11. 10 #2
It lived in the pauses between words; in the way she flinched at certain names, names Ada hadn’t thought meant anything to her. It lived in the way she held herself too still, too carefully, like one wrong move might crack something open.
Ada didn’t press, but her chest ached with the knowing.
A knock broke the stillness, sharp and sudden. Both women turned.
Ada fluttered to the door, heels clicking softly against the stone as she pulled it open with both hands, the weight of it slowing her grace. Her head tilted slightly as she peered out into the corridor then smiled, beckoning Mabel forward with a wave.
Mabel approached the threshold, her breath catching at the sight.
Theodore stood in the doorway, framed by candlelight. Fine furs draped his shoulders, a matching antler circlet resting atop his blond strands. In his arms, he carried two bouquets—deep crimson blooms, lush and velvety. Almost too perfect.
“For you,” he said with a smile that curled at the corners, handing one to Mabel. She accepted it and leaned into the soft kiss he offered, warm, familiar, but no longer felt right.
Then he turned. “And for you,” he added, extending the second bouquet to Ada.
The room paused.
Ada blinked, startled, unsure whether to reach for the gift or question its meaning. Her fingers hesitated in midair before finally accepting the flowers with a polite nod.
Theodore’s smile didn’t falter. But Mabel’s heart thudded once.
“Thank you, Theo,” Mabel cooed, her smile tight. “These weren’t stolen too, were they?” she quietly teased.
He laughed, the sound curling around her. “Not this time,” he replied. “Purchased. Locally grown, too.”
A soft giggle escaped her lips as she lifted the flowers to her nose, inhaling their delicate sweetness.
“They’re lovely,” Ada said, still gazing down at the blooms cradled in her hands. “Let me get them in some water.” She gently took Mabel’s bouquet and drifted toward the vanity, her movements careful.
Mabel turned back to Theodore, catching his gaze. “That was thoughtful.” She smiled, her voice quiet. “I mean it.”
“Anything for you,” he said with a soft smile, and her heart stammered under the weight of it.
If only he knew.
Ada returned, cheeks pink from the warmth of the moment. “Ready?”
Theodore offered his arm, and Mabel slipped hers through without hesitation.
Ada trailed behind as they stepped into the corridor, footsteps echoing faintly as they made their way to the courtyard where the waiting carriages glistened beneath Yule lanterns.
They boarded the carriage one by one, its interior plush with velvet benches lining either side. Theodore offered his hand to both Mabel and Ada, guiding them in with ease before settling beside them. All three arranged themselves on the far bench.
Across from them sat Thalen and Frey—both draped in elegant robes, their crowns grand and matching, polished antlers curling skyward.
“What a beautiful couple,” Thalen said warmly, his arm slung around Frey in a gesture both casual and proud.
“We are truly blessed by The Old Ones,” Frey chimed in, her smile soft and knowing. “Such a perfect match.”
“Blessed indeed,” Theodore echoed with a smirk, his fingers tightening instinctively around Mabel’s waist.
She offered a shy smile; cheeks pink beneath the weight of their praise. She knew she didn’t deserve it.
“What are we waiting for?” Theodore asked, glancing toward the open door.
“Your brother,” Frey replied, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And remember—best behavior.”
Mabel glanced up at Theodore and caught the subtle tension in his jaw, the flicker of disapproval that passed through his eyes. His grip grew firmer against her side; more claim than comfort.
It only made the knot in her stomach grow tighter.
And then—Lance.
He stepped into the carriage, gaze locking onto Mabel’s with unnerving precision. She looked away fast, heartbeat skipping.
Lance’s eyes drifted between her and Theodore, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he took the seat beside Frey, the air tightening as the carriage door clicked shut behind him.
The wheels lurched, and they were off—gliding toward celebration, wrapped in tension and restraint.
The carriage creaked to a halt at the edge of a massive field, its wheels rolling to rest against gravel softened by frost. Mabel stepped out with Theodore’s hand clasped around hers, Ada just behind; the three of them greeted by the hum of hundreds already gathered.
The awning was a canopy of warmth in the open cold, sprawling across a field, stitched from thick maroon and gold fabric that mirrored Aurevyn’s heraldic hues.
Beneath it, tables stretched in endless rows, piled high with roasted vegetables, toasted breads, glazed meats, and jugs of warm cider. The air carried their scent.
