Sold To The Cruel Prince-Chapter 32: Was He Caught?

Lady Flora’s expression flickered as she recovered from her initial shock. Her gaze snapped from Aveline to Theron, searching, waiting, for the denial.

It had to be a lie. It was a lie. How could it not be?

That filthy little rat... the girl who had once cowered in a chicken coop, who had been chased and torn apart by hunting dogs for amusement... THAT Aveline had married a man like him?

Impossible.

And yet, she had heard it herself, just days ago. Beatrice had mentioned it casually, almost with boredom, that Aveline was to be sold, as a slave.

So what was she doing here? With him?

And worse... Why did he look at her like that?

Flora’s chest tightened slightly as she watched him. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t amused. He wasn’t even indifferent. He was looking at Aveline as though she were something rare. Something worth keeping.

And that... That unsettled her more than anything else.

Because she knew her place. She was the Duke’s daughter. The beauty standard of Aurelmont. Men looked at her. Desired her. Measured others against her.

And yet... This man didn’t even spare her a glance. Not once. His attention remained entirely on Aveline.

On that... thin, unremarkable girl who...

No.

Something twisted uncomfortably in Flora’s chest. Before she could settle it, Aveline spoke again.

"Oh, I haven’t introduced them to you, my lord husband," she said sweetly, leaning more comfortably into Theron’s arm, her smile widening just enough to feel deliberate.

Theron felt the words.

My lord husband.

For a fleeting second, something dangerously light lifted inside him, as though the ground beneath his feet had disappeared entirely and he was suspended somewhere far above it.

It fit. Too well.

"Why don’t you?" he replied, his voice smooth, his gaze still fixed on her, dark eyes carrying a warmth he rarely allowed anyone else to see.

Aveline turned back to Flora.

"This is Lady Flora," she began, her tone pleasant, almost admiring. "The prettiest in the entire kingdom. A perfect porcelain doll..."

She paused just long enough; long enough for the compliment to settle, for Flora to straighten, for expectation to bloom.

Aveline smiled.

"...hollow, delicate, and utterly replaceable."

Flora’s expression cracked. But before she could respond...

"A viper draped in silk," Aveline continued lightly, as though she were reciting something mildly amusing. "Hissing behind a fan. All that poise, and not a shred of grace."

Silence fell, heavy, leaving everyone stunned.

Theron didn’t look at Flora. Didn’t so much as acknowledge her existence. Why would he, when Aveline stood beside him like this... Her eyes sharp, and lips curved... Alive in a way he hadn’t seen before.

There was nothing more captivating.

A faint smile touched his lips.

Aveline shifted her attention effortlessly.

"And this is Lady Isolde," she went on, tilting her head slightly. "A parrot with a sharper beak than wit. All noise, no substance. She laughs a moment too late, just to be sure it’s permitted."

"You—" Flora stepped forward, outrage finally catching up to her, Isolde following close behind, only after looking at Flora.

Aveline didn’t even look at them. Her gaze drifted to the last girl. The quietest one who was already shrinking.

"This is..." Aveline paused, as if searching her memory, her expression turning almost thoughtful.

The girl’s face paled.

"...ah." Aveline smiled faintly. "I don’t quite remember."

The words landed softer... and cut deeper. Her eyes flicked over the girl once, dismissive, almost bored.

"A candle desperate to be noticed in daylight," she added. "Preening like a peacock, forgetting she has no feathers. A poorly stitched imitation of something almost human."

The girl flinched. No one laughed this time. No one spoke. Even the market noise seemed distant, swallowed by the weight of what had just unfolded.

And through it all... Theron stood beside her, unmoving, as though this version of Aveline, was exactly what he had been waiting to see.

But Flora... Flora had never been humiliated like this before, not in public or private. Even Beatrice, for all her cruelty, had always known where the invisible lines were drawn when it came to her. No one spoke over her. No one reduced her. Certainly not someone like Aveline.

And yet... Here she stood, stripped of her poise, and made small, in front of everyone.

The sting burned hotter than reason.

Her gaze flickered once more to Theron, but whatever fleeting fascination she had felt earlier vanished completely. Handsome or not, he was dressed in nothing but plain linen.

