14. 13 #2
“They turned Velmira into a weapon,” Lance continued. “Then wiped it from the map to erase the evidence.”
“Then … how do we know?” Mabel questioned him.
“The letter,” Lance said as if it were obvious.
She blinked at him, confused.
“You don’t know about the letter?” he scoffed.
She shook her head.
Before she could ask again, he was already tugging her forward, weaving them through the towering shelves toward a locked wooden door hidden in the library’s farthest corner. He drew her against his chest, breath warm at her temple as he pressed a soft kiss there.
The jolt of his magic hit a heartbeat later. The world lurched—floor, air, light bending—before they reformed on the other side of the door. Mabel swayed, disoriented, and his hands steadied her with certainty before he slipped away, long strides carrying him across the room.
It was small, cramped even, but overflowing with cabinets and shelves. A heavy table dominated the center, ringed by ornate chairs. Rolled scrolls lay scattered across the polished mahogany, each one freshly stamped with Aurevyn’s sigil.
Mabel took in the tight space, her fingers worrying at her nail beds. “Are we supposed to be in here?”
Lance barked a laugh. “Doesn’t our method of entry answer that?”
She stilled, brows furrowing. “What if we get caught?”
“Always so many questions.” He turned toward her. “What will they do? Cut off the hands of the prince and future queen?”
“My father would,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t take kindly to intruders.”
“Good thing we aren’t in Moorthwyn.” Lance moved with purpose, rifling through drawers, flipping past folders and parchment until he found it—an envelope, worn at the edges.
“We intercepted this,” he said, handing it to her. “We don’t know who it was meant for. But it came from Valkaroth.”
Mabel took it slowly, fingers brushing the brittle paper. She unfolded the letter inside, eyes scanning the faded ink, heart pounding with every word.
To the Esteemed Council,
The task has been completed. The northern king no longer draws breath, and Velmira has played its part with precision. Their magic proved sufficient, if volatile. The blood spilled was not ours.
As anticipated, the North’s retaliation has fallen squarely upon Velmira’s shoulders. The kingdom burns, and with it, the trail of our involvement. The frost-fire has done its work. No relics remain. No survivors to speak.
We await confirmation of the next phase.
Should we proceed with the trade embargo, or initiate the second wave of infiltration?
Respond with urgency. The window narrows.
—V. S.
Mabel looked up at Lance, eyes wide. “I didn’t know,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Why didn’t the North do anything?”
Lance took the letter from her fingers, gaze dark.
“Moorthwyn intercepted it after the siege. After the treaties were signed. The southern kingdoms saw what the North could do and surrendered. Thalen was already king then,” he added, tilting his head.
“He didn’t want another war. He wanted to rebuild. ”
Mabel’s brow furrowed. “But the letter—my uncle brought it to court?”
Lance nodded. “He did. And Thalen still refused to retaliate.”
“My uncle …” She hesitated. “Do you think he was involved?”
“There’s no way to know,” Lance said softly. “Unless you’ve gotten good at necromancy without my knowing.”
Mabel rolled her eyes at him.
“But Thalen made his stance clear,” he continued. “Valkaroth is still considered an enemy of Aurevyn—even after the treaties.”
He reached for her wrist, gently pulling her back as she turned away. “So why,” he asked, voice edged, “is your father meeting with them?”
Mabel met his gaze, her breath catching.
The question echoed louder than his voice. What if it wasn’t King Veyr?
“I don’t know,” she whispered, the words barely holding shape.
“I need to tell Thalen,” Lance said, voice hard as he stepped past her.
“Lance—wait,” Mabel pleaded, rushing to block his path. Her hands pressed to his chest, desperate. “Think about what this could ignite. The outrage. The North could fall apart if this gets out.”
He stilled, gaze narrowing. His lips parted, then pressed into a line as he studied her too closely.
A bitter laugh escaped him. “You’re the only thing holding the North together.”
She looked away, guilt flickering across her face. She hadn’t wanted to say it. But he saw too much. Always did.
She stepped back.
“What do you know?” he asked, following her retreat.
“I don’t know anything,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Lance, I swear on the gods—I don’t.”
His hand slipped behind her neck, grip firm, pulling her close. “He’s using you to get inside Aurevyn.”
“You don’t know that,” she whispered. “None of us do. These are assumptions, suspicions—we have no proof.”
“So, I stay quiet?” he snapped. “We say nothing and hope it’s not true?” His breath was sharp against her cheek. “What if it is?”
“What if it isn’t?” she cried, voice cracking. “We can’t risk being wrong.”
“We can’t risk silence either,” Lance said, pressing his forehead to hers. “Not if it’s true.”
