Chapter 154: Showing Gratitude
Aveline pressed her lips together and fought to hold back her tears.
It was too much. Too sudden. Too humiliatingly raw.
To see Theron standing there beside another woman, calm and composed, while looking at her with that faintly confused expression as though she had somehow wandered into a place she had no right to be.
Yes, she had not been where she was supposed to be. She knew that. But did he have to look at her like that? Like he was trying to decide whether she belonged there at all?
Something inside her tightened painfully.
She did not want to stay a moment longer.
She turned to leave, only to feel a hand catch her wrist.
For one single, heartbreaking instant, hope flared in her chest.
Theron.
She thought, absurdly and desperately, that it might be him stopping her. That he might have noticed the hurt on her face. That he might explain, or at least ask whether she was all right after nearly being consumed by that so-called divine fire.
But it was not him.
The hand on her wrist was not large or warm or steady the way Theron’s always was. It was soft. Too soft. And worse than that, it held none of his warmth.
Aveline looked back.
The woman beside him.
Rosalyn Caelvaris.
She had to be beautiful. She had to be the sort of woman that nobles praised, the sort of face that would justify the court’s admiration and the crown’s approval. Otherwise, she would never have been chosen to stand beside the Crown Prince.
Aveline tried to be fair.
She always appreciated beauty when she saw it. If there had been anything to admire, she would have seen it.
But no matter how carefully she looked, she found nothing that stirred her. Not the face. Not the poise. Not the polished grace.
Instead, the shadows around Rosalyn shifted in a way that made Aveline’s stomach tighten. They did not merely move. They coiled. They curled inward with quiet menace, dark and watchful and faintly smug, as though they recognized something in her that her smile worked very hard to hide.
Aveline had learned enough by now to trust what the shadows showed her.
Rosalyn was not innocent. She was not gentle. And she was certainly not soft-hearted enough to belong in the role people had given her so proudly.
Aveline could see that much at a glance.
She could imagine it, too.
Someone clever enough to survive in court. Someone cunning enough to smile while taking what she wanted. Someone sharp enough to know exactly where to step so that others would stumble instead.
But beneath all that careful polish, the shadows told a different story.
This woman was not merely strategic.
She was dangerous.
And this was the woman chosen for Theron.
Aveline would never, in a thousand lifetimes, consider herself suited to marry a Crown Prince. She knew she was not polished enough, not noble enough in the right ways, not educated enough in the manners that court demanded. She knew all of that.
But for Theron... if this was her competition... If this was what stood between her and Theron...
Then the pain she had felt a moment ago sharpened into something colder, something almost disbelieving.
She tried to pull her wrist free and leave without making this any uglier than it already was. She did not want to say anything cruel to a woman who looked as though she had already decided she had the right to stand where she wanted.
And that scent of jasmine... It turned Aveline’s stomach.
It was too sweet. Too strong. Too deliberate. It carried the same polished arrogance as the smile on Rosalyn’s face. Aveline did not want to breathe it in another second.
She only wanted to hand this problem back to Theron and walk away.
"Aren’t you going to thank His Highness?" Rosalyn asked then, lifting her neatly shaped brows with a composure that felt almost too practiced to be real.
Aveline’s lips twisted faintly.
The smile that appeared on her face was not warm and definitely not kind.
It was the kind of smile that came from a girl who had already been hurt once today and was far too tired to pretend she was not.
"For what?" Aveline asked.
Her voice had gone quieter, but not softer. There was a steel to it now, a sharpness that made it clear she had no patience left for polite pretenses.
Behind them, Lucien was still bent over the table, muttering to himself as he checked the re-sorted the stones with distracted irritation, as though the room’s chaos had already become a problem too small to merit his attention.
Rosalyn’s smile faltered, only for a heartbeat.
It was brief, but Aveline caught it.
Perhaps the other woman had not expected such defiance from a girl she did not know. Perhaps she had assumed Aveline would bow her head, offer gratitude, and quietly accept whatever place she was being assigned.
But Aveline had long since stopped caring about what this woman expected of her.
Rosalyn’s lips curved again, though this time the smile was thinner. Sharper. Almost mocking.
"Is this the thanks Vaelor receives for saving your life?" she asked.
Aveline nearly scoffed.
Nearly.
Vaelor?
What a ridiculous name.
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Theron, just for an instant, before returning to Rosalyn with renewed annoyance. "Right," she said, a faint smirk touching her lips. "Someone ought to apologize for making His Supreme Royal Highness save my life from your insane grandfather. And that someone is not me."
With a sharp tug, she wrenched her wrist free.
Rosalyn’s expression tightened at once. Her eyes narrowed, and when she spoke again, the sweetness had curdled into something colder.
"What an uncouth ingrate."
Aveline had already turned to leave when the malicious edge in Rosalyn’s tone stopped her.
She went still.
Slowly, she turned back.
Theron was still there, blinking as though he had been struck by lightning and not yet decided whether he was alive enough to process it. He looked stunned, confused in a way that made him seem suddenly, painfully vulnerable.
And that...
That was what pushed her over the edge.
Aveline’s temper flared so fast it nearly drowned out everything else.
Oh, she was done.
She was so done.
If Rosalyn wanted gratitude, then fine. Aveline would give her a display of it so memorable it would scorch itself into the room.
She looked at Theron again, and for the briefest second, something in her chest tightened with all the hurt and jealousy and longing she had been trying not to feel. Then she made a decision.
"Oh, I’d love to thank him," she said sweetly.
And before anyone could react, she stepped straight up to Theron, caught the front of his collar in her hand, rose onto her toes, and pressed her lips to his.
