted to her.

There it was again... That coldness... When did she start looking like that?

"Shall we?" Aveline asked.

She didn’t wait for an answer.

She already knew he would follow.