4. 3
Golden light stretched across the stone floor in warm ribbons through the open arched window, as morning birdsong was carried along a chill breeze. Inside, the air was still save for the soft rustle of fabric and the harmony of practiced motions.
Ada moved with ease, brushing out silks and looping clasps, while Mabel sat at the edge of the cushioned bench, her voice full of lingering joy.
Mabel giggled through retellings of the night, fingers pressed to her lips as she gushed about Theodore’s irresistible grin, the way his hand fit at her waist, the flicker in his gaze that sent heat up her neck. Ada simply smiled, her hands still working but her eyes soft with affection.
“His eyes, Ada—you should have seen them,” Mabel sighed, dreamy and flushed.
Ada shook her head, brushing a stray curl from Mabel’s forehead. “I don’t need to,” she said with a laugh. “You’ve already described them in great detail.”
For the first time in years, Ada felt something shift, like a weight had loosened from Mabel’s shoulders, and from her own. For now, joy had returned to the corners of the room.
Ada smoothed out the folds of Mabel’s sleeve with practiced grace, then gave her a sideways glance, mischievous and knowing.
“So …” she began, voice lilting. “Are we to expect wedding bells by the end of the season, or do you need another dance to be sure?”
Mabel groaned, flopping back against the cushions with dramatic flair. “Ada!”
“Oh, come now,” Ada teased, fingers still gliding through Mabel’s curls. “You practically floated in here last night. The look on your face—I don’t think I have ever seen you like that.”
“He is very handsome,” Mabel muttered, cheeks pink. “Our babies would be cute.”
Ada laughed, warm and full. “Exactly my point.”
She paused for a beat, then added with mock seriousness, “Just say the word, and I’ll start preparing your wedding gown.”
Mabel buried her face in a pillow, mumbling something unintelligible while Ada chuckled beside her.
Ada’s teasing faded into a gentle quiet as she tucked a loose curl behind Mabel’s ear. Her smile lingered, but there was more warmth behind it now.
“I’m glad you had a night like that,” she said softly. “You’ve been carrying so much, trying to be everything everyone expects. It’s nice to see you let go. Even just a little.”
Mabel’s blush deepened, but she didn’t hide this time. She let the words settle between them like the soft morning light.
Ada brushed her fingers once more through Mabel’s hair. “I hope this is good for you, truly. Not just the dancing and the laughter—but him. If he keeps that light in your eyes … then maybe Aurevyn’s colder halls won’t feel quite so lonely.”
Mabel’s eyes wandered to the frost-laced windowpane. She hadn’t expected warmth in Aurevyn—not from its cold halls, nor its people. But she had been wrong. From laughter to lantern light, every gesture carried kindness.
Ada stepped back, giving a satisfied nod after straightening the collar and smoothing the last wrinkle from Mabel’s dress. “Beautiful,” she hummed with the reverence of someone who’d known Mabel long enough to mean it beyond appearance.
Mabel smiled softly, brushing her palms down the wool fabric before rising to her feet. Her reflection in the tall glass caught the glow in her cheeks and the steadiness of her posture.
The sudden knock shattered the morning calm, both women turning instinctively toward the sound. Ada crossed the room in practiced steps, tugging open the heavy wooden door just enough to peer into the corridor.
Mabel watched with growing curiosity as Ada’s face shifted—surprise, then an unmistakable pink blooming across her cheeks. She blinked up at the visitor, flustered.
Ada turned slightly, shielding her expression behind the door like a curtain. Her voice came out in a sharp whisper, barely contained, “It’s Theodore.”
The name was a breath and a warning all at once. Mabel’s heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.
She hurriedly stepped into her flats, the wool brushing against her ankles as she padded across the stone floor. She slipped past Ada with practiced ease, her breath catching the moment Theodore came into view.
He stood tall in the morning light, his grin as effortless as ever, silvery gray eyes glinting. “Good morning, Princess,” he said, voice warm enough to thaw the chill in the air.
“Good morning,” Mabel replied, though it came out softer than intended.
Her gaze flicked sideways—Ada, now tucked slightly behind the door, was dramatically fanning herself with her hand, cheeks flushed and lips pursed in poorly concealed amusement.
Mabel’s mouth twitched, laughter rising fast. But she swallowed it down—barely—as she turned her attention back to the prince, who had no idea he had been their hot topic of the morning.