At the far end, three oxen waited near the ceremonial stones, calm and swaddled in wreaths of evergreen. They would be offered at dusk, their lives honored in reverence, a sacred tradition meant to invoke protection and abundance for the year to come.
Though the celebration echoed the elegance of the crown’s power, it wasn’t hollow.
The people came not only to admire but to be nourished, sheltered, seen.
In the center of it all, a grand evergreen tree with ribbons trailing down its bark.
Tables brimmed with folded wool blankets, cloaks, boots, and hand-knit garments.
Children darted between benches while elders whispered and watched.
Everyone was welcome. No one left empty-handed.
It was extravagant, yes. But it was theirs. The crown had poured its gold into something enduring. Something they could touch.
Mabel’s eyes skimmed the crowd, her heart tugging at both corners, at the generous beauty of the event, then at the shadow of Lance lingering just behind them.
He strode ahead without a glance, his cloak catching on the wind, rustling behind him.
“Enjoy yourselves,” Frey hummed as she and Thalen followed, their arms looped with familiarity. Two guards trailed them at a respectful distance.
“Not too much,” Thalen added over his shoulder, casting a pointed look toward Theodore.
“Ignore him,” Frey muttered, tugging her husband gently forward. The words “You do not ignore a king” were met with playful scoffs from her, soft teasing that made the title seem less like a burden, more like a game between lovers.
Mabel watched them with an ache she didn’t quite know how to name. Her parents had never looked at each other like that. Not with that warmth. That ease.
If she wanted anything—truly wanted—it was that. Whatever Thalen and Frey had stitched between them through years and choices and secrets.
Could she find that in Theodore?
Before the question settled, they were moving, his hand resting against her back, firm and possessive as he guided her into the throng. Ada followed without question.
They moved through the rows of tables beneath the awning, surrounded by laughter and clinking glasses. Theodore greeted the crowd like the royal prince he was, his smile warm, wave effortless, each gesture polished.
They reached a table already bustling with conversation and steaming platters. Theodore slid onto the bench and pulled Mabel close, his hand resting at her side. Ada followed, slipping in next to her.
A horn blast cleaved the air.
Every head turned in near-unison. At the far end of the field, Thalen and Frey stood beneath the golden awning, framed by torches and velvet drapery, regal and commanding.
Thalen raised his hands as silence fell over the crowd, voices trailing off until only the wind whispered through the trees.
“Citizens of Aurevyn,” his voice rang clear and resonant beneath the awning, “tonight we gather not only in celebration, but in remembrance.”
Theodore leaned forward, purposefully blocking Mabel’s view. His elbow rested across the wood, knuckles supporting his chin. “Is it everything you dreamed of?”
Mabel choked on a sip of cider. “What?”
“The celebration,” he hummed, gesturing broadly.
“Oh—yes, it’s incredible.” She nodded quickly. Her gaze swept across the crowd.
“Not as incredible as—”
“Stop being such a flirt,” she teased him. “I’m trying to pay attention.”
Theodore huffed. “It’s the same speech every year.
I can recite it to you, though I’m sure you’d be much more entertained by my version.
” He leaned in close, breath warming her skin.
His words fell in time with Thalen’s. “The winter solstice marks more than the longest night,” he purred.
His lips pressed just below her ear. Thalen’s voice still rang with authority, but Mabel was suddenly far too distracted to listen.
“Though I’m quite grateful for the extra time. It means I’ll have more time to spend keeping my promise.” His hand dropped to her thigh, giving a less than gentle squeeze.
Her breath caught, her cheeks flaming under his gaze.
“Auren sees us. He grants us peace. He leads with passion. Tell me, Princess, which do you think Auren will grant you tonight?”
“We are in public—”
“Answer the question.”
Mabel blinked up at him. His eyes were hooded, dark, the silvery gray tinged with something hungry. He watched her with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.
“P-passion?” she whispered.
He nodded. “Tonight, we give freely. These gifts are not just acts of generosity but promise—though I am quite generous.”
He finished the rest of the speech that way. Mimicking Thalen before whispering his own interpretations into her ear.
After the feast, the music began.
Strings rose into the cold night air. A lighthearted voice sang of merriment and new beginnings, words rolling like snow across the field, scattering joy wherever they landed.
And for the moment, Mabel let herself ease into the wonder of it all.
Theodore remained at her side, his arm draped around her shoulders, voice low as he whispered into her ear. Mabel didn’t think she could blush any deeper, but her cheeks were warm, her jaw aching from how long she’d been smiling.