Chapter 146: A Worthy One
Aelion looked at her sharply.
There was no hesitation in her voice when she said it. Only quiet certainty, as though somewhere in this cruel world, there had truly been someone who chose her. Someone who stood beside her when everyone else walked away.
And what she got was so important to her that she was spreading that feeling around.
An unpleasant feeling twisted inside Aelion’s chest at the thought.
His fingers curled slightly at his side before he could stop himself.
"A man, perhaps?" he asked.
The question came out lighter than he intended, but he already regretted asking it the moment the words left his mouth.
He did not understand the strange prickling sensation beneath his ribs. It irritated him. Annoyed him. Not as much as that smile on her face, but it irritated him nonetheless.
And yet he wanted the answer anyway.
"Yes," Aveline replied immediately, meeting his eyes.
She did not lower her gaze. She did not smile shyly. She did not attempt to hide it.
If anything, there was something fiercely protective in the way she answered, as though the truth itself mattered deeply to her.
She refused to let herself be mistaken for someone else’s woman when, in her heart, she already belonged to Theron.
Even if he was far away. Even if he had not come to her. Even if something terrible had changed between them, she still could not understand.
Aelion watched her quietly.
The softness in her eyes when she spoke of that unnamed man unsettled him more than he expected. It was not infatuation. Not shallow admiration.
It looked like devotion. The kind that survived fear. The kind that stayed.
And for some reason, that realization left an unpleasant hollow feeling in his chest.
"He must be important to you," Aelion said at last.
Aveline’s fingers unconsciously brushed the pocket where the cold token rested, hidden against her clothes.
Even without warmth, she still carried it close, as though her heart refused to accept what her mind could not understand.
Her expression softened so suddenly that it almost hurt to witness.
"Yes," she whispered. "He is."
Aelion swallowed quietly and watched her for a moment longer.
There it was again.
That look. Even he who was not experienced in the feelings of the heart could say that it was not just infatuation or girlish fantasy. It was something far deeper; the kind of feeling that rooted itself into a person’s soul and refused to leave.
And strangely enough, he disliked seeing it.
He could sense she was not pleased about the rumors he had spread. She was too perceptive not to realize what he had done. But he had no intention of apologizing for it.
Rumors created distance. Protection. A shield.
If people believed she belonged to him, fewer men would dare approach her recklessly. With the power she held and the people she attracted, he didn’t want to miss his opportunity to recruit her.
At least, that had been his reasoning.
And besides... he had never once seen another man beside her.
So unless she confronted him openly about it, he intended to pretend ignorance.
"Did the Archduke find you again?" Aelion asked at last, deliberately steering the conversation elsewhere.
Aveline shrugged lightly. "He must be busy."
Aelion studied her face carefully before speaking again.
"I heard Rosalyn Caelvaris handled the cotton crisis in the western territories rather well," he said casually. "She is returning to the capital soon."
Aveline’s brows lifted faintly.
"Rosalyn?"
But the moment she heard the surname Caelvaris, something shifted subtly in her expression. A small reaction. Barely noticeable.
Still, Aelion caught it.
"The future queen of Greenvale," he said with a small wink.
He brought her up on purpose.
Ever since the tavern incident, he had been suspicious. He remembered seeing her with Kael that night, but the way she spoke about the man in her heart...
No.
That could not have been Kael.
Kael was spoiled, sharp-tongued, and careless with people’s feelings. He was not the kind of man who inspired devotion like the one Aveline carried in her eyes.
But the Crown Prince...
Aelion’s gaze lingered on her face.
She was beautiful enough to make powerful men reckless.
Not merely pretty, but devastatingly striking in ways that lingered long after one looked away. Greenvale was known for producing beautiful women, but Aveline possessed something rarer than beauty.
Presence.
She walked through the world bruised and wary, yet still somehow proud. Soft in strange places. Sharp in others. Fragile and dangerous all at once.
Combined with her stubborn courage and the eerie abilities she tried so hard to conceal...
Yes.
Aelion could absolutely imagine the Crown Prince falling for someone like her.
Too bad she was an orphan, someone who was so farther away from the throne.
But as he watched her now, waiting carefully for some crack in her composure, some flicker of jealousy or pain at the mention of Theron’s future bride...
There was nothing. No visible reaction at all.
Aveline only tilted her head slightly. "She sounds impressive," she said honestly.
Aelion frowned inwardly.
Was he wrong?
Had he imagined the connection entirely?
The thought lingered unpleasantly in his mind, but before he could probe further, Aveline spoke again.
"Cotton crisis?" she asked curiously.
The subject immediately caught her attention because she didn’t want to think about that woman.
Rosalyn... Even her name sounded so... Ugh! Don’t think about her! Cotton... Cotton... Think about cotton!
She had heard whispers about it throughout the Arcanum halls—students gossiping in corners, professors lowering their voices during conversations whenever noble trade routes were mentioned.
And Aelion, despite how secretive he was about himself, seemed strangely willing to explain the politics of Greenvale to her.
"The Caelvaris family’s cotton reserves burned down several days ago," Aelion explained as they continued walking through the stone corridor. "Warehouses and entire shipments."
His lips curved faintly, though there was little warmth in the expression.
"It was a devastating financial loss. The old lady of the Caelvaris family nearly collapsed from fury, or so the rumors say."
Aveline blinked. "Old lady?"
"The Archduke’s wife," Aelion clarified. "She controls most of the family’s finances."
"And Rosalyn fixed it?"
"Not entirely," he replied. "But she stabilized the damage quickly enough that the royal court praised her competence. Investors stayed loyal. Merchants regained confidence. That alone prevented the family from collapsing further."
Aveline stared ahead thoughtfully.
"They bend fire," she said slowly. "And they still could not protect their own produce from burning?"
Aelion let out a short laugh under his breath.
"The irony," he murmured.
There was mockery in his voice, but beneath it lingered something sharper. Satisfaction.
"Next to the Archduke, there are no truly powerful fire-benders left in the Caelvaris family," he continued. "Not anymore."
Aveline glanced at him. "Why?"
"Because strength weakens when bloodlines scatter carelessly."
His tone carried the rhythm of something he had heard repeated often among nobles.
"Years ago, the Caelvaris and Sylvarien families married among themselves almost exclusively. Fire and lightning. Strong blood producing stronger blood."
Aveline could understand the logic behind it immediately.
Power preserving power, in the same way, noble houses preserved wealth.
"They stopped marrying each other?" she asked.
Aelion scoffed softly.
"Both families decided they wanted to ’diversify’ their bloodlines." His mocking tone deepened around the word. "The Caelvaris family became obsessed with gaining royal favor. They pursued marriages tied to the crown instead. They got their wish only now, though."
"And it weakened them?"
"It weakened their bending," Aelion corrected. "And now... their finances as well."
His silver eyes darkened slightly.
"The Caelvaris family wanted proximity to the throne so badly that they bled themselves dry maintaining appearances. Prestige is expensive."
Aveline listened quietly.
There was something ugly in the satisfaction he took from noble suffering. Not loud or cruel enough to shock her, but present nonetheless. The bitterness inside him ran deep enough that even hearing about powerful families struggling seemed to soothe something wounded in him.
And strangely...
She understood it.
Part of her wanted to condemn that bitterness.
Another part remembered cold rooms, empty stomachs, bruises, and the way powerful people looked away from suffering when it was inconvenient.
So instead of judgment, she felt something softer.
Pity.
Not for the nobles, but for him. Because hatred like this did not grow inside happy people.
