7. 6 #2
Mabel broke the kiss, lungs aching for air, but Theodore moved without hesitation, his lips trailing to her neck, warm and intent.
“Theodore,” she gasped, breath hitching.
He didn’t slow.
His breath ghosted against her skin, hot and intoxicating, before his lips found the hollow of her throat. Mabel shuddered, her fingers curling into his hair as his hand slid beneath the cloak, tracing the shape of her dress with maddening patience.
A flutter bloomed low, unfamiliar, hungry. Her lips parted in a gasp, her head tipping back as her eyes fluttered shut.
How did he do this to her? How did something so simple—his mouth, his touch—dismantle her so completely?
She hated it.
She hated how her body betrayed her, how every kiss sent fire racing beneath her skin, how every breath he took against her made her forget the cold, forget the warnings, forget herself.
He groaned softly against her throat, pulling her closer until she was wrapped in his warmth, swallowed by it. The moan escaped her lips before she could stop it, and when he finally pulled back, a smirk played at his mouth.
Her eyes opened slowly, dazed and wide, lips parted as she looked up at him.
“Gods, Mabel,” he breathed, voice thick with restraint.
“Why’d you stop?” she whispered, her voice barely carrying. Her fingers slipped from his golden hair, resting lightly on his chest, grounding herself in the heat of him.
“Because I’m a gentleman,” he said with a crooked smile. “And I know better than to ruin you so quickly.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, the snow catching in her lashes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not,” he assured her, lifting a hand toward her face. She flinched—subtle—but he saw it. He paused, waiting, until she met his gaze again.
And when she did, he cupped her cheek, slow and careful, and she melted into his palm.
“I simply enjoy the wait,” he admitted, eyes searching hers. “It makes the fall so much sweeter.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that broke onto her lips. “Is that so?”
He nodded, leaning in once more to press a chaste kiss on her lips.
He pulled back, her gaze softening as she rose to her toes, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice edged with truth. “I mean it.”
His smile shifted, no longer playful but tender in its ease. “My pleasure, Princess.”
Mabel looked at the sky, the cloud cover so thick she could barely see the stars, just the hint of a shimmer. “Where is Auren?”
Theodore followed her gaze to the heavens above, squinting as if that would help any. He studied the night sky carefully before gently guiding her shoulders, turning her. “There.”
Her eyes swept across the clouds where he pointed until she caught it. Unmistakable, even with the snow, the thick clouds. The constellation glimmered brighter than any other stars, taking ownership of the night.
The Great Stag in all his glory. Twinkling stars marked the bends of his legs mid-leap. Large antlers fanned out like a crown in its own right, regal, watching.
“I prayed to him,” Mabel whispered through the quiet.
“Did you?” Theodore rested his chin on the crown of her head.
“I didn’t say much. I just asked for peace.”
“It’s what he’s best at,” he hummed, fingers tracing along her hips. “Did he grant it?”
She held back the snort threatening to escape. Her reoccurring dreams were anything but peaceful. The morning certainly hadn’t been. But then she found Frey. The aviary. Magic.
“Yes,” she decided, sinking further into his warmth.
They lingered beneath the snowfall. Silence threaded with breath and closeness. The chill eventually bit too deep, coaxing them back toward shelter. As they crossed the threshold into the castle, laughter spilled between them, bright and young, and echoing against the stone walls.
Theodore lunged playfully, catching her mid-step and lifting her into the air with ease.
Mabel shrieked in surprise, laughter bubbling up from her chest. “Put me down!” she cried, though the grin tugging at her lips betrayed her urgency.
He spun her once, the fur-lined cloak trailing behind them like a ribbon, before gently setting her back on her feet, his hands lingering at her waist just a moment longer than necessary.
“Walk me back?” she asked, voice barely above the hum of the corridor.
“I’d love to,” Theodore replied, a smile tugging at his lips, softer than before.
They walked in silence, footsteps echoing along the stone. It wasn’t strained; it was comfortable. Worn in. They passed the same turns, the same flickering sconces, until her door came into view.
Neither moved right away.
They stood in the hush, fingers still entwined, eyes searching—not for answers, but something steadier. The moment hovered between them, warm and still.
She broke the silence first. “Thank you for lending me your cloak.” She reached for the clasp, but his hands found hers and stopped her.
“Keep it.” He smiled. “It looks better on you.”
She paused, looking up at him. Theodore leaned down, brushing a kiss to her cheek with surprising tenderness. “Get some rest, Princess,” he whispered.
She looked up, a smile touching her lips. “Good night, Theo.”
He simply smiled, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before turning down the corridor.
Mabel watched until his figure vanished around the bend. Then she let the breath go and stepped inside.
Ada had been pacing, worry etched into every movement until the door creaked open. At the sight of Mabel, her shoulders dropped with relief.
“Hey,” she said gently, eyes scanning her friend. “You okay?”
Mabel glanced down at the cloak still wrapped around her, fingers brushing the fur-lined edge. “I think so,” she offered, barely audible, lost in thought.
With a soft nod, Ada moved to help her undress, hands finding the clasp at Mabel’s throat—a carved stag, proud and intricate. Her brow lifted. “Theodore’s?”
A quiet laugh escaped Mabel’s lips. “Yeah.”
Ada eased the cloak from her shoulders. “So … you two are alright?” she asked. “It seemed tense earlier.”
“For now,” Mabel said, taking the cloak from Ada. She moved to the bed, laying it across the sheets with care, her fingers gliding over the fur-lined edge as if trying to read the story it carried.
“What happened?” Ada asked gently, tilting her head as her brows drew together in concern.
Mabel hesitated, exhaling a breath that wavered at the edges. “It’s stupid.”
Ada stepped closer, her voice steady. “It’s not. Something’s clearly bothering you.” She reached for Mabel’s hands, grounding her. “You can tell me.”
For a moment, Mabel said nothing. Then, softly, “Did you know he has a brother?”
Ada listened intently to every detail, eyes wide with shock at Lance’s crude remarks. But when Mabel explained Theodore’s demands, she knew what had upset her so much.
Her expression softened, her voice wrapping around the silence like a blanket. “Oh, Mabel.”
“It’s fine,” Mabel said quickly, too quickly.
Ada didn’t blink. She tilted her head, a smile curling gently at her lips. “You seriously need to work on lying better.”
Mabel let out a groan. “So I’ve been told.”
Ada leaned forward slightly. “Did you talk to him? Tell him how you feel?”
Mabel turned toward the vanity, drawn to the glow of her reflection. Her gaze settled on the shimmering crystal necklace draped across her throat, an echo of her father’s control, and a reminder of the girl she was supposed to be.
“He said he was sorry,” Mabel muttered. “Maybe he meant it.” Her fingers lifted, undoing the clasp of the necklace and laying it across her vanity. The stone felt like it were mocking her.