6. 5
The days passed like petals on a breeze, soft, fleeting, and full of color.
She spent them at Theodore’s side, wandering through chilly gardens and shadowed corridors, listening as he spoke of Aurevyn in stories that shimmered with myth and memory.
His presence had become familiar, comforting.
With each shared glance, each brush of his hand against hers, her heart leaned further into him.
She didn’t know if he felt it too, that slow, sweet pull between them. But she hoped. Fiercely.
He was never shy with affection. If anything, he lavished it on her with an almost reckless devotion.
His touch was constant, tender one moment, possessive the next.
Fingers threading through hers as they walked, then trailing along the curve of her skin like he couldn’t bear any distance.
He had a way of teasing that left her breathless, always knowing just how to unravel her composure with a look, a word, a lingering touch when no one else was watching.
And yet, beneath the warmth and the thrill, a question stirred. Was this the truth of him—or a performance meant to charm? She wanted to believe in the sincerity, but some part of her still wondered where the line between affection and artifice truly lay.
Lance’s warning lingered like smoke in the back of her mind. Theodore had done nothing to warrant suspicion, and still, the words refused to fade. Perhaps it was their shape—too precise, too unsettling—to be entirely false.
Mabel’s gaze lingered on Theodore from across the breakfast table, her thoughts twisting in directions she hadn’t invited. Unbidden, images of him entwined with faceless women flickered behind her eyes, taunting, unwelcome.
It doesn’t matter. That was before. She clung to the thought like it were armor. He wouldn’t do that.
“You’re quiet today,” Theodore observed, his smile polished and effortless. “And barely a nibble.” He’d braided his hair on either side, leaving the loose waves of golden hair on top.
“I’m just … not very hungry,” she offered sheepishly, eyes fixed on the untouched food before her.
He studied her. Concern flickered behind his composed exterior. “Something wrong, Princess?”
“No,” she said too fast.
Theodore’s smile returned, but softer now. He stood, crossing the small space with care. She didn’t lift her head as he stopped behind her. His fingers threaded slowly through her copper curls, the gesture intimate and searching. Leaning close, his breath fanned her skin.
“I think you’re lying,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear before kissing the space beneath it.
A breath caught in her throat. “I-I’m not.” Her voice trembled with the effort of steadiness as warmth bloomed across her cheeks.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he said with a smirk, eyes gleaming with certainty. “You have a tell.”
Mabel said nothing.
His fingers slipped through her hair, gathering it back as his lips traced a path down the column of her neck. She kept her body still, heart galloping just beneath her chest.
“You speak too fast,” he continued, sending shivers across her skin.
“And that blush … Though to be fair, I see it bloom under the gentlest breeze.” His laughter ghosted across her throat, light and warm.
She pressed her lips together, determined not to react.
“I’m not sure why you’re pretending I’m not here,” he hummed, almost lazily, as though savoring a private game. “But I’ll get your answer eventually.”
A tremor slipped down Mabel’s spine. Theodore’s hands moved with purpose, gliding along her waist, then upward, fingertips skimming the curve of her ribs.
She couldn’t suppress the breath that escaped as his lips met the hollow beneath her jaw.
One hand cradled the back of her neck, coaxing her head back as his teeth grazed tender skin in a slow drag.
“There’re certainly other ways to de-stress. I’d be happy to help,” he breathed against her skin.
She stiffened, thoughts of him with other women returning full force. “C-can I ask you a question?” she asked, hesitant.
“Anything,” he purred.
“How many women have you slept with?” The words tumbled out in a rush.
Theodore nearly choked. “What?” He blinked, stunned by her sudden boldness. Surely he had misheard.
She glanced down, uncertain, already regretting the question. “I’m just curious.”
Theodore cleared his throat, briefly glancing aside before fixing his gaze back on her. “Just women?” he asked, the smile on his face deceptively innocent.
Mabel’s expression shifted. Her eyes widened, head turning to look up at him. “What?” she breathed.
Theodore extended his hand for her to take. She hesitantly accepted it, rising from the bench. “Mabel,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “We are too young to deny ourselves such pleasures in life.” His smile curved, edged with something darker. “Do you really want to know the answer?”
Mabel stared up at him, trying to bury the unease rising in her chest. “Yes,” she said, though her voice betrayed her, trembling at the edges.
Theodore’s hand slipped around her waist, drawing her in. “Honestly?” he asked, biting his lip, gaze drifting as if searching his memory. “I’ve lost count.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. That was not the answer she was ready for.
