2. 1 #4
They turned the corner, and the hall unfurled before them—a vast chamber of timber and stone, humming with warmth despite the frost that clung to the world outside.
It pulsed with life, laughter echoing off the rafters.
The long wooden tables stretched endlessly against the walls, with a polished stone floor sprawling wide in the middle.
It was crowded with nobles, kin, and curious onlookers.
Evergreen boughs draped the tabletops, woven with red ribbon and dusted with a white powder.
Platters overflowed with roasted venison, and spiced fowl.
Bowls brimmed with fragrant stews. Loaves of dark bread, still warm, were torn and passed between hands.
Golden mead sloshed in carved mugs, the scent of smoke and spice thick in the air.
The low murmur of voices rose and fell like a tide, threaded with anticipation.
Mabel slowed, her breath catching.
The ceiling soared above them, beams carved with ancient runes, iron chandeliers swaying gently overhead.
Winter had dressed the hall in its finest. And at the far end, a towering tree stood, its branches heavy with ornaments and candlelight, reaching toward the vaulted ceiling as if it had grown there from the bones of the earth.
It was beautiful.
Theodore stepped closer beside her, voice lowered. “Aurevynian hospitality,” he hummed, with a trace of amusement. “We don’t do anything halfway.”
Frey’s voice rang out like a bell. “Come on, have a seat. Pick any spot—we’re all family here.”
Before Mabel could respond, she felt the press of Theodore’s palm against the small of her back, firm yet gentle as he steered her toward a long wooden table. His breath brushed close as he leaned in, voice a whisper meant only for her, “After you, Princess.”
A shiver danced down her spine. She eased herself onto the bench, the moment slow and measured, trying not to show how flustered she’d become. Theodore settled beside her without hesitation, his presence immediate and sure, like he belonged nowhere else.
As everyone else made themselves comfortable, the dining hall buzzed with excitement. Platters were passed, goblets filled, and laughter trickled between the candlelight and clinking dishes.
Thalen rose from his place at the head table, his presence commanding yet warm—a man carved from the same stoic wood as the hall around him. The room quieted, guests turning toward him with reverent attention.
“With winter upon us and The Old Ones ever watchful,” he began, voice deep and steady, “we gather not only to feast, but to mark a union that will strengthen our land and houses.”
His gaze shifted to Theodore, then to Mabel, and something softened in his expression.
“To my son, whose heart proves sharper than his sword, and to Mabel, whose beauty has stirred more than just admiration. Today, you begin something greater than yourselves. May Meryth and Auren grant you wisdom, passion, and unyielding devotion. May Varkeyrish be with you, as he is with us all.”
A chorus of approval rippled through the hall, mugs raised in salute. Thalen nodded once, solemn and proud, before taking his seat. The hall was alive once again.
Theodore leaned in, teasing. “Still nervous?”
Mabel giggled, giving his arm a playful swat. “No, stop it—I’m perfectly calm,” she insisted with a grin. “Eat your food.”
He chuckled, eyes twinkling as he reached for his mug. “I’d rather talk to you,” he said, taking a slow sip of his mead, still watching her like she were the feast.
“Are you always like this?” she breathed, still trying to fight the smile.
“Afraid so. You will simply have to get used to it.” He shrugged, straightening his back before wrapping an arm around her waist. “But don’t worry, I’m easy to get used to.”
“I’m sure,” Mabel mused, eyeing him with a sly smile.
“Auren has never led me astray,” Theodore scoffed. He looked down at her with hooded lids as he leaned in closer. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate what praying to the god of passion grants you.” His warm breath fanned across her cheek.
Oh. Mabel’s cheeks, once more, flushed pink.
The shuffle of footsteps approached from behind, stopping just short. “Princess, may I take your coat?” came a gentle voice, hesitant but polite.
Mabel turned with a smile, her eyes finding the girl. “Of course,” she said warmly, fingers slipping over the clasps of her cloak.
With a soft rustle, the wool parted from her shoulders and slid down her frame, revealing the smooth line of her collarbones and bare shoulders. The fur-trimmed hem framed the reveal with a touch of softness.
Theodore’s gaze traced over her glowing skin, lingering with mischievous appreciation. “You should’ve lost that cloak ages ago,” he said, a playful scoff tucked behind his smirk.
Mabel tilted her chin, eyes flicking up through her lashes. “Do you like it?” Her voice was soft, barely heard over the chatter that lit up the hall.
“Like it?” he breathed, not hiding the way his eyes consumed her. “Gods.” His voice was barely there before he cleared his throat, flustered—and almost failing to hide it. She caught it. Confidence bloomed in her chest.
It was exactly the reaction she craved.
“You are breathtaking.” His voice was soft. His fingers lifted slowly, and her shoulders drew tight. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear with a gentleness that felt rehearsed.
“Relax, Princess,” he said, leaning in just enough for her to feel the heat of him. “I don’t bite—unless you ask nicely.”
She turned her face, trying to hide the blush that betrayed her. “You have to stop.”
But he wasn’t done. His fingers found her jaw. She flinched ever so softly, but his touch coaxed her gaze back to his. Their eyes met, and the air between them thickened.
“Unfortunately,” he said, lips curving, “you’re even more stunning when you’re flustered.”
She shook her head but didn’t look away. Her heart stuttered. She hadn’t expected this—his charm, the opulence of the room, the way he made her forget herself.
She liked it. She liked him.
“Do you talk to all women like this?” she asked, arching a brow.
He tilted his head, unapologetic. “I do.”
Her eyes widened at his honesty.
“But,” he added, voice softer now, “none have stolen my breath quite like you.”
She laughed, a surprised sound. “I’ve stolen your breath?”
“Have you seen yourself?” he scoffed, playful but sincere. “It’s taking every ounce of restraint not to abandon civility entirely.”
Her breath caught. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, Princess.” He chuckled, and his hand slid to her thigh. She tensed instinctively but didn’t pull away. His grip was firm, possessive. The gasp escaped her before she could stop it, and her stomach fluttered like wings against a cage.
She hadn’t expected him to be so handsy. Not that she was complaining.
“I’ll spare you the vulgar details,” he said, eyes gleaming. “At least for now.”
Then he turned to the food as if nothing had happened, leaving her suspended between fascinated and flustered.
The clatter of silverware and laughter began to fade as the soft strumming of a ballad curled through the hall.
A voice followed—clear and haunting—belonging to a lone singer near the band, his words painting wistful notes of love and longing.
The instruments joined one by one—a flute’s gentle trill, the steady heartbeat of a drum, a fiddle crying tenderly in harmony.
Guests stirred, standing from the benches with grace. One by one, they drifted from the feast toward the open stretch of polished stone in the center of the room.
Beside Mabel, Theodore rose, turning toward her with a warmth that eclipsed the firelight. He offered a hand, palm open, expression impossibly soft.
“May I have this dance?” he asked, no teasing this time, just a thread of sincerity wrapped in charm.