13. 12
Mabel’s giggles echoed down the corridor, spilling from her lips in breathless bursts. Her steps were uneven, her smile wide, flushed with drink and heat.
“Lance,” she breathed, laughing as his lips grazed her neck. Their bodies moved lazily through the castle’s quiet halls, tangled in each other and the remnants of the night.
They turned down the corridor toward her room, Mabel tugging him along with urgency. Lance followed without hesitation. He’d follow her anywhere.
Her fingers curled around the doorknob, eyes never leaving his. “Come inside,” she whispered.
“I shouldn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re far too drunk, Miss Ravenov.”
She pouted, but pushed the door open anyway, pulling him in with her. He stumbled after her, the door clicking shut behind them. “Mabel …” He sighed, watching her sway toward him, cheeks flushed, eyes heavy-lidded from liquor and want.
“Help me with my dress,” she cooed, turning her back to him, sweeping her hair over one shoulder.
He hesitated. Then stepped forward.
“You play with fire,” he mumbled, fingers finding the buttons at her spine. He undid them slowly, watching as silk slipped from her shoulders. She turned, arms crossed over her chest, fingers clutching the fabric. Then she moved to let it fall.
His hands caught hers, gentle but firm. Her brows drew together, confusion flickering in her gaze.
“You don’t want me?” she asked, voice soft, slurred, wounded.
“Gods, Mabel,” he groaned, jaw tight. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
“Then why—”
“Because you’re not thinking clearly,” he said, voice gentle. “And if you wake up tomorrow and regret this, it’ll ruin everything.”
“I won’t,” she whispered.
But he shook his head. “No.” The word was final. Steady.
She froze. Her eyes dropped. She pulled her hands from his and turned away, shoulders curling inward. And he stood there, aching.
“Fine,” she said bitterly, letting the dress slip to the floor in a whisper of silk. Her heels followed with a soft thud, but she didn’t turn to face him.
Lance couldn’t look away. His gaze traced the line of her bare shoulders, the dip of her spine, the sway of her hips as she moved—each curve etched into his memory.
Down to the length of her legs, the way they carried her with defiance.
He stepped forward. Unclasping the cloak at his shoulders, he shrugged it off.
She glanced back, a sly smile playing on her lips.
But instead of reaching for her, he draped the cloak around her frame. The fur swallowed her. “What—” she started.
His hand caught her wrist, pulling her gently but firmly back against his chest. His voice brushed her ear, low and edged with warning.
“Careful,” he purred. “Keep pushing, and I’ll ruin you for good—you will regret it.”
A shiver ran down her spine. She didn’t move.
“So, behave,” he growled in her ear.
The warning only deepened her hunger. “And if I don’t behave?” she hummed, turning to face him, the cloak slipping just enough to reveal flushed skin beneath. “You’ll ruin me?”
“I don’t think you understand what I mean,” he said, head tilting. He stepped forward, and she stumbled back, legs brushing the edge of the bed. He guided her down, then caught her ankles, dragging her gently to the edge. A startled squeal escaped her lips, eyes wide as he stood between her thighs.
His hands tenderly skimmed up her legs. She trembled beneath his touch, breath hitching. Slowly, he bent over her small frame until their faces were inches apart. “Go. To. Bed.”
“Stay,” she begged, arms flying around him, clinging.
The sound of her gentle voice had him closing his eyes, inhaling sharply. But he pulled back. “I can’t, baby,” he said, turning on his heel.
She sat up, eyes blazing, mouth parting to protest—
But the knock at the door came first. A sharp, echoing bang.
“Mabel!” Theodore’s voice snarled through the wood. “Open the damn door!”
Lance froze mid-step, fists curling at his sides.
Mabel shrank back onto the bed, clutching the cloak tighter around her bare skin, heart thudding in her chest.
“What do you want me to do?” Lance asked, voice edged, dangerous. “Because if I do what I want, he won’t walk out of here alive.”
“No,” she whispered, pleading. “Just … let me talk to him.”
“Not happening.” He turned to face her, fury blazing in his eyes. It caught her off guard how quickly the softness vanished.
“Well, you certainly can’t talk to him,” she snapped, defiant despite the tremor in her voice.
A smirk tugged at his lips. He stepped toward her and grabbed her arm. A buzz surged through her body, but she wasn’t the one shifting.
She watched, breath held, as Lance’s features melted and reformed. Copper curls replaced his locs, his skin paled, eyes brightened to her shade of blue.
“What the fuck,” she breathed.
He didn’t answer. Just turned, sauntering toward the door with his smirk on her lips.
“Mabel!” Theodore roared again.
