7. 6
Mabel drifted down the corridor, each step light, almost ghostlike against the stone. Illusions blossomed at her heels—birds with shimmering wings glided beside her, then melted into mist or twisted into other forms entirely.
She was adrift in thought, wonder still blooming in her chest. The knowledge of magic—real magic—wrapped around her like warmth. For a while, it dulled the ache.
Then she saw him.
Broad-shouldered, back turned, Theodore stood at her door. Her steps faltered. The conjured birds vanished mid-flight, shadows dissipating into silence. Mabel halted at the far end of the hall, breath hitching as she watched.
The door to her room sat ajar, Ada’s silhouette framed against the warm glow inside. She and Theodore exchanged words, too low for Mabel to catch.
Then Ada spotted her.
“There she is,” she said brightly, beckoning with a gentle wave.
Mabel hesitated, swallowing the sigh that rose in her chest. Her feet moved slowly, carrying her forward with dread. She stopped just shy of the doorway, purposefully keeping space between herself and Theodore.
Her eyes stayed low. She wouldn’t look at him.
“Mabel?” Ada’s voice carried a note of concern as she glanced between the two of them.
Theodore stepped forward, his smile soft but unreadable. “You disappeared on me, Princess.”
“Apologies, my prince,” Mabel replied, voice steady but distant, eyes fixed to the floor. “I was with your mother. She’s … lovely.”
His brows furrowed, searching her face for something that didn’t meet his eyes. He shifted beside her, placing a hand on the small of her back. “Come with me.”
It wasn’t a request. The gentle pressure urged her forward, and her feet obeyed before her heart had the chance to resist.
This wasn’t what she wanted. Not now. She’d hoped for the sanctuary of her room, a quiet moment with Ada, but expectations moved faster than desires.
As she passed, she gave Ada a small, practiced smile, one that whispered, I’m fine, even though it wasn’t true.
The corridor stretched around them, dim and uninviting, with only the sound of the soft rhythm of their footsteps and the muted hiss of sconces flickering against stone.
“Are you still angry with me?” Theodore asked at last, his voice cracking through the silence.
Mabel drew a breath, suppressing the scoff that nearly slipped. “Why would I be?”
“Because I told you not to see Lance?” His brow knit, his tone edged. “Although, truly, I should be the one upset. You clearly want to keep those little meetings.”
A dry laugh escaped her. “The last thing I want is to speak to Lance.”
Theodore stopped mid-step. “Then why are you upset?”
Mabel’s eyes met his, steady and cold. Does he really not see it? Does he not hear himself?
“I’m not,” she said quietly, turning and walking ahead without pause.
But he caught up fast, stepping into her path. “You clearly are,” he said, voice taut.
Mabel faltered at his tone. He reached for her, but she retreated a step, jaw tight.
“Talk to me,” he urged, softer now—almost pleading.
“Theodore—”
“Please,” he said, then much quieter, “Let me in.”
Mabel dropped her gaze, her pulse thudding against her ribs like a warning. When she looked up again, the storm behind her eyes was barely contained.
Could he really understand? Does he even want to?
“It’s fine. I know my place, my prince,” she said, voice tight. “You simply reminded me of it.”
“Mabel …” His voice was low, almost sincere. He didn’t move at first, just watched her—watched the way her fists clenched to keep from shaking.
She stepped past him, silent.
“Mabel,” he said again, this time a groan, rough and urgent. He turned and caught her by the waist, pulling her back against him. She stiffened, breath held, spine straight as a blade.
“I was careless,” he said, voice brushing her ear. “Too proud, too quick to speak without thinking. You’ve seen that in me, haven’t you?” A soft laugh escaped him, self-deprecating and practiced, but not hollow.
She didn’t answer. Her fingers fidgeted, picking at the skin around her nails. He took her hands gently, coaxing her to face him.
“I don’t like to share,” he admitted, eyes sweeping over her with a heat that made her pulse stutter. “My brother is a … sensitive topic. But that’s no excuse.”
She blinked, startled by the softness in his tone, the way he looked at her like she was something fragile and fierce all at once.
“Your place,” he said, threading his fingers through hers, “is beside me. Not beneath me. Not behind me. I never meant to make you feel small, or silenced, or anything less than the force you are.”
Her breath caught. The words were smooth, maybe even practiced, but they landed. They wrapped around her, warm and dangerous.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She hated how easily he said it. How perfectly the apology fit in his mouth, like he’d rehearsed it in front of a mirror, smoothing every edge until it gleamed.
