Aveline had known only two constants in her life: hardship and her own determination. Raised in the poorest corner of Ravendale, she was left to fend for herself after her parents passed away when she was just a child. The only keepsake they'd left her was a small silver locket, tarnished with age but polished daily by her careful hands. She didn't know much about her lineage, but she clung to that locket as though it held the last remnants of her identity.
Now sixteen, Aveline was known throughout her village for her quick wit and even quicker temper. She had never been one to accept things lying down, even if it meant ruffling the feathers of those around her. In truth, she secretly enjoyed her reputation for speaking her mind. Some called it bravery; others called it foolishness. But Aveline was unapologetic, even if it meant fewer friends and more wary glances in her direction.
Today, she was in the village square, hoping to sell a bundle of herbs she'd gathered from the forest. Aveline was an expert at identifying the plants that could cure, heal, or sometimes, mildly irritate if one wasn't careful. She had learned to rely on her resourcefulness, trading herbs for coins or food whenever she could.
As she laid out her small bundle of herbs on a cloth, she noticed a commotion at the far end of the square. Villagers murmured among themselves, casting anxious glances in the direction of the palace guards who were marching through the market, their uniforms gleaming in the midday sun.
"More taxes?" someone whispered nearby.
Aveline felt a spark of anger flicker within her. She clenched her jaw, already knowing what this meant. Taxes had been increased yet again, and soon enough, they'd be demanding coins from the few villagers who could barely afford bread. She watched as a young boy was pulled aside by one of the guards, his hands shaking as he handed over the few copper coins he'd earned by running errands.
Fury boiled inside her. She abandoned her herbs and strode over to the guards, her voice raised loud enough for the crowd to hear. "What do you think you're doing? That boy has nothing! How can you keep demanding from people who have so little?"
The guard, a middle-aged man with a graying beard, looked down at her with a mixture of irritation and amusement. "Who are you to question the king's orders, girl? These taxes are for the benefit of Ravendale. If you don't like it, perhaps you should take it up with Prince Alaric himself."
The crowd murmured in agreement, some people averting their eyes, unwilling to make a scene. But Aveline stood her ground, crossing her arms defiantly. "Maybe I will," she shot back, her voice laced with bitterness. "The prince ought to see how his people are suffering while he wastes away in luxury."
"Careful, girl," the guard warned, though his eyes gleamed with a hint of admiration for her boldness. "Words like that could get you thrown in the stocks. Or worse."
Aveline scoffed. "Then do it. If the prince's precious pride is so fragile, perhaps he ought to see the world beyond his palace walls."
With that, she turned on her heel and marched back to her herbs, ignoring the looks of shock and admiration from the people around her. She couldn't afford to dwell on their opinions. She had only herself to rely on, and she knew that causing a scene wouldn't bring any change. Still, a part of her simmered with anger, a fierce determination that someday, somehow, things would be different.
---
Unbeknownst to Aveline, Prince Alaric was watching the scene from a distance, concealed by his cousin Lennox. Disguised in simple clothes, he had ventured into the village to observe the people and search for this "orphan girl" that Lennox had dared him to charm.
He hadn't expected to find her so easily. But as he watched her, Alaric felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation in his chest. He found himself both amused and intrigued by her fierce spirit. Unlike the court ladies who flattered and fawned over him, this girl had fire in her eyes, a refusal to submit to anyone.
"Interesting," he muttered to himself, a smirk forming on his lips.
Lennox nudged him. "There she is. I told you she'd be… memorable."
Alaric snorted. "Memorable? She's hardly a noblewoman, Lennox. What makes you think she'd be worthy of my attention?"
Lennox grinned. "She's the first person I've seen in years who dares to speak against you… even if she doesn't know who you are."
The prince's pride flared. No one spoke against him—yet here was this orphan girl, challenging his authority with a courage that bordered on recklessness. Well, he'd show her who held the power in this kingdom.
"Fine," he said, adjusting his hood to hide his face. "Let's see what makes her so fearless."
---
Alaric strolled up to Aveline's makeshift stall, pretending to inspect her herbs with mild interest. She glanced up, irritation flashing across her face as if she expected him to be another villager about to haggle for a lower price.
"Looking for something?" she asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.
"Perhaps," he replied coolly, his eyes assessing her in a way that made her uncomfortable. "Do you always make a habit of challenging the king's guards?"
Aveline's gaze sharpened. "Who's asking?"
"A traveler," he said smoothly. "Just curious about why you'd risk your neck for strangers."
Aveline let out a short, humorless laugh. "I'm used to having nothing, so I don't have much to lose. But that boy—" she gestured to the spot where the young boy had been accosted, now empty, "—doesn't deserve to grow up thinking that his life is worth less than someone else's comfort."
Alaric tilted his head, genuinely intrigued by her words. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but inside, he felt an odd mixture of annoyance and fascination.
"What if I told you that the prince himself would hear of your little outburst?" he asked, testing her reaction.
Aveline snorted. "Let him hear it, then. Maybe if he did, he'd finally realize what he's done to this kingdom. But people like him don't care, do they? All they know is power and wealth."
Her bluntness took Alaric by surprise. No one had ever spoken to him like this. No one would dare.
"And what do you know about power?" he asked, his tone sharp.
"Enough to know that it's abused," she replied. "Power should protect people, not make them suffer. If you ask me, a real ruler would understand that."
Alaric's gaze hardened, his pride prickling at her words. He wanted to laugh, to scoff, to brush off her ignorance. Yet something held him back—a small, unspoken recognition that her words held more truth than he cared to admit.
He leaned closer, his voice a low, mocking whisper. "Be careful, girl. Speaking so boldly might lead you to places you don't want to be."
Aveline met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm not afraid of places. Just of people who think they're better than everyone else."
For a moment, they stood in silence, locked in a tense, defiant stare. And then, without another word, Aveline turned away, resuming her business as though he were nothing more than a passing nuisance.
Alaric felt a strange twist in his chest. She had dismissed him—him, the prince—as though he were just another face in the crowd. He could feel his pride stinging, but instead of anger, there was something else. Something that made him want to learn more about this girl who dared to stand against him.
As he left the square, he found himself already planning their next encounter.