13. 12 #2
She spun, eyes wide. There stood Theodore—his golden hair braided neatly away from his face, catching the morning sunlight that drifted through the arched windows.
He wore a deep wine-red tunic; the collar edged in intricate gold embroidery that shimmered faintly.
Brown leather trousers clung to long legs.
He looked every inch the prince—and yet, something in his stillness made her breath catch.
She turned back to the table without a word, jaw clenched. Her grip tightened around the fruit in her hand. “Have you come with more accusations?”
Theodore stepped closer, his sigh heavy. His hand brushed her waist, tentative. She stepped away, eyes sharp.
“I’d like to apologize,” he said quietly. “For last night.”
“Which part?” she asked. “The part where you humiliated me in front of half the kingdom? When you shoved me? Or when you pounded on my door like a madman?”
“All of it,” he said, reaching again.
This time, she didn’t move, just stiffened beneath his touch. She said nothing, biting into the pear with slow deliberation, eyes flicking sideways toward him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I acted without reason. I should never have treated you like that.”
Her jaw worked as she chewed. She hated how rehearsed it sounded. Hated she hadn’t seen it earlier. “You said it yourself,” she said, voice flat. “Your apologies are practically ceremonial.”
“I’m trying to make this right—”
“Try harder,” she snapped, her gaze burning into him as she slipped from his touch.
“Mabel—”
She brushed past him, anger sharp in her stride. But he caught her wrist, firm. Pulled her back into his arms, wrapping around her like he could hold the moment still.
“Talk to me,” he whispered against her ear.
She drew in a breath, trying to quiet the fury rising in her chest. But beneath it, something softer stirred—the shape of him, the familiarity she’d once found comfort in. Even after everything. She still cared for him.
But caring wasn’t enough.
“I thought you were perfect,” she said with a soft, bitter laugh.
“I spent years dreading this arrangement—then shaping myself into someone I thought you’d want.
” Her voice cracked faintly as she continued, “Then I met you. With that charming smile, that infuriatingly pretty face—and gods, I really believed you cared.” The hurt surfaced then, raw, silent, and unmistakable.
It threaded through her expression like a shadow.
“But you don’t, it was only a farce,” she said, voice cracking. “Seems my place is beneath you.”
Theodore was silent, his grip tightening as if he could hold the moment together with sheer force. “I do care for you,” he said. “You have to believe that.”
Mabel’s voice was barely a whisper. “It doesn’t matter, anyway, does it?” She seethed. “I still have to marry you.”
He faltered, and his shoulders sagged, the weight of her doubt settling heavily across his spine. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Not truly. But the anger inside him—coiled, buried, always waiting—had a way of slipping past his control.
“Do you not want this marriage?” he asked quietly.
Her pulse quickened. She felt the familiar creeping along her spine as she turned in his arms to face him. Her father’s grip would never loosen. She would never escape him. “I don’t have a choice, Theodore.”
His brows furrowed. His jaw set, ticking once. “So, no.” His hands dropped from her waist, lying limp at his sides. He tried his best to mask the hurt casting over his features.
She reached for him—she couldn’t help it—but he stepped out of her grasp. “Theodore, I didn’t mean—”
“What did you mean then?” he snapped, but it lacked the harshness he was aiming for. “Because it seems I haven’t been the only one playing a part in this farce of an engagement.”
She studied every inch of his face that once made her heart beat faster, her cheeks heat, made her forget herself. “I wasn’t pretending. I wasn’t lying. I was prepared to give you my all.”
His lips pursed together. His hands at his sides clenched and unclenched as he fought with himself. “Do you want this marriage?” he repeated.
“I …” She paused, worrying her lower lip between her teeth before she closed the distance between them. She couldn’t say it. He’d see through her lie. But she couldn’t let him call it off either. No matter how angry she was. No matter how much she truly didn’t want it. Her life depended on it.
He stepped back, but she chased after him. Her fist curled in his tunic. She dragged him down to meet her lips and pressed herself against him.
He was stiff only for a second before returning the kiss with a hunger she hadn’t expected. His hands slid along every curve, his mouth claimed hers. She felt it, the rush he still gave her.
“Theo …” she breathed as his lips dropped to her neck. She couldn’t understand the effect he had on her. The effect he’d always had on her.
“Last night was supposed to be perfect,” he growled against her skin. “Your Yule was supposed to be perfect.” His teeth scraped along her neck until he bit down, hard.
A cry fell from her lips, and despite herself, she pulled him closer.
What am I doing?
Her hands found his hair, tangling in his blond strands to keep him against her skin.
This is wrong.
Or maybe it was right. He was the one she was to marry. He was the one her father wanted. Her fingers loosened then dropped to his chin, prying him from his attack on her skin.
His gaze met hers, his silver eyes flaming with heat. She cupped his cheek. A sad smile lifted her lips. “I … I want this to work. But you must let me breathe.”
He mirrored her, palming her cheek, fingers cradling her face as his thumb traced over her soft bottom lip. “If space is what you’re asking for, I’m afraid that will be hard to grant.”
“I think you can manage an approval,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “I am marrying the future king.”
A wide, real smile spread across his face, one that almost made her forget herself. “I’ve heard he’s quite stubborn.”
She snorted. “More than stubborn.”
“Fine. A week. Does that suit the Princess’s needs?”
“Are you putting a time limit on how long it’ll take for me to get over it?” she scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest.
“No, it’s simply how long I can bare to be apart from you,” he said quietly. “Though in all honesty, I don’t think you’ll last that long.”
“Is that a wager?” She tilted her head at him.
“Simply an assumption.” He smiled.
Her own smile faltered. It could’ve been like this. It could’ve stayed like this. But how long until his mask fell again? How long could she stay wrapped in this false sense of hope? Security? And how long until he found out about her and Lance? It would be inevitable. So would his rage.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, studying her like a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
She blinked, then took a shaky breath. “That I probably won’t last a week.”
His reply was a kiss, soft, gentle. “For my sake, I hope you don’t.”
“Shut up,” she whispered, voice tender.
And for a moment, they just stayed there. Not lovers. Not enemies. Just two people trying not to break.
They parted without another word. And as the silence settled, Mabel could only think—what had she gotten herself into?
Caught between Theodore and Lance. Between obligation and desire. Between the life she was meant to live and the one she was beginning to crave.