Theodore leaned casually against the doorframe, sunlight catching the edge of his smile. “Did you sleep well, or were you too busy dreaming about me?” he teased, head tilting just enough to make Mabel’s heartbeat trip over itself.
Mabel blinked, nearly forgetting how to stand like a normal person. “I-what-no,” she stammered, suddenly very aware of the heat rising in her face.
Ada, still fanning herself, let out a tiny wheeze and spun away from them both, mumbling something about fresh air.
Theodore didn’t relent. “I wouldn’t blame you,” he said smoothly. “I did look rather dashing last night.”
Mabel narrowed her eyes playfully. “You certainly did, my prince.” She smiled, teasing. “You might’ve visited my dreams if I’d had one less cup of mead last night …” She winced. “I do apologize, that’s not—”
“You were having fun,” Theodore interrupted gently. “And mead’s the best icebreaker.”
She stilled. “I suppose that’s true,” she said, softer now. “It’s just … I’ve never really …” She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t need to.
“It is,” he said, smiling. “Because I’m fairly certain I saw you nearly punch a man last night.”
Mabel groaned, burying her face in her hands. “That was also a first.”
“Then here’s to many more,” Theodore said, stepping to her side and offering his arm with a flourish.
She hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to—but because no one had ever been so … gracious to her.
Her heart fluttered, unsure and unsteady. The feeling was unfamiliar—like stepping into sunlight after years in shadow.
She didn’t just like it. She craved it.
She slipped her arm through his, her touch tentative at first, then steadier. “Where to, my prince?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Theodore’s grin widened, eyes gleaming as they swept over her with unspoken intent. “The plan was breakfast,” he drawled, voice effortlessly smooth. “I’m currently reconsidering.”
Mabel swallowed, a breath catching in her throat. “Breakfast sounds good,” she managed, though the words came out quick and shaky.
A loud “booo” echoed from her room, sharp and unmistakable.
They both turned. Theodore raised his brows in amusement while Mabel groaned, half mortified. “Goodbye, Ada,” she muttered, pulling the door shut with exaggerated calm.
When she turned back, Theodore was still smiling—entirely too pleased. Mabel looped her arm through his again, cheeks flushed and pulse quickening.
Theodore’s laugh rolled out, low and warm. “Breakfast it is,” he said, his gaze dipping to meet hers.
Their steps fell into rhythm, effortless and easy, as Mabel looked up at Theodore with a smile that refused to fade. The corridor, once chilled and quiet, came alive with their laughter—bright, echoing, and far more radiant than the flickering candlelight that lined the walls.
The hall, which had been bursting with music and movement the previous night, now lay in hushed stillness.
The air carried faint traces of spiced mead and spruce, remnants of the night’s revelry clinging to the stone.
Candles dotted the space, their flames swaying gently in the drafts, casting golden reflections on the cold, gray walls.
It still held a seasonal charm that Mabel adored.
Mabel and Theodore stepped through the archway, their footsteps softened by woven rugs. Shadows clung to the corners where dancers had once twirled, and only the gentle crackle of the hearth and the soft whisper of flickering candlelight filled the silence.
The long tables had been cleared and wiped clean. At the far end, beneath a wide window glazed with morning frost, a modest spread had been laid just for them.
Steam curled from a wooden bowl of browned porridge. Fresh-baked rye rolls sat beside soft pats of butter, while thin slices of cured venison glistened on a carved stone platter. Steam rose from mugs likely filled with cider, their handles still warm to the touch.
Mabel’s steps slowed, eyes drawn to the generosity of the setting. It wasn’t lavish, but it was intentional.
Theodore leaned toward her with a conspiratorial smile. “They’ve set out the good bread. We must be honored guests.”
Mabel couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped her lips, warmth blooming in her chest. Theodore’s hand came to rest gently against the small of her back, his touch light but steady, guiding her toward the table with an ease that felt both practiced and intimate.
She couldn’t help but appreciate how large his hands were.
He pulled out a chair for her, waiting until she sat before settling beside her.
For a moment, neither spoke. The clink of pottery and the shifting of wool were the only sounds.
Theodore leaned in slightly, one elbow propped against the table, his fingers absentmindedly circling the rim of his cup. His gaze softened. “So,” he hummed, voice dipped in curiosity, “if not grand parties and all this celebration … What fills your days in Moorthwyn?”
Mabel’s spoon hovered midair, her thoughts flickering inward. “Not much,” she admitted after a beat, setting the spoon down gently. “I wasn’t allowed outside the castle often.”
“They never allowed you to leave?”