Prince Alaric could not shake the encounter with Aveline from his mind. It was infuriating—she was just an orphan, a commoner, someone with no influence or power. And yet, her words echoed in his thoughts, as persistent as the waves against the cliffs of Ravendale's coast.
That evening, after returning to the palace, he found himself pacing the marble corridors, deep in thought. Duke Lennox had laughed at him when he'd mentioned Aveline's scathing remarks.
"So, the great prince has met his match?" Lennox teased, leaning back in his chair, smirking.
"Don't be absurd," Alaric shot back, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. "She's merely… amusing."
"Amusing?" Lennox's grin widened. "Well, whatever she is, it seems she's gotten under your skin."
Alaric scoffed, but he knew his cousin was right. He couldn't deny it—Aveline's defiance had struck a nerve. The words "power should protect people, not make them suffer" replayed in his mind, challenging everything he'd been raised to believe. But the prince had no intention of changing his ways over a commoner's reproach.
Instead, he would find her again. This time, he'd catch her off-guard, throw her off her high horse. After all, she might not be so bold if she realized who she was speaking to.
---
The following day, Alaric returned to the village, once again disguised as a traveler. He wore simple clothes—a rough tunic and cloak—and left behind anything that might hint at his royal status. Walking through the busy marketplace, he scanned the crowd, searching for a glimpse of that dark hair and those fiery eyes.
And then he saw her.
Aveline was arguing with a vendor over the price of bread, her voice rising above the chatter of the market. Alaric felt a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched her, the same boldness flashing in her eyes. She had no idea that the prince of Ravendale was watching her, completely captivated.
He took a deep breath, prepared himself, and strolled up to her as she turned away from the stall, a small loaf of bread clutched under her arm. She looked up, recognition flashing in her eyes, but her expression immediately shifted to irritation.
"You again," she muttered. "What do you want?"
Alaric held up his hands, feigning innocence. "Nothing. Just happened to be in the same place at the same time. Funny how fate works, isn't it?"
"Fate," Aveline scoffed, rolling her eyes. "More like you're following me."
He chuckled. "Now, why would I do that?"
Aveline stared at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "I don't know. Maybe you're one of those nosy palace officials. Or maybe you're just bored with your life and decided to annoy people who actually work for a living."
Alaric felt his pride prickle, but he forced himself to keep his tone light. "And what is it you think I do, exactly?"
"Nothing useful," Aveline replied with a shrug, biting into her bread. "Just like everyone else who serves the royals. Collecting taxes, issuing orders—none of it helps anyone but the ones already living in the palace."
He raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. "And you think the palace doesn't work hard? Surely they have their responsibilities."
Aveline snorted. "Responsibilities? You mean like attending banquets and posing for portraits? Oh yes, what a noble burden they bear."
Alaric couldn't help but laugh, though he quickly stifled it, pretending to cough. She was refreshingly unafraid, and her comments cut to the bone. He wondered if she even realized how piercing her words were. Perhaps, like everyone else, she had simply given up on expecting anything better from the palace.
Deciding to push her further, Alaric nodded at the small locket around her neck, its silver surface catching the sunlight. "That's a fine piece. Where did you get it?"
Aveline's hand flew instinctively to the locket, her expression shifting from defiance to a flicker of vulnerability. "It was my mother's," she said, her voice softening. "She gave it to me before she died."
Alaric saw a shadow cross her face and felt a strange pang of guilt for bringing it up. But before he could say anything, she continued, her tone hardening again. "It's all I have left of my family, so don't get any ideas about it. I'd sooner lose my last coin than part with this."
Alaric nodded, struck by the protectiveness in her voice. "I wasn't planning to take it," he replied, his voice gentler than he intended.
She studied him for a moment, as if trying to figure out if he was mocking her. "Good. Because I wouldn't let you."
There was a pause as they looked at each other, an odd tension simmering between them. Finally, Alaric broke the silence, trying to shift the mood. "So, tell me, why do you stay in this village if you dislike it so much? Why not move somewhere better?"
Aveline laughed, though the sound was laced with bitterness. "Move? Where would I go? People like me don't get to travel the world. We barely make enough to eat, let alone leave the village. I work to survive, and I stay because… because that's what people like me do."
Her words felt like a slap to his face, a stark reminder of the differences in their lives. He had always had the freedom to do as he pleased, to move through the kingdom at his whim. But for Aveline, survival was a daily battle. The weight of that realization settled over him, uncomfortable and heavy.
But Alaric wasn't ready to let go of his pride just yet. Instead, he cleared his throat and plastered a grin on his face, determined to lighten the conversation. "So, is your only ambition to argue with strangers in the market?"
Aveline smirked. "If that stranger deserves it, then yes."
"Then I must be lucky," Alaric replied, matching her smile. "I haven't had this much entertainment in ages."
She rolled her eyes, but he could see a hint of amusement beneath her exasperation. "If I were you, I'd find a new source of amusement. You don't want to get involved with people like me."
"Why not?"
"Because people like me don't belong in your world. We're not welcome there, and we don't need you meddling in ours."
Her words, spoken with such finality, struck Alaric deeper than he wanted to admit. In the back of his mind, he knew she was right. They came from entirely different worlds, worlds that would never truly intersect. And yet, he couldn't shake the strange pull he felt toward her, a pull that had nothing to do with his bet with Lennox and everything to do with the fire in her eyes.
For a moment, he considered revealing the truth—that he was the prince she despised so much. But something held him back. He wasn't ready to face her reaction, to see her anger, her disappointment, her scorn. Instead, he offered a playful grin and leaned a little closer.
"You might not like me now," he said, his voice low, "but who knows? Maybe one day, you'll find that people aren't always what they seem."
She looked at him, her expression hardening again. "If you think I'm so easily fooled, you're mistaken. I see through people like you. You may be able to charm others, but I won't be one of them."
With that, Aveline turned and walked away, her footsteps quick and determined. Alaric watched her retreating figure, a mix of admiration and frustration churning inside him. She hadn't even bothered to say goodbye, as though he were insignificant, unworthy of her time.
It was a feeling he was entirely unaccustomed to, and he found himself oddly shaken by it.
As he made his way back to the palace, Alaric's mind was a tangle of thoughts. Aveline had challenged him in a way no one else had. For the first time, he found himself questioning his own actions, his own choices. Could it be that his way of life, the very principles he'd been raised on, were flawed?
The idea unsettled him, and yet he couldn't ignore it. Something had shifted within him, a small crack in the armor he'd so carefully crafted.
By the time he reached the palace, he knew one thing for certain: this was far from over. He would return to the village, again and again if he had to, until he understood why this orphan girl had left such a mark on him.
Because for the first time in his life, the wicked prince of Ravendale felt vulnerable.