Sold To The Cruel Prince

Aveline had made her decision.

She would not use her power to frighten others. Not after seeing how quickly it could turn cruel in her hands. She knew too well what it meant to be on the receiving end of another person’s strength, to be made small, powerless, and afraid. She would never become that kind of person. Never.

Only then did she realize Hamilton was gone.

Her head lifted at once, and the ache of her own thoughts sharpened into alarm. She looked around the room, then the bed, then the narrow windowsill, as though he might have simply wandered off and hidden himself in some absurd little corner.

But the room remained empty. Her heart tightened. Only then did she remember that after finding Lydia, she had never once seen Hamilton beside her.

Stress rushed through her all over again.

She rose quickly and forced herself to breathe. Lydia came first. Whatever else was wrong, Lydia needed food. Aveline sent for something light from the kitchen and, when it arrived, carried it back to the infirmary herself.

Lydia was still unconscious, pale and silent beneath the covers, and the sight of her made Aveline’s chest ache all over again. She set the tray down carefully and stood there for a moment, looking at her battered friend, before the helplessness became too much and she turned away.

Only then did she go searching for Hamilton.

She found herself heading toward the sanctuary without even fully deciding to do so, because where else would he be? If he had gone anywhere, surely it would be back among the other creatures like him.

The thought should have comforted her. Instead, it made the loneliness inside her deepen, as though every path she took only led her farther away from the small comforts she had been clinging to.

When she reached the sanctuary, Hamilton was there.

He sat among the others, curled small amid the larger beasts, his little body looked even tinier than usual, yet not a single creature seemed to question his place among them.

They surrounded him with quiet reverence. He was still absurdly small, still looked like the silly little hatchling she knew, but there was something different in the way he held himself now. He was no longer bouncing or flapping or wagging his tail in that ridiculous, overexcited way.

He simply walked toward her when he noticed her, each step measured and dignified, with a strange and regal grace that made his tiny frame seem far too small for the weight of the air around him.

Aveline felt something in her heart twist.

"Hamilton..."

She held out a hand, smiling faintly despite the heaviness pressing on her chest. She wanted him to come back with her. She wanted him to climb into her arms the way he always did, to let her carry him home and pretend for a little while that everything would be all right.

But Hamilton stopped short.

He looked at her hand.

Then at her face.

And he refused to step onto her palm.

It was such a small thing. He had done it countless times before. Yet this time he only stood there, still and solemn, as though some part of him had changed in a way she could not understand.

Aveline’s smile faltered.

For a moment she simply stared at him, overwhelmed by a strange, aching loneliness that seemed to settle over her all at once. Lydia was unconscious. Theron was gone. Lucien had become a storm of grief and guilt. And now even Hamilton, the little creature she had thought would always run toward her, seemed suddenly distant in a way she could not bridge.

Her eyes burned.

She turned away before he could see her cry.

By the time she returned to Lydia’s side, the tears were already falling again. She sat beside the bed and tried to sleep, but sleep refused her. She only curled in on herself, one hand pressed over her mouth so the sobs would not grow too loud, while the other hovered near Lydia’s blanket as if she could somehow keep both of them from slipping away.

Everything felt as though it were slipping from her hands.

Lydia.

Hamilton.

Theron.

The truth about her parents.

Even herself.

And she had no idea how to hold onto any of it anymore.

-----

The convoy wound its way through the narrow valley, its wheels creaking steadily over the uneven road.

Towering mountains rose on either side, their rocky faces casting long shadows that stretched across the path. Dozens of wagons laden with cotton rolled forward in orderly lines, flanked by mounted knights and soldiers. The journey had been peaceful so far, broken only by the occasional cry of birds circling high above the cliffs.

Lord Hector Sylvarien rode beside Theron, surveying the surrounding slopes with practiced eyes.

"The roads have been unusually quiet," he remarked.

Theron gave a small nod, but his gaze remained fixed on the ridges.