“Coming!” Lance called out, her voice, pitch-perfect.
Mabel dove beneath the covers, heart hammering.
Lance cracked the door open, feigning a sleepy yawn. “It’s the middle of the night, Theo. What do you want?”
“Why were you at Entertainment?” Theodore spat.
“Entertainment?” Mabel’s voice echoed, laced with confusion. “You mean the theater?”
“Don’t play dumb. I saw you there.”
“Theo …” Lance ducked slightly behind the door, feigning vulnerability.
“I’ve been here all night.” He paused, then added, voice sharpening, “Not that you’d know.
You were the one out drinking. You didn’t even try to apologize for what you did.
I had to ride back in that carriage absolutely humiliated,” he snapped.
“And you were nowhere to be found. Now you’re pounding on my door? Waking me up?”
“Mabel—” Theodore started.
“No, Theo,” her voice cut in, sharp and tired. “I’m tired. Goodnight.”
The door slammed shut. Silence lingered. Then the slow shuffle of boots faded down the corridor. Lance exhaled, the illusion unraveling as he shifted back into himself. Mabel peeked out from under the covers, then climbed out of bed, padding toward him.
“That was fucking weird,” she muttered, swatting his arm. “And you did not have to say all that.”
“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Lance huffed, reaching out to tug the cloak tighter around her shoulders. “And now he thinks you never left.”
“For now,” she said, narrowing her eyes, stepping closer. “Anyway—back to what you were promising me—”
“Goodnight, Mabel.” He sighed, rolling his eyes. But before he slipped out the door, he leaned in and pressed one last soft kiss to her lips.
And then he was gone.
She groaned, dragging herself back to the bed, the cloak still wrapped around her like a second skin. She crawled beneath the covers, limbs heavy, heart louder than her thoughts.
The fur brushed her cheek as she buried her face into it. It smelled like him, cinnamon and wood and something darker she couldn’t name.
His voice echoed in her mind. His touch. The way he looked at her as though she were already his. It was dangerous. And it made her body pulse with something so unfamiliar. For the first time, she’d stepped outside her mold. Gone against the grain.
And it felt good.
Sleep came easier that night. Her dreams were once more fueled by passion, but this time she welcomed them. Morning broke with merciless intent.
Mabel woke with her head pounding, stomach churning. She barely made it to the bin by her desk before vomiting the remnants of last night’s indulgence. She groaned, slumping against the cold stone floor, the cloak still tangled around her.
And the day had only just begun.
The door creaked open behind her, Ada’s footsteps gentle as she entered. She paused when she saw Mabel, still hunched over, sweat beading on her forehead. “Are you all right? Are you sick?” She hurried to Mabel’s side, crouching behind her and gathering her hair.
“I’m wonderful,” Mabel coughed out sarcastically. Her eyes closed as Ada’s hand pressed to her damp forehead.
“You’re not hot—are-are you hungover?” Ada stood abruptly, eyeing the state Mabel was in. Her gaze narrowed on the cloak draped around her shoulders, then darted to Theodore’s still hanging by the door, before settling back on Mabel. “Whose is that?”
Mabel frowned, looking up at her. “It’s mine,” she bit back.
“It’s twice your size,” Ada scoffed, then stilled. “Why are you lying?”
Mabel looked away from her. “It was given to me; therefore, it is mine.”
“Theodore?” Ada questioned.
“Sure.” Mabel stood, clutching the fur around her body tight. Her palm flew up to cup her forehead, trying to think past the pounding in her head to form a better lie.
Ada’s gaze swept over her state, just enough to notice her bare skin beneath the cloak. “Mabel,” her voice cut through the air sharply, edged with warning. “What happened last night?”
Mabel stared at her for a beat too long. The silence stretched around them, thick and dangerous. “If you’re here to badger me then you can leave.”
“Mabel—”
“Get out!” Mabel snapped.
Ada’s brows furrowed together, hurt swirling in her chest. “Alright.” She nodded, tucking her hands behind her and straightening her spine. “As you wish, Princess.”
Mabel watched her leave, guilt sinking its teeth into her chest instantly. But before the weight of it could settle, she slipped out the door the second she was dressed.
She wandered the halls without purpose, each step slow, aimless. All she wanted was quiet—just a moment untouched by expectation or consequence.
Her head throbbed, stomach still unsettled. She knew she should eat, though the thought turned her queasy.
The dining hall was quiet when she slipped inside. Steam curled from silver platters, the scent of roasted meats and sweet breads hanging in the air. No one else lingered, so she tiptoed to the table, picking at whatever her body would tolerate.
“Morning, Princess,” came a voice behind her.