Aveline stared at him as though the moonlight itself had betrayed her.
She had known those eyes once.
She did not know them now.
The color was the same... dark, nearly black. The softness was not. Whatever the last ten years had done to him, it had carved the hesitation out.
It was him.
Her throat tightened.
"You are Theron," she said slowly, the name tasting unreal on her tongue. "What are you doing here? I thought you were dead."
The words came out harsher than she intended, edged with disbelief and something dangerously close to accusation.
He had vanished days before her parents were murdered. Her father claimed Theron had returned to his surviving family in Greenvale. The servants had whispered darker possibilities. Aveline had never known which lie was kinder.
But Theron was here. Alive. And in front of her, like a stranger forged from steel.
"You're alive…" she murmured, tilting her head slightly as though she might read his expression from a different angle.
Her own vision swayed treacherously. Her head throbbed, and hunger hollowed her from within, leaving her limbs weak and trembling. If he released her now, she was not certain she could remain standing.
"Why did you buy me?" she asked quietly.
The question mattered more than anything else.
If this was revenge, she needed to know.
If it was something worse, she needed to prepare.
His hand tightened almost imperceptibly around her waist. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her that she was firmly in his grasp. His expression remained unreadable, carved from stone and shadow.
He did not answer.
Instead, in one smooth motion, he hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, her stomach pressing against cold armor.
"Let me go!" she shouted, striking at him with her fists.
Her blows met only metal.
She kicked, twisted, even tried to bite at the plates along his back, but her teeth scraped uselessly against steel. He did not stagger. He did not curse. He did not even slow.
He carried her as though her resistance weighed nothing at all.
After several futile seconds, she forced herself to be still. Panic would drain what little strength she had left. If an opportunity presented itself, she needed to be ready.
The forest swallowed them in steady silence, broken only by the muted clink of his armor.
From her inverted angle, she searched for a weapon…any weapon, but found only steel and the heavy fall of his cloak. Her fingers crept toward it, subtle and slow.
If I could twist it around his throat… If I could yank hard enough. If I could…
He stopped.
"What are you doing?" His voice was calm, but it vibrated through his armor and into her bones.
Her hand froze mid-motion.
For half a second, she considered continuing the attempt anyway.
Then she withdrew her fingers lightly and patted the cloak with feigned innocence.
"Nothing," she replied breathlessly. "There was a leaf stuck to this… very fine velvet cloak. I could not allow such a tragedy."
Even upside down, she managed a faint, strained smile.
He exhaled a long, heavy sigh.
It was not anger.
It sounded suspiciously like exasperation.
Without another word, he resumed walking.
Aveline's heart continued to race against his armored back. She did not know whether she had escaped a death sentence tonight or simply traded one captor for another.
Blood rushed to her head. The world blurred at the edges. She bit her lip hard enough to taste iron. She would not faint.
Not now. Not in his arms. Not when her fate rested entirely in his hands.
The trees thinned, and the cool hush of the forest gave way to open air. He stopped walking.
The sudden stillness made her stomach lurch.
She sucked in a sharp breath. "Are you going to return me to them?" she asked, her voice strained and raw.
She was not thinking clearly. Hunger and exhaustion had stripped away pride and calculation, leaving only instinct. Them. She did not mean the masked men in the underground hall. Those beasts were simple in their cruelty. Predictable.
She meant her uncle. Her family. The house that had caged her for ten years and called it shelter.
Theron did not respond.
Instead, he lowered her to the ground with surprising care. The moment her feet touched earth, her knees buckled. The world spun violently, and she would have collapsed if not for the firm pressure of his gloved hands steadying her shoulders.
She swayed, her vision doubling his figure into two dark silhouettes beneath the moon.
"Let me go," she whispered, lifting a trembling hand toward his face as though she might confirm he was real. "I will never appear before you again. I swear it."
Her fingers brushed only air; his features blurred and fractured before her eyes.
"Can't have that."
His voice seemed distant, distorted, as though she were submerged beneath deep water.
Then...
"Aveline… Aveline."
She heard her name, spoken differently... lower... Urgent and almost desperate.
For a fleeting, delirious moment, she wondered if she was dreaming her father... or was already dead and went to her father.
Her body gave out.
Theron caught her before she struck the ground, his arm locking firmly around her waist. His other hand closed around her wrist, and he stilled.
A faint muscle in his cheek twitched as he looked down at her pale, unconscious face. His jaw tightened. He removed his cloak and wrapped it around her frail form, tucking the fabric securely around her. Then he gathered her into his arms with deliberate care.
The tavern at the edge of the road was still lit, lanterns swaying gently in the night breeze. Conversations inside faltered the moment the door opened, and he stepped in.
Greenvale Knights looked up. The tavern fell silent. The knights stepped aside without question.
"Bring food," he ordered calmly, striding toward the stairs. "And warm water for a bath."
His tone allowed no delay.
He entered a private room and laid her carefully on the bed, adjusting the cloak around her slight frame. Even unconscious, she looked tense, her brows faintly drawn as though expecting pain even in sleep.
Theron removed his gloves slowly, his dark eyes never leaving her face.
For a long moment, he simply sat beside her.
Watching.
Waiting.
The steady rise and fall of her chest was the only proof that she was still alive.
-----
When Aveline surfaced from the darkness, it was not gently.
It was with the sharp awareness of a touch, of a hand... On her chest.
Her eyes flew open. A gasp tore from her throat as she jerked upright, clutching the thin chemise that was all that remained on her body to her collarbone. Her breath came fast and shallow, panic slamming into her veins before her mind had even caught up.
"Please," she breathed, scrambling backward, fingers clutching at the thin fabric covering her. "I'll be quiet. I won't fight. Just—just don't—"
The words broke apart in her throat.
Theron went utterly still.
Something dark and terrible settled behind his eyes.