Too quiet.

Since leaving the capital, he had carried the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching them. Every few miles, it returned—a prickling sensation crawling across the back of his neck before disappearing just as quickly.

Now... It was stronger.

His horse slowed.

Lord Hector noticed immediately.

"What is it?"

Theron’s eyes swept across the mountains.

"We’re being followed."

The older lord frowned and instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword.

"I’ve felt it since noon," Theron continued quietly. "Whoever they are, they’ve kept their distance."

His gaze drifted toward the endless line of wagons behind them.

"If they intend to strike, they’ll wait until we stop."

Lord Hector followed his line of sight before giving a curt nod.

"What would you have me do?"

"Ride ahead."

Theron turned his horse slightly toward the rear of the convoy.

"Take command of the vanguard and keep the wagons moving exactly as planned. The cotton is the priority. If anything happens, do not stop unless absolutely necessary."

Lord Hector studied him for a long moment before understanding settled in. "You intend to become the bait."

Theron’s lips curved into a faint smile. "If they’re watching me, let them."

Without another word, Lord Hector spurred his horse forward, weaving through the convoy until he disappeared toward the front.

Theron deliberately allowed his own pace to slow.

Soon, nearly the entire procession stretched ahead of him.

Only a handful of rear guards remained nearby.

The feeling never left.

Invisible eyes followed every movement.

By evening, the convoy reached a small clearing nestled between the mountains. Tents were raised. Campfires flickered to life. Soldiers prepared the evening meal while others took up guard positions around the precious cargo.

Theron stood at the edge of the camp, looking toward the darkening cliffs.

Still there... Watching.

He rested one hand upon the hilt of his sword. "Show yourselves," he murmured.

The mountains answered only with silence.

Then...

A deep rumble echoed overhead.

Every soldier looked up. Theron’s pupils narrowed. The entire mountainside was moving.

"Boulders!"

Someone screamed.

Massive stones broke free from the cliffs, crashing downward with deafening force, gathering speed as they thundered toward the camp.

"Protect the wagons!" Lord Hector roared.

Theron shot into motion.

Golden light burst from beneath his feet as countless strands of radiant energy spread through the air, weaving together into an enormous shimmering barrier.

The first boulder struck it.

The impact shook the valley.

A second.

A third.

Each slammed against the glowing veil before grinding to a halt, suspended in midair instead of crushing the camp beneath them.

Lord Hector raised both hands.

Blue-white lightning exploded from his palms.

Bolt after bolt tore across the battlefield, striking the trapped boulders with explosive force.

The valley thundered.

Stone shattered into countless fragments before harmlessly raining across the ground.

For a heartbeat... there was silence.

Then arrows rained from the cliffs.

"Ambush!"

Figures emerged from the rocks, leaping down the mountainsides while others fired from above. Steel flashed beneath the fading light as soldiers rushed to meet them.

Theron’s sword left its sheath in one smooth motion.

The battlefield erupted.

One attacker lunged.

Theron sidestepped, struck the man’s wrist, and sent the blade spinning away before driving him into the ground.

Another charged.

A third.

They came from every direction. Yet something felt wrong. They were not trying to kill him. They were buying time.

"After them!" Theron shouted as several figures abruptly turned and fled toward the mountains.

He launched after the nearest one.

The masked man nearly escaped into the trees before Theron caught his cloak, yanking him violently backward.

The assassin crashed onto the rocky ground.

Before he could reach the dagger hidden inside his sleeve, Theron pinned him down with one hand.

"Who are you?"

The man struggled desperately.

Theron’s grip tightened. "Who sent you?"

The prisoner’s breathing grew ragged. His eyes darted wildly toward the mountains, as though fearing someone else far more than the prince holding him.

Theron’s voice turned cold.

"Answer me."

The man’s expression suddenly changed. He was not afraid anymore.

And before Theron could stop him...

The prisoner smiled.