Chapter 207: His Light
Aveline remained completely unaware of the storm brewing in Theron’s mind.
To her, the matter was simple. He was here. She wanted to touch him. That was all there was to it.
It had been too long since she had felt the warmth of him properly, too long since she had been able to rest her hands against the hard plane of his chest or press close enough to hear the steadiness of his breathing.
Even now, just looking at him, she found herself wondering about that terribly unfair part of him, which she had once privately thought of as a "snake". It always seemed terribly energetic whenever she was around. It had always had far too much energy, far too much life, and she could not help but wonder whether it still reacted the same way these days, whether it still stirred at her presence the way it used to.
Theron was staring at the nightrobe in her hands with such obvious intensity that Aveline misunderstood it entirely. She thought he was upset, perhaps even offended, that she had tried to return it to him. The thought made her hesitate.
And then, as much as she would have loved to keep him here, to have one of those quiet, indulgent little moments with him in person, she reminded herself that tonight was not for that.
Tonight, she had a mission.
Her fingers folded the robe back into the drawer with careful finality, and her expression softened into something more practical.
"You can sleep here if you want," she said, closing the drawer with a gentle click.
Theron visibly flinched.
Sleep.
The word hit him like a trapdoor opening beneath his feet.
What did that mean, exactly?
What else did that include?
His imagination, already spiraling out of control, seized on every possibility at once and made all of them far worse than they needed to be.
Aveline, meanwhile, saw only that he looked as though he had been stretched too tightly for too long, like a bow string on the verge of snapping. Something was clearly troubling him.
She assumed, quite reasonably, that he was still thinking about his father erasing her memories. He had looked so shaken earlier, so tense and protective, as though his entire world depended on keeping hold of what little he remembered of her.
So when she said, "I’m leaving," she thought almost nothing of it.
Theron, however, nearly stopped breathing.
"Leave?" he repeated at once, his head snapping up, his brows drawing together. "Leave where?"
Her expression blinked into surprise. It was only then that she realized how alarming he sounded.
Theron was indeed alarmed.
Has it gotten to the point where she is leaving the city to have the baby?
The thought had no reason to exist, and yet Theron’s mind had already built a whole tragic little story around it. In his head, every detail began to connect itself to the absurd suspicion he had already accepted as possible.
Did his father frighten her that much? Did she think he was too weak to protect her? Did she not trust him enough to stay?
And more painfully still, a different thought slipped in beneath the first.
Maybe this was not fear.
Maybe this was something he himself wanted so deeply that his mind had conjured it before he could even understand it.
A family... with her.
Aveline had no idea any of that was happening. She only saw a Theron who looked one breath away from shattering and assumed, again quite naturally, that he was still afraid of his father taking her memories away.
He was practically shaking when he hugged her, as though his life depended on whether she kept remembering him. She softened at once.
"Just outside," she said lightly. Then, with a little wink, she added, "I did promise I would get the cotton for you, didn’t I?"
Theron stared at her.
She made it sound so simple. So casual.
But nothing about it sounded simple to him. Not when she said it like that. Not when his mind was still tangled in the conviction that she might be carrying his child and leaving the city for safety. Not when every answer she gave seemed to be wrapped in more danger than the last.
"How?" he asked.
Aveline opened her mouth.
She wanted to tell him. Wanted to brag about the friends she had made, about the rebels who had begun to trust her, about the strange little network of people who already seemed to think she was some kind of savior. It would have been easy enough to speak plainly.
But then the thought struck her that perhaps she should not.
On one side was the rebellion.
On the other hand was the Crown Prince.
And she was standing in the middle, very much herself and very much unwilling to be the reason the two sides collided before she had even done anything useful.
So she shut her mouth again.
It was better this way.
Better if Theron did not misunderstand.
Better if she did not accidentally make herself sound as though she were choosing one side over him when all she wanted was to help him.
She glanced away, then looked back at him with a much more careful smile.
"I’m just going out to handle something," she said, keeping her tone light. "You will get your cotton."
And if she did not explain more, well.
That was perhaps for the best.
Aveline glanced out of the window, and her eyes widened.
"Oh no. Look at the sky!" she exclaimed. "I have to go."
Before Theron could ask another question, she swung one leg over the windowsill.
His hand closed firmly around her shoulder.
"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice low. "Who are you going to meet?"
Aveline pouted immediately.
"What’s it to you?" she shot back. "You don’t tell me everything you do."
The words left her mouth more sharply than she intended. She was not trying to assert some grand independence. She simply could not tell him the truth. Not yet. Not when she herself did not fully understand where the rebels stood in relation to the Crown.
Theron stared at her.
She was hiding something.
He could see it in the slight hesitation in her eyes, in the way her fingers twisted together behind her back. Guilt did not sit naturally on Aveline. It showed too clearly on her face.
"Are you going to meet him?" he asked quietly.
Aveline blinked. "Meet who?"
"The Sylvarion bastard."
The words escaped before he could stop them.
For several seconds, silence hung between them. Then Aveline’s brows drew together.
"He has a name, you know." The annoyance in her voice was immediate and genuine.
"How can you, of all people, reduce Aelion to the circumstances of his birth? That wasn’t his choice."
Theron’s jaw tightened.
So, she was defending him.
Something unpleasant twisted inside his chest. Jealousy. Raw and bitter.
Yet, strangely, her indignation also eased something in him. Aveline was angry because she believed him better than this. She expected more from him.
He lowered his gaze. "You’re right," he said quietly. "I’m sorry."
Aveline stared.
An apology? From Theron? Just like that?
Before he could say anything else, she suddenly stepped closer. Far too close. Close enough that Theron could smell roses and fresh rain in her hair. His heartbeat stumbled.
Aveline peered up at him suspiciously.
"Are you jealous, Theron?"
He immediately turned his face away.
Aveline’s eyes widened. "You are jealous!"
"I am not."
"Of Aelion?"
"I said no."
Aveline burst out laughing. The sound only made him more irritated.
"Look," she said, still smiling.
She raised one finger. Closing her eyes, she took a slow breath. Theron watched as her expression softened. Whatever she was thinking of, it clearly made her happy.
Then a tiny flame appeared above her fingertip.
Theron’s eyes widened.
The flame was unlike any fire he had ever seen. It burned white. Not merely pale or bright, but white-hot, radiant as starlight itself. Fine threads of silver lightning curled around it, crackling softly through the air. It was impossible to tell where the fire ended and the lightning began. The two existed together so perfectly that they seemed to be a single force.
The air around them grew warm.
Even Theron instinctively took half a step closer.
"It surprised me too," Aveline said proudly. "Aelion taught me."
Theron’s expression darkened slightly.
"Aelion taught you this?"
Aveline nodded enthusiastically.
"He told me to empty my mind." She smiled sheepishly. "But I couldn’t."
"What did you think about instead?"
Aveline looked at him as though the answer was obvious.
"Your light."
Theron froze.
"My what?"
"Your light," she repeated. "Whenever I think about it, this happens."
The little white flame danced above her fingertip, illuminating her smiling face.
Theron simply stared at her.
His light.
She had thought of him.
Enough to create something like this.
Before he could recover, Aveline extinguished the flame and hurried toward the window.
"I’m late!"
"Aveline—"
But she had already jumped.
Theron rushed to the window just in time to see her sprinting across the grounds.
His eyes narrowed.
Late for what? An appointment with a physician?
Without another thought, light rippled around him as he drew an Aurelion Veil over himself.
Then he jumped after her.
Whatever she was hiding... he intended to find out.
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