11. 10 #3
“Do you enjoy torturing me?” she teased, swatting at him lightly, though the laughter still spilled from her lips.
“I’d argue it’s the other way around,” he scoffed playfully, breath brushing her skin. “You and that dress …”
“Stop,” she said, laughing despite herself.
“I’m serious,” he purred, lips grazing the curve of her jaw. “We may need to leave early.”
Her breath caught. She turned slightly, but he reached out, fingers tilting her chin back toward him, an instinctive gesture she’d grown used to, one that always made her pulse quicken.
“We can’t leave early,” she whispered, though the words held no weight. If he asked, she’d have to follow.
“Says who?” he asked, brow lifted, eyes gleaming.
“Hate to interrupt the poetry hour,” a voice teased, light and familiar, “but we’re starting to wonder if you’ve been kidnapped.”
“Derrick,” Theodore greeted him and glanced up, amusement flickering in his eyes as he met his friend’s grin. “Just enjoying the celebration,” he said, unbothered.
Mabel’s fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve before she could think, a subtle gesture. She didn’t want him pulled away just yet.
“Sure,” Derrick laughed. “But come say hello. Everyone’s gathered near the fountain, wondering where their favorite prince wandered off to.”
Theodore rose slowly, brushing off his coat with practiced ease. “I’ll be back,” he said to Mabel, voice warm.
She nodded, a hesitant smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t let them corrupt you.”
“No promises,” he said, flashing her a wink.
Derrick clapped him on the back as they walked off, their laughter trailing behind. Mabel watched them go, the warmth of Theodore’s presence lingering like the last note of a song.
But she wasn’t alone. Ada, who had shifted down the bench earlier to give them space, had seen the exchange. She turned now, eyes bright, a playful smile on her lips. “Care to dance?” she asked, voice lilting with mischief.
They found each other in motion, hands clasping, feet falling into rhythm. They spun between tables and flickering torches, skirts catching the firelight, laughter spilling from them in bursts too honest to be rehearsed.
In that moment, Mabel let herself forget. The music, the warmth, the flicker of Ada’s smile—it was enough.
They twirled beneath the lantern-lit sky, laughter slipping between them as they spun with careless joy. But as Mabel’s fingers loosened, the momentum caught her off balance, her feet faltered, and she stumbled backward.
Strong arms steadied her, pulling her flush against a firm chest.
Her breath hitched as she looked up and found Lance watching her, eyes dark. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She stepped back quickly, jaw tight as she narrowed her gaze.
“Impeccable timing, my prince,” she said coolly, eyes narrowed as they scanned his face.
“Right place, right time,” Lance said. His smirk curved into something almost daring. “May I have this dance?”
Mabel hesitated, glancing toward the crowd. Her gaze swept the tables, searching, but Theodore wasn’t there.
Her voice faltered. “I don’t know if I should …”
“Dance, Mabel! I need a break,” Ada called out with a grin, collapsing onto a bench with flushed cheeks.
Her heart stuttered. When her eyes met Lance’s again, her hand moved before she could stop it, slipping into his like instinct had outrun reason.
His grip was firm. He drew her in, his other hand settling at her waist just as the music shifted, slower now, sweeter, the tempo bending into something dangerously intimate.
She nearly groaned.
Then she looked up.
In the glow of fire and moonlight, his gaze wasn’t sharp or guarded. It had softened, mellow, almost reverent. She couldn’t hold it.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, barely audible over the melody.
“I shouldn’t do a lot of things.” Lance sighed, eyes trailing down her figure with unrepentant ease.
Her pulse skipped. “What if Theodore sees?”
His voice dropped. “What if he does? It’s just a dance.”
She exhaled slowly, letting the logic settle over her shoulders like a shawl, but the knot in her stomach refused to loosen.
“I should apologize,” Lance said, guiding her hand with practiced ease. His gaze didn’t meet hers. “The other day … I should’ve warned you about the memories.”
Her eyes flicked up, sharp. “Yes, you should’ve.” The words cut clean but softened with a scoff. “But I ask too many questions, don’t I?”
“You do,” he said, almost fond. Then he drew her closer, the space between them vanishing.
Her breath hitched.
His brow arched, amused, but something in his expression shifted. Calculating. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I have not,” she said quickly, too quickly. Her voice thinned, trailing off.
Lance tilted his head, guiding her into a slow spin. Lantern light caught the shimmer of her gown, casting gold across her skin. When she returned to him, his hand found her waist again, firm.
“You haven’t gotten any better at lying,” he said.
She sighed, gaze dropping. “Fine. Yes, I’ve been avoiding you.”