“But since we’re asking,” he went on, tone effortless. “How many men have you slept with?”
She dropped her gaze, cleared her throat. A step back—denied. His grip around her waist tightened, firm and coaxing. “How many?” he asked, tilting her chin up until her eyes met his.
“None,” she breathed.
His smile came slow, smug, and wholly unfazed. It only made her heart race faster. “Don’t be embarrassed.” Theodore gently threaded his fingers through hers, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Any other questions, Princess?”
Mabel’s gaze dropped, the heat in her cheeks refusing to fade. “Are you …” She paused, gathering herself with a breath. “Still seeing anyone?”
His eyes sharpened, something unreadable passing through them. Mabel didn’t miss it—the flicker, fleeting but telling. He held her gaze, a beat too long.
“No,” he said at last, voice smooth and paired with a smile.
The unease twisted in her chest, stubborn. She wanted to trust him, needed to believe him. Yet her gaze slipped downward, settling in the space between them.
Would he lie to me?
Her eyes lifted again, tracing his features as if they held the answer. There was no proof he’d lied, no hard reason to doubt him, only Lance’s cruel accusations, and that breath of hesitation Theodore hadn’t quite masked.
Theodore lowered his head until their eyes met. “Mabel.” Her name, spoken gently, hushed the tangle of thoughts crowding her mind. “Talk to me.”
She cleared her throat, faltering. “Sorry—I … okay.” A faint smile tugged at her lips, uncertain and fragile.
He kissed her forehead with reassurance, anchoring her. “What made you ask?” His gaze lingered, searching.
She turned from him slightly. “Just curious.”
He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You’re lying.” His voice was warm, teasing, but his eyes didn’t waver.
She hesitated, letting a beat of silence pass before whispering, “Someone told me I should ask.”
Theodore’s expression darkened. “Who?”
She faltered. “Theodore—”
“Who?” His voice rose, not much, but enough to make her flinch.
“Your brother,” she whispered, as if the words themselves might stir trouble.
His eyes hardened. The air between them shifted, heavy with something sharp. Anger began to curl quietly in his chest.
“You actually believed him?” Theodore stepped back, voice tinged with disbelief. “Over me?”
“No—Theodore, I didn’t …” Mabel shook her head, reaching for steadiness she didn’t feel.
“Have you been talking to him?” His eyes narrowed, fury stirring beneath the surface.
“I haven’t. He …” Her words faltered. The memory of him in the hall still flickered in her mind, and with it, the instinct to protect the fragile ground they stood on. The truth was complicated—dangerous in its entirety.
“He stopped me. A few nights ago.” Her voice was quiet, measured. “I should’ve dismissed it, but …” Her breath caught. “I let doubt creep in, and I’m sorry.”
Theodore didn’t respond. He held himself rigid, gaze unreadable save for the way he inhaled, slow and controlled.
What did I just do? Mabel’s mind screamed at her. Did I just ruin this?
Her mind went quiet as his lips curved into a gentle smile. “It’s okay,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms. “You’re young. Naive.” The word landed sharp, cutting through the softness. Something heavy settled in Mabel’s chest. Is that all he sees? Just a child who doesn’t know any better?
“And you won’t do it again.” It wasn’t a suggestion. It rang with finality.
She edged back instinctively, but his arms remained, a barrier as much as an embrace. “What?” The word tumbled out, barely audible.
“You will not speak to Lance again.” His smile lingered, but the warmth had drained from it. “That isn’t a request.”
Mabel looked up at him, her heart pounding in protest. Avoiding Lance was easy. She wanted that. But this rule—this law—only diminished her further. It wasn’t about Lance anymore. It was about how effortlessly her choices could be stripped away.
It reminded her, sharply, just how little say she had in things that touched her life. Her voice, it seemed, wasn’t meant to shape the rules. Only obey them, like always.
“Of course,” she said, instinctive, protective.
And for the first time, her stomach twisted sickeningly as he pressed his lips to hers.
It lacked the tenderness he usually held, replaced with a hunger, a desire she hadn’t felt from him before.
He staked claim to her mouth as if he owned it, owned her, forcing her lips open as he backed her against the table with a possessiveness that bordered on obsessive.
His hands lifted her effortlessly, lips never leaving hers, and set her atop the wooden table, pressing himself between her legs as if he belonged there.