Sold To The Cruel Pr Chapter 71: The Prideful Lady

Chapter 71: The Prideful Lady

No matter what, Aveline refused to die here, in this forest.

She wiped at her eyes, straightened her back, and forced herself to sit up properly.

Stones.

Theodore had once shown her how to make fire with stones. She could still rember him ntioning that only a particular kind would work, though she could not for the life of her recall where to find them now. But that did not matter.

She did not want to give up.

From a distance, Theron watched her.

He saw the tears she was trying so hard to hide, the way she kept swallowing them back as though even crying had beco an inconvenience she could not afford. The sight tightened sothing painfully inside him.

Why aren’t you coming to , Little Hare?

Had he hurt her that badly? Did she truly hate him now?

He could not stay back any longer. Pride, anger, restraint—everything else be damned. What use was any of it if she was sitting alone in the dark, hurting in silence?

Then he saw her, still clutching that hideous creature to herself.

He had no idea where it had co from, or why it was so attached to her, or why she had not simply thrown it away when she clearly could have. If she could kill one of those things so easily, why was she still holding on to that one?

Had she forgotten him so quickly?

"It’s all right, Hamilton..." Aveline murmured.

Theron leaned forward slightly, listening. Her voice was strained, soft in a way that made his chest ache.

Hamilton? She had nad that ugly little creature Hamilton?

Theron let out a slow breath.

"This night won’t be the end of us orphans," Aveline said, patting the creature’s head with a determined little nod.

The word hit him harder than he expected.

Orphan.

He knew what that ant. He had lived it. And through all of it, she had been the one who stood by him. So how could she say that about herself now, as though she had no one at all?

His hands curled at his sides.

What if she refused to co to him? Then he would go to her. He would hold her. He would tell her she was not alone. She had him.

But then he saw her stretch, rub her hands together, and lift her chin with fresh resolve.

"Let’s light our fire," she declared.

Sothing in him stilled.

Focused. Determined. As always, she was throwing herself at the problem with all the stubborn bravery in the world, even if she had no idea whether she would succeed.

Theron stopped a few paces away and watched.

For so reason, he wanted her to get it right.

She had always been like this—trying her hardest, failing, and trying again without ever losing that infuriating, beautiful persistence.

She fumbled with the wood.

She tried the stones.

Nothing. There was no spark, and no fla.

Only Hamilton was sneezing at the worst possible monts and sending her efforts scattering all over the ground.

And still she did not get angry.

Theron knew that if it had been him, she would have probably kicked him square in the chest by now.

But with that creature, she only sighed, laughed under her breath, and started over again.

Why?

Why was she so gentle with it?

Why would she not turn back to him?

He watched her try again, and again, and again, as though sheer will might force fire into existence.

It was impossible not to admire her for it. Impossible not to ache for her, too.

Why won’t you return to ?

Even when there was danger, even when she had taken responsibility for that creature, even though she couldn’t even make a fire, why was she still here? Why didn’t she even think of returning?

Why?

As he watched her struggle on, stubbornly trying again and again, sothing in Theron finally clicked into place.

Ah.

So that was it.

The Aveline he rembered had always been sweet, yes, and silly in the most endearing way. She had pouted when she was displeased, laughed without restraint when sothing amused her, and annoyed him with such effortless ease that it had felt almost natural to be riled by her. She had been light in a way that was impossible to mistake.

But she had been prideful too.

Terribly prideful.

So much so that she would have rather suffered than be pitied.

She had stayed in that mansion for years, enduring abuse and humiliation, clinging to the last fragnt of dignity she had left because the house had still been her ho. She had still been the late viscount’s daughter. That alone had mattered to her. That alone had given her the strength to remain.

Being dragged out like livestock would have broken sothing even deeper in her.

Maybe even more than when that man had tried to strip her of everything in front of everyone.

She had been a lady, reduced to cargo.

And that pride...the one thing she had carried through all of it... had shattered that night.

And he?

He had not picked the pieces up.

He had stomped on it, he had scattered them... By buying her.

Theron let out a low scoff, bitter and self-directed.

That night, he could have sent every man there straight to hell if he knew it would have made her breathe easier. He could have burned the entire place to the ground if he had known it would have given her even a little peace.

But he had not been thinking of her. Not really.

He had been thinking of himself.

He was thinking of keeping things quiet. Of avoiding attention. Of choosing the path that seed least likely to provoke trouble.

He was the prince who tried to be secretive, not an old friend who wanted his friend back. If he were just a friend, he would have burnt the place that shattered her pride.

But he... he chose himself first. And in doing so, he had wounded the one person who mattered most.

He had mistaken restraint for care and prudence for rcy.

And now, sitting in the trees and watching her try to make fire with trembling hands and unwavering determination, he understood the cost of that mistake far more clearly than he ever wanted to.

He had stomped on her pride and wounded her heart. Of all people, that had probably been the last thing she had expected from him.

Theron clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.

No wonder she thought of herself as a slave. She had not looked at the boy she once knew that night. She had looked at the man who bought her.

The realization settled over him with a heavy, sickening weight.

His breathing grew ragged.

And there she was, still trying, still failing, still refusing to give up.

It hurt to watch.

He lifted a hand and ford a rune, intending to coax a tiny spark into the kindling before her—just enough for her to believe she had done it herself. Just enough to give her that small victory.

She needed it.

She deserved it.

But before the spark could even settle into the dry wood, Hamilton sneezed again.

And this ti... A burst of fire shot from his nostrils.

Theron’s eyes widened.

For one stunned second, he forgot everything else.

What... was that? A creature breathing fire?

That never existed!

How co this one... breathes fire?