What could he possibly be other than common and insignificant?

Nothing could stand against her, a Duke’s daughter. Her pride surged back, sharp and blinding.

"You filthy mongrel!" Flora snapped, her voice rising, cracking through the air. "How dare you insult me, you insolent wretch!"

Her hand lifted.

Aveline’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected Flora to lose her composure; not here, not in front of everyone.

Instinct told her to step back, to retreat before the blow could land, but she didn’t get the chance.

Theron moved first. The moment Theron stepped forward, the air shifted. Not loudly. Not visibly. But something in the crowd stilled... like prey sensing a predator.

He stepped forward in a single, decisive motion, his arm rising just in time to intercept the strike. Flora’s hand met his forearm instead, the impact sharp but controlled.

For a moment, everything stilled.

Aveline stared.

And then, something in her snapped.

Anger, far stronger than the fear that had gripped her just moments ago flared in her heart.

"Do you realize what you’ve done?" she demanded, stepping forward instead of back, her voice no longer trembling. "Do you know who you just struck?"

Theron glanced at her briefly.

He didn’t mind. The blow meant nothing to him. He had stopped it and that was enough. But the fact that Flora had raised her hand at Aveline...

That...

That was something else entirely. Something far less forgiving.

Still, he didn’t move further. Not in the way he wanted to. He was already walking a thin line with too many close calls, too many moments where the mask of "common man" had nearly slipped. He had almost revealed himself last night.

A Crown Prince striking the nobility of another kingdom in broad daylight... That wasn’t just a scandal. That was a diplomatic fracture waiting to happen.

He wouldn’t risk it. Not for something this small.

His gaze shifted, scanning the crowd with quiet precision. His knights were present, hidden in plain sight. But that wasn’t who he was looking for.

He didn’t have to search long.

Kael stepped out from the edge of a shadow as though he had always been there. Their eyes met for less than a second.

Theron didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. There was a subtle shift in his demeanor; a barely noticeable motion of his hand. A command.

End them. Not now. Not here. But before the day is done.

Kael inclined his head, once. Then he stepped back and disappeared, gone as if he had never existed at all.

He was bound to the Crown Prince, not just by duty, but by something far deeper. And he had seen enough.

He had watched his liege—his prince, the man who commanded armies—walk behind this woman, carrying her belongings as if he were her servant. He had seen him eat after her, accept what she offered without hesitation, endure what should never have been tolerated.

And now...He had been struck, because of her.

Kael exhaled slowly, the breath measured, controlled.

Just a little longer... Soon... This nuisance would no longer exist.

-----

Flora’s lips curved, the smirk returning as if the brief disruption had never happened. She straightened, reclaiming her posture, her chin lifting ever so slightly.

"Who did I strike?" she repeated, her tone laced with mockery. "A blacksmith? A peasant?"

Aveline stepped forward before the words had even settled.

"How dare you touch my Theron?"

The possessiveness slipped out before she could measure it.

Aveline froze.

...Since when did he become mine?

Theron, standing just behind her, brought his hand lightly to his mouth, hiding the smile that threatened to surface. There was something dangerously satisfying in hearing her say it like that—my Theron—as though the world had already accepted it as truth.

Flora caught the name.

"Theron?" she echoed, one brow arching. Then she laughed, sharp and dismissive. "Don’t tell me... is this the orphan your father picked up?"

The laughter spread, quick and ugly. Too familiar.

Aveline felt it ignite something in her chest. "He’s not an orphan!"

Her voice cut sharper than she intended.

"He’s the—"

She stopped.

The crowd had gone quiet.

Aveline swallowed.

"...someone you should never have touched."

Flora and her friends laughed. Aveline fisted her hands.

"He’s the crown—"

She stopped, just short. Then she took a deep breath, a smirk forming on her face.

"...He’s the crown prince of Greenvale," she finished.

Silence fell, like the world had paused just long enough to notice.

Theron’s expression stilled.

For the first time since this began, something like genuine shock flickered across his face as he looked at her.

Did she figure it out...?

No. That didn’t make sense.

There was no way she could know.

And yet...She had said it, like something pulled straight from instinct, from somewhere deeper than logic.

Did I get caught?