3. 2 #3
Mabel gave a small nod, her gaze drifting back down the corridor. One final glance. Whatever lingered there could wait.
As they stepped back into the glow of the feast hall, warmth wrapped around them instantly. The music surged to meet them, lively and golden, sweeping over the crowd.
Theodore raised a hand with practiced flair, his voice cutting through the hum. “We’ve returned!” he declared, loud and unapologetic.
A cheer erupted in response, mugs lifted, laughter spilling freely. Mabel couldn’t help but smile as she was pulled into the current of celebration once more—light and dizzy.
Theodore held the door open with a grand sweep of his arm, eyebrows raised. “After you, my lady,” he said with a flourish.
Mabel stepped through, head held high but eyes sparkling with barely restrained laughter. “Don’t make me regret returning,” she teased, brushing past him.
“You’d miss me in seconds,” he shot back, sliding in beside her as the music wrapped around them once again.
A cluster of dancers twirled past, and someone shouted Theodore’s name with a cheer. He bowed dramatically toward the source, then turned to Mabel with mock seriousness. “You feel that? It’s the magnetic pull of my admirers.”
“Well, they’ll have to get in line,” Mabel quipped, flashing him a grin. “You’re mine.”
Theodore blinked at her, his smile easing into something more sincere. “Staking claim already, Princess?” he teased.
“I—yes.” She breathed out, blinking up at him. “Is that okay?”
“Considering we are to be married, I think it’s okay,” he mused.
She glanced away, the thought dancing through her mind. Married. How strange the word felt. To think she would spend the rest of her life with this man she’d just met. It made her stomach uneasy, but she ignored it, looking back up at him with a small smile.
The corridor held its breath around them, quiet and warm, lit only by the soft flicker of torches. Mabel’s hand rested lazily in Theodore’s, her fingers curled against his as they walked with slow, contented steps.
“Thank you for a wonderful night,” she said, smiling up at him.
Theodore returned it easily. “It was a pleasure, Princess. I’m glad it meant something to you.”
“It did,” she chimed, her voice softer now. “It was … perfect.”
They stopped outside a pair of grand wooden doors, their carved edges catching firelight in soft shadows. Theodore gestured toward them with a slight bow. “Your room. My mother sent your servant girl—”
“Ada,” Mabel corrected, instinctive and sharp.
“Ada,” he echoed, smiling sheepishly. “She’s already settled your things. I hope the room suits you. If you need anything, anything at all …” His voice trailed off as his gaze locked with hers.
The space between them narrowed, and he leaned in slowly—deliberately—until their faces hovered only inches apart. Mabel’s breath trembled, the scent of pine, mead, and warm oils stirring something deep inside her.
Her eyelids fluttered closed, heart lifting into the quiet.
But instead of a kiss, came a voice—soft and smug.
“Goodnight, Princess,” Theodore said, the curve of a smirk tugging at his mouth as he stepped back.
Mabel’s eyes snapped open, catching the flick of his cloak as he turned down the corridor. She stood frozen, chest tight, lips parted with words unsaid, left breathless in the wake of something almost.
The door opened behind her with a groan, Ada poking her head out. “Mabel! You must see this room!”
Mabel remained still, steadying her breath before turning with a smile.
As she stepped inside, the hush of the corridor gave way to tranquil warmth. The room was spacious yet intimate. Pale wood beams stretched across the ceiling, their surfaces etched with protection runes that shimmered faintly in the firelight.
A large hearth stood proudly along one wall, its flame slow and steady. Above it hung a woven tapestry depicting the stag constellation—Auren—its antlers gold-threaded and sprawling beneath a moonlit sky.
The bed was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. A tall frame of carved amber wood crowned with delicate curls resembling antlers. Soft pelts of reindeer and deep red wool draped across the bedding, invitingly rumpled. Beneath her feet, a fur-lined rug softened every step.
Shelves lined one wall, filled with old tomes and vials of dried herbs, while a simple writing desk stood by the arched window. Through the window, moonlight spilled onto the floor in silver waves.
And above the door, tucked into the carved lintel, hung a bundle of pine and juniper—a ward, welcoming and protective.
It didn’t feel borrowed. It felt offered. Not just a place to sleep, but a place to belong.
“I’ve got all your stuff put away, you’ll love the outfits that I packed, or at least—I will!” Ada giggled, pulling Mabel to the closet.
The walk-in closet was immense, lined with thick wooden shelves and gleaming brass racks that displayed gowns like works of art. Mabel stepped inside slowly, her breath catching.
A few dresses drew her gaze—ones she knew hadn’t come from home.
Their fabrics shimmered in the light, embroidered and adorned with a level of detail her modest wardrobe had never known.
They were stunning, impossibly so. And as she stared, a thought crept in, she wasn’t sure she belonged in any of them.
“Whose are these?” she questioned, hesitant. She approached the magnificent dresses, eyes raking over the beautiful and delicate patterns that had been hand sewn into the fabric.
“Oh! The best part!” Ada cooed, carefully lifting one of the gowns from its hanger. “I assume your mother sent your measurements—they had these made just for you.”
The dress shimmered in soft gold and maroon, the fabric catching the light with every movement. Mabel stared, momentarily breathless. It was exquisite. Too exquisite. She had never seen a dress so stunning.
Her eyes flickered from it to the rest on the racks, heart skipping in her chest. “They made these for me?” she asked quietly, the words falling in a slur.
Ada looked at her. “How much did you drink?” she scoffed.
Mabel giggled, cheeks rosy. “Just a little bit.”
Ada shook her head and quickly hung the gown she’d been holding. “Try not to ruin these with vomit, please,” she muttered, ushering Mabel away from the closet like a scolding older sister.
With a dramatic sigh, Mabel collapsed onto the bed, limbs sprawling like she’d been swept off her feet by more than just the music. Ada sat beside her, smoothing the covers before her fingers found Mabel’s tangled curls, gently working through them.
“So,” Ada said, her tone softer now, “looks like you’ve had a very good night.”
Mabel squealed into the fabric, her legs kicking the mattress with giddy abandon. She looked up at Ada; eyes glazed with leftover mead and happiness.
“Ada,” she whispered breathlessly, “it was the best night ever.”
Ada smiled, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Good, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”—Mabel let out a hiccup—“though by the sound of it, maybe a little too much.”
Mabel gave a slow, dreamy nod, her focus already adrift.
She was supposed to respond—maybe something witty, something coherent—but her thoughts had slipped beyond reach.
They swirled with the memory of Theodore’s hand on her waist, the way he spun her like she was made of stardust, the flicker in his eyes when he teased, that laugh she swore she felt in her chest.
Ada kept talking, but Mabel barely heard her now. She just sank deeper into the soft folds of the bed, a giddy smile tugging at her lips.
Mead had flushed her cheeks. Theodore had stolen her thoughts.
And tonight, she didn’t mind one bit.