Days passed, yet Aveline's face, her sharp words, and her fiery gaze refused to leave Alaric's mind. He found himself drawn to the village daily, disguised in his commoner's cloak, searching for her amidst the market stalls. Each time he ventured there, he would spot her from a distance, her dark hair blowing in the wind, her eyes focused, her expression serious as she worked to sell her herbs or exchange goods.
One bright morning, as he stood near the edge of the square, he finally spotted her again. She was speaking to an elderly woman, her voice soft but resolute as she offered the woman a small bundle of herbs in exchange for a few coins. The scene was a quiet one, yet it struck him with an unexpected pang. Here was this young woman, barely old enough to be on her own, yet carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Before he could think twice, Alaric found himself approaching her. He was determined to speak to her again, this time without pretense, without playing the game of prince and peasant. For reasons he couldn't explain, he wanted to know more about her, to understand the life she lived. He wanted to understand why she saw the world the way she did.
As he approached, Aveline noticed him and scowled, clearly unimpressed by his sudden appearance. "You again?" she said, folding her arms as he drew closer.
"Good morning to you too," he replied with a smirk, his tone light.
"Why are you here? Don't you have anything better to do?"
Alaric laughed, unbothered by her tone. "What if I told you that I enjoy these little chats of ours?"
She rolled her eyes, her expression unimpressed. "You must be truly bored with your life if you think pestering me counts as 'entertainment.'"
"Maybe I am," he said, shrugging. "But maybe I'm here because I want to learn something new."
Aveline gave him a skeptical look. "Learn something? From me? I find that hard to believe."
"Why?" he asked, his voice softening. "Is it so hard to believe that someone might be interested in you?"
Her eyes flashed with irritation. "I've met enough people who say they're 'interested' only to find that they're nothing but liars and cheats. You think you're the first person to try and charm me with empty words?"
Alaric's chest tightened at her accusation. He'd never had someone doubt him so openly, and the idea that she saw him as just another liar, another person who would betray her trust, unsettled him. "I'm not trying to charm you," he said, the playfulness gone from his voice. "I'm just… curious about you."
Aveline gave him a wary look, clearly unconvinced. "Well, I'm not curious about you. I don't know who you think you are, wandering around here like you're one of us, but I don't need your pity or your curiosity."
"It's not pity," he replied, his gaze earnest. "I just… I wanted to know more about you, that's all."
She looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Fine," she said finally. "You want to know about me? I'm Aveline. I live here, I work here, and I do everything I can to survive in a kingdom that doesn't care whether I live or die. I don't have time for games or strangers who think they can waltz into my life with pretty words."
Alaric felt a pang of guilt at her words. He knew she had no reason to trust him, and yet he found himself frustrated by her resistance. For someone who had always been admired, respected, even feared, this feeling of rejection was entirely foreign.
"What if I told you I could help you?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. "That I could… make things better for you?"
Aveline laughed, the sound cold and bitter. "Better? How could someone like you possibly understand what I need? I don't need a stranger to 'make things better' for me. I've survived this long on my own, and I don't need anyone's charity."
"It's not charity," he insisted. "It's… kindness."
"Kindness?" She shook her head, her expression hardening. "There's no such thing as kindness in this kingdom, not for people like me. I've seen enough of the world to know that kindness is just a pretty word people use when they want something in return."
Her words struck him, and he realized with a sinking feeling that she was right. In his world, kindness was indeed a rare commodity, often used as a tool to manipulate or gain favor. But he wanted to show her that he was different, that he wasn't just another noble pretending to care.
"Maybe I can prove you wrong," he said quietly.
She gave him a long, searching look, as if trying to see through his mask. "Then do it," she replied, her voice laced with challenge. "Prove me wrong. But don't expect me to make it easy for you."
---
Over the next few days, Alaric returned to the village again and again, each time finding ways to speak with Aveline. He bought herbs from her, even when he had no need for them, slipping her a few extra coins whenever he could. Sometimes, he would offer her a piece of bread or a fruit, small gestures that he hoped would show her that he wasn't like the others.
But Aveline remained cautious, her defenses firmly in place. Though she accepted his offerings, she made it clear that she didn't trust him, often brushing him off or dismissing his attempts to engage her in conversation. Alaric could see the walls she had built around herself, walls that had been forged through years of hardship and loss.
One afternoon, he found her sitting alone by the riverbank, her knees drawn up to her chest as she stared out at the water. She looked lost in thought, her usual sharpness softened by the quiet solitude of the moment. Alaric approached her slowly, careful not to startle her.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice gentle.
She glanced up, her expression wary but resigned. "If you must," she replied, her tone indifferent.
He sat down beside her, the silence stretching between them as they both stared out at the river. For a while, neither of them spoke, the only sounds the gentle murmur of the water and the distant calls of birds. Alaric found the quiet strangely comforting, a welcome change from the constant noise of the palace.
After a while, he broke the silence. "Do you ever wish for something more?"