“Why?” His hand lifted, reaching for her cheek. She caught his wrist before he could touch her.
“Lance … you know exactly why.”
“Explain it to me,” he whispered, just low enough for her to hear.
“Do I have to?”
His golden eyes met hers, steady, almost pleading. It pulled at something in her chest she didn’t want to name.
She took a breath, steadying herself. “What happened … It can’t happen again.”
Lance’s brow lifted, curious. “And that means you must avoid me?”
“Yes, I …” Her voice faltered. She swallowed hard. “I can’t trust myself. Or you.”
The admission scraped against her pride, but it was true. It lived in the way her body leaned toward him even now, in the way her skin sparked beneath his touch, in the ache she couldn’t quite silence.
He watched her closely, gaze unreadable. Then his hand returned to her waist, guiding her gently in time with the music. His grip was steady, grounding, like he feared she might slip through his fingers if he let go.
And maybe she would.
Her words had confirmed it. The distance wasn’t punishment—it was protection. A line drawn not from indifference, but from the threat of losing control.
And that, more than anything, pleased him. Because it meant she wanted him. Just as badly as he wanted her.
“Come out with me tonight,” he said, searching her features.
“In your dreams,” Mabel scoffed.
“Oh, Miss Ravenov, if only you could see my dreams.” His voice wrapped around her slowly, coaxing. “Though I would wager they’re not too different from your own.”
She could feel her cheeks burning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” he laughed softly. The sound warmed something inside her. “You see me. You feel me. You need me.”
“And how do you know of my dreams?” She glared at him, but she couldn’t deny the heat growing inside her.
“I’m there, aren’t I?” he scoffed.
Mabel stilled. “What do you mean you’re there?”
“What, you think it’s Auren himself fucking you?”
She wanted to rip the smirk off his stupid face. “No one is fucking me—”
“Obviously.” He rolled his eyes.
“You aren’t in my dreams,” she snapped, but the heat on her cheeks gave away her poor attempt at a lie.
“Fate isn’t to be ignored, Mabel.”
“Fate?” She laughed in his face. “My fate was sealed when my father was crowned king. I’m to wed Theodore. Nothing can change that.”
“Do you enjoy angering our god?” he teased.
“Your god enjoys angering me,” she huffed. “What is your point?”
“Come with me tonight,” he said, breath brushing her ear. “I’ll show you the truth of your Prince Charming. Maybe it’ll help you see your real fate a little clearer.”
“The truth?” She glared at him. “Is that what this is about? All the whores he’s fucked? He admitted it. Bu-but he’s with me now—not them. Why are you trying so hard to ruin this for me?”
“Where was he last night?” Lance asked.
“What?”
“Or the night before? Where do you think he was when he did this?” He dropped his hand from her waist to point at the healing cuts along his brow.
“I-I don’t know,” she said quietly.
“Exactly. You have no idea who the man you’re marrying even is.” His hand returned to her waist, rougher, pulling her along to the music.
“What difference does it make? Why do you care so much?” She stepped in time with him, twirling as he lifted his hand to spin her. He dragged her back in with a force that almost had them crashing into each other.
“I don’t”—a groan ripped from his chest—“I do. I care. Is that so bad? Is that wrong of me?”
Her gaze swept his face, searching for a lie, a tell, anything that would settle the flutter in her chest. But all she saw was sincerity. Raw. Rare.
Her body stiffened. The warmth rising in her only solidified her answer. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, trying to pull back.
He didn’t let her. His arms held firm, not cruel, just unyielding. His eyes met hers, steady, mischievous.
“You will,” he said quietly.
Lance’s gaze flicked upward, a slow smirk forming. Mabel turned to follow his line of sight.
Theodore was striding toward them.
Mabel instinctively tried to pull back, but Lance didn’t release her hand.
“Mabel?” Theodore’s voice sliced through the music, sharp and unmistakable.
She wrenched free of Lance’s grip, fire flashing in her eyes as she spun to face her fiancé.
His expression was carved from stone—brow furrowed, jaw clenched—but his gaze didn’t even touch Lance. It landed fully on her.
Her breath tangled in her throat as he closed the space between them, reaching for her wrist and pulling her with him in a single, silent motion.
No words. Just the press of his hand and the weight of eyes all around them.
She desperately glanced back at Lance, but he was striding off in the other direction.
Mabel stumbled slightly, caught in the urgency of Theodore’s steps.
“Theo,” she called out, breathless, trying to match his pace, but he didn’t respond. His grip held steady as the crowd parted for them.
Whispers followed. Slippery. Unavoidable. Every glance was a question she wasn’t ready to answer.