“My father—he …” Her voice faltered. Tears welled, unbidden. That familiar dread clawed its way up her spine. Her chest tightened, breath shallow. She could already feel the consequences—what he’d say, what he’d do.
Lance felt her trembling beneath his hands. Saw the panic blooming in her eyes. It hit him like a blow. His anger faltered, replaced by something quieter. Fierce. Protective.
“Mabel,” he whispered, voice gentling. “You’re safe. I swear it.”
But she wasn’t sure safety existed anymore.
“If you say anything, I won’t be,” Mabel gasped, breath hitching. “He’ll know it was me. He’ll stop at nothing, Lance—nothing.”
Lance pulled her into him. She collapsed against his chest, burying her face in the fabric, her whole body shaking.
“You can’t,” she whispered, pleading. “Please. You can’t say anything.”
He held her tightly, arms steady around her, grounding her against the storm inside. His thoughts spun—truth, duty, consequence—but the way she trembled in his arms struck something deep. Something immovable.
“I won’t,” he said, certain. “I won’t say a word.”
The tremors held until he coaxed them out of her with quiet words, each one a thread pulling her back from the edge.
“You’re safe here,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ll keep you safe.”
And he meant it. Whether it was Cavric, Theodore, or Aurevyn itself—he’d stand between her and the storm.
Because the truth was simple and terrifying.
He was falling for her. Falling fast, in a way he hadn’t known was possible. Not for anyone. It had started with the blush on her cheeks the day they’d met, then the copper sweep of her hair, the sharp clarity of her eyes. But that wasn’t what held him.
It was the mind behind those eyes. The wit. The defiance. The fire he’d seen flicker in her during their sparring match—the moment she stopped holding back and let herself burn.
She wasn’t some timid girl from a neighboring kingdom. She was a force to be reckoned with. And he would make sure she knew it.
So yes—he’d do whatever she asked.
Even if it meant silence. Even if it meant war.
“Thank you,” she whispered softly against his chest, pulling back to catch his gaze. Her eyes were rimmed with red, cheeks stained. He had his own share of her tears left on his tunic, but he didn’t mind.
He brushed away a final tear, cupping her cheek and gently pressing a kiss on her lips. “I would do anything for you,” he whispered against her lips.
The door clicked with the turn of a lock, the sound echoing through the vaulted silence.
Lance stepped back from Mabel, slow and reluctant. She moved quicker, startling with a yelp and rushing behind him.
Frey pushed open the door, blonde curls braided neatly atop her head, nose buried in a book, her voice light as she looked up. “Ah—there you are. I had a feeling you’d be hiding in here.”
She smiled at Lance, who stepped forward and pressed a fond kiss to her cheek.
“Good afternoon, Mother,” he said, warmth in his voice.
“Well, aren’t you in a rare mood,” Frey teased, cupping his face. Her gaze flicked to Mabel, eyes twinkling. “I wonder what’s got you smiling.”
Mabel let out a quiet laugh, unable to help herself.
“Lessons going well, I assume?” Frey asked, a page in her book turning by itself.
“We were going over Velmirian history,” Lance replied, glancing back at Mabel with a subtle smile.
Frey glanced between the two before lifting her brows. She quickly shook her head and offered a smile. “I knew you’d be a good teacher,” she cooed. “Show me what he’s taught you, child.”
With a whisper, Mabel showed her protection spell, glowing sigils lighting her skin. A soft orb of light pulsed in her palm.
“Impressive,” Frey hummed, her smile soft and full.
Mabel’s heart skipped. She stepped closer, pressing her palms together. “I’ve just learned this one,” she said quietly. She whispered the incantation, and a silvery-blue flame sparked to life at her fingertips.
“Oh!” Frey’s delight was immediate. “Fire is difficult for new casters. Yours is stunning. And the color …” She leaned in, studying it. “It burns brighter than most.”
Mabel blushed. The flame flared higher.
“You might want to put that out, Miss Ravenov,” Lance hummed. “I’m rather fond of this library.”
The flame danced at his tease. Mabel quickly snuffed it out, cheeks still warm.
“Well done, Mabel,” Frey said warmly, her smile full of pride. “We’ll make a sorceress of you yet.”
“Thank you, my queen,” Mabel replied with a graceful nod. Her gaze drifted to Lance. “And thank you, my prince, for your lessons.”
A blush crept across his cheeks, rarer than his real smile. He looked away quickly, pretending to study the nearest shelf.
Frey placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’ve received word about your mission.”
Lance’s face lit up. “Really? When do I leave?”
“In one week,” she said, eyes bright. “You and your brother will head to Thistleveil.”
His smile faltered. “Ah. Of course. He’s coming.” He glanced at Mabel, then back to his mother.