And yet, it worked.
Her heart thudded against her ribs, traitorous and loud. But his hands were warm around hers, grounding. His voice, low and coaxing, wrapped around her.
She turned her face away but didn’t pull her hands back. “You’re making it awfully hard to stay angry.”
He smiled, just barely. “That’s not a flaw, is it?”
She didn’t answer. Not yet. But her fingers curled around his.
“Come with me,” he said. She let him lead her down the corridor. The firelight danced across his face, gilding the sharp lines of his bearded jaw, the curve of his mouth, features too beautiful to trust, too practiced to ignore.
She watched him, and for a moment, it was easy to forget the ache in her chest. Easy to pretend that the way he looked at her meant something more than possession.
Was she foolish to follow? To let herself be pulled back into his orbit so easily?
Her mind screamed warnings, each one sharp and clear, but her heart beat louder, thudding in a rhythm that matched his steps. There was gravity in him, and she’d already fallen victim to the weight of it.
She clung to the thread of hope that had begun to take root in quiet moments.
His laughter, the way he listened when he thought no one else did, the softness that slipped through when he forgot to guard himself.
Maybe this could be real. Maybe it wasn’t just performance and expectation and the weight of what she was supposed to be.
Maybe he saw her.
And maybe—just maybe—he wanted her. Not because he was meant to, but because he couldn’t help it.
But hope was a fragile thing. And she’d already learned how easily it could be mistaken for illusion.
Their footsteps carried them to a tall wooden door; its edges were lined with colored glass that shimmered softly beneath the torchlight. Theodore reached out, fingers curling around the iron handle as he pulled the door open with ease.
“After you, Princess,” he hummed, voice laced with warmth.
Mabel stepped through—and the cold hit her instantly. Winter spilled over her skin, sharp and biting. The air clung to her bones, stealing breath from her lips.
“We were just by my room. You could have warned me to grab a clo—”
But before the word even fell from her lips, Theodore was already draping his cloak over her. She fell still, silent. It smelled of him, swirling with the scent of oils and pine.
A hush settled over her, warm, steady, and unexpected. Her fingers drifted along the edge of the thick, fur-lined cloak, the texture grounding her in the present.
Theodore watched her closely, a familiar glint in his eyes. “You were saying?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.
Mabel didn’t lift her gaze, but her voice carried through the cold. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he said, lacing their fingers together again. Always touching her. The corner of her lip tugged upward, trying to hide the smile.
The tall hedges loomed, shielding the landscape from view, their outlines softened by the falling dusk.
Ornate wooden beams cradled a balcony above, where firelight flickered along the stone path.
They walked until the corridor spilled open, revealing the castle’s garden bathed in a delicate, slowly building layer of snow.
Flurries danced through the air, weightless and slow, each speck glimmering as it landed on the greenery. Her breath caught—her first snowfall in Aurevyn. And Theodore had known.
She stepped into it, unflinching now. The sting on her cheeks, the bite at her heels—they were distant things. Snow settled into her hair, catching on loose strands and glowing in the light.
She laughed then, quiet and free, arms stretched wide to catch the sky.
Theodore lingered behind her, watching, drawn to the girl who now stood wrapped in winter, radiant and untouchable.
Mabel turned, laughter still lingering on her lips like frost. She extended a hand toward him, open and playful.
Theodore stepped closer, snow crunching under his boots, his presence wrapping around her like the cloak he’d given. He stopped just before her, tall and composed, eyes drinking her in.
Her gaze lifted to meet his, cheeks flushed from more than just the cold. That space between them shimmered. Neither spoke.
And then, he leaned down, slow but sure, his breath warm against the chill. “Can I kiss you?”
Her lips found his in a kiss that silenced the wind.
In that moment, the world dissolved.
There was only him.
His hands slipped to her waist, pulling her closer with urgency. One drifted up, fingers weaving into her curls and tugging gently, possessively. Mabel’s own hands found his hair, threading through the golden strands, holding him there like a lifeline.
Something bloomed inside her, wild and electric. It rushed through her veins, igniting her from the core. Her palms tingled with energy, a subtle pulse that matched the rhythm of her heart.
The air bent around them. The wind shifted.
Snow spiraled in a sudden motion, willed by Mabel’s desire, swirling with purpose and wrapping them in a storm of frost.
Theodore deepened the kiss, all restraint forgotten, lips chasing hers with a hunger that melted the cold around them.