Aveline looked at him, her expression thoughtful. "I used to," she admitted quietly. "When I was younger, I dreamed of leaving this village, of seeing the world. But those dreams died a long time ago."
"Why?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Because dreams don't fill empty bellies," she replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. "I learned that the hard way."
Alaric felt a pang of sympathy for her, but he knew that pity was the last thing she wanted. Instead, he asked, "If you could have one wish, anything at all, what would it be?"
She looked at him, surprised by the question. For a moment, he saw a flicker of hope in her eyes, a glimpse of the girl she might have been before life had hardened her. But then she shook her head, her expression turning cold again.
"Wishes are for fools," she said firmly. "People like me don't get to have wishes."
Alaric felt a surge of frustration, not at her, but at the world that had made her this way. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that she deserved to dream, to wish, to hope. But he knew that words alone wouldn't change her mind.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, delicate flower—a blue wildflower he had picked on his way to the village. It was a simple gesture, but he hoped it might mean something to her.
"For you," he said, holding it out to her.
Aveline stared at the flower, her expression unreadable. She hesitated, her fingers hovering over it before finally taking it from his hand. For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of softness in her gaze, a hint of vulnerability that she rarely allowed herself to show.
"Why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Because… everyone deserves a little kindness," he replied, his gaze steady.
Aveline looked down at the flower in her hand, her fingers gently brushing its petals. For a moment, she seemed to let her guard down, allowing herself to feel the simple pleasure of holding something beautiful, something given freely without expectation.
But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the softness in her expression vanished. She looked up at him, her gaze hardening once more. "This doesn't change anything," she said, her tone cold.
"I know," he replied quietly. "But maybe it's a start."
They sat in silence once more, the flower resting in her lap, a fragile symbol of the tentative connection forming between them. Alaric knew thatbreaking down Aveline's walls would be a slow process, and he could feel her doubt and distrust radiating even now. But there was something about her, something unbreakable and resilient, that drew him in and made him want to try.
As they sat by the river, a small group of children ran by, laughing as they chased each other along the bank. Aveline watched them, her expression softening, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. Alaric noticed, and he found himself wishing he could see her like this more often—unguarded, free from the burdens that weighed her down.
"They seem happy," Alaric said, nodding toward the children.
Aveline shrugged. "They're too young to understand. Soon enough, they'll realize that happiness isn't something people like us get to keep."
The bitterness in her voice was almost tangible, and Alaric felt a fresh pang of anger toward the world that had shaped her view. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that happiness could be theirs if they dared to reach for it. But he knew that his words alone wouldn't convince her. He'd have to show her.
"Maybe happiness isn't as impossible as you think," he said, keeping his tone gentle.
She looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And what would you know about it? Someone like you, who has the luxury of wandering the village and pretending to care?"
The sting of her words made him wince, but he refused to back down. "You'd be surprised what I know," he replied quietly. "You think I don't have my own burdens, my own struggles?"
Aveline scoffed. "Struggles? You call your life a struggle? Look around, traveler—look at the people here who barely have enough to eat, who work themselves to the bone just to survive. Don't talk to me about 'struggles' unless you've lived it."
Alaric clenched his jaw, realizing just how vast the gulf was between their worlds. No matter what he said, she would never see him as anything but a privileged stranger who couldn't possibly understand her pain. He felt a surge of frustration, both at her stubbornness and at his own inability to bridge the gap between them.
But then he took a deep breath, calming himself. He knew that gaining her trust would take time, patience, and perhaps even sacrifice. He had to show her, not tell her, that he cared.
"Maybe one day I'll be able to show you," he said softly. "That life doesn't have to be this way."
Aveline gave him a long, skeptical look. "Dreams like that are dangerous," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because they make people believe in things that will only hurt them in the end."
He felt his heart twist at her words. How many times had she been let down? How many times had life taught her to expect disappointment, betrayal, and loss? He realized then that winning her trust wasn't just about kindness or persistence; it would mean giving her a reason to believe in something bigger than the life she'd known.
They sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of her words hanging between them like a veil. Finally, Aveline stood, brushing the dirt from her skirt as she looked down at him.
"Thank you… for the flower," she said, her tone stiff and formal, as if the words were unfamiliar on her tongue. "But don't expect me to trust you just because of one small gesture."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied with a faint smile.
Aveline nodded, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving Alaric alone by the riverbank, the fading sunlight casting long shadows over the water.
As he watched her go, Alaric felt a strange mix of hope and sorrow stirring within him. He knew that his pursuit of Aveline would be fraught with challenges, and that there was every chance she would never fully trust him. But he also knew that he couldn't walk away now, not when he'd glimpsed the strength and beauty hidden beneath her guarded exterior.
He sat by the river long after she had gone, lost in thought. For the first time in his life, Prince Alaric felt a stirring of purpose, a desire to do something meaningful not for himself, but for someone else. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, he made a silent promise to himself:
He would prove to Aveline that kindness, hope, and love could exist, even in a kingdom as cold and unforgiving as Ravendale.
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