14. 13 #3
“Don’t be so sour,” Frey teased, swatting his arm. “He’s your brother. It’ll be good for you both.”
“I’m sure,” Lance muttered. “If I don’t return, you’ll know why.”
“Hush,” she said, squeezing his arm. “This is a victory. Don’t let him ruin it.”
Mabel’s brows drew together. “Thistleveil is Moorthwyn territory,” she said quietly. “Has my father not sent aid?” She already knew the answer. The people of Moorthwyn had long been neglected under her father’s reign.
Frey’s expression softened. “I’m afraid not, dear. But your marriage to Theodore will change that. It will unite us all.”
Mabel’s heart flickered with doubt. She masked it with a practiced smile. “Of course,” she said gently. “Our kingdoms will be stronger than ever.”
Lance’s lips pressed into a line. His gaze drifted away. “I have much to prepare,” he said, clearing his throat. He leaned in, kissed his mother’s cheek, whispered a quiet thank you, and left without another word.
Mabel watched him go, her heart tugging after him. But she didn’t let it show. Not in front of Frey.
“Come, dear,” Frey said, offering her arm.
Mabel took it without hesitation.
Their heels echoed against the stone floors as they left the library behind, the silence between them filled with unspoken thoughts.
“Are you not angry that we were in there?” Mabel asked quietly.
“Oh, dear, of course not. It’s nothing new for Lance. Once he learned to teleport it was no use keeping him out of anything.” Frey laughed softly.
Mabel’s shoulders eased. “Can you teleport?”
“Oh, heavens no. Many texts suggest only true Velmirians could, but of course we had no knowledge of this magic until after King Alric’s demise.
We haven’t seen it since the war … well, except for my exceptional son, of course.
” Frey beamed with pride. “And every loss comes with a lesson. Many rooms are now warded against entry by teleportation.”
“Why are they warded? If Lance is the last Velmirian, is there still a threat?” Mabel tilted her head, brows furrowing.
Frey faltered in step before quickly adjusting. She cleared her throat, fixing a calm smile on her lips. “Why do you think we put up wards, dear?” she teased playfully. “He’s too nosey for his own good.”
Lie. Mabel frowned, eyeing her closely. What is she hiding?
“Thank you,” Frey said softly, quickly changing the subject. “For being kind to Lance. He’s needed a friend more than he lets on.”
Mabel didn’t meet her gaze. If only she knew just how close they’d become. “He’s been kind to me,” she replied, keeping her voice neutral.
“I’m glad,” Frey chimed. “He and Theodore have rarely gotten along, too busy fighting each other’s egos. Princes,” she added with a laugh, the word laced with fond exasperation. “Everything’s a competition. Doesn’t matter what the task is—they’ll find a way to argue over it.”
Mabel felt a sting in her chest. The thought crept in, unwelcome. Was she just another prize between them? But she knew better. She had to. The way Lance looked at her, touched her, spoke to her—it wasn’t rivalry. It was something else. Something dangerous.
But the deeper she fell, the harder the marriage to Theodore would become. And after the wedding … what then? Would they keep their stolen moments? Their whispered truths? Or would the ceremony sever them for good?
Frey’s voice pulled her back. “I have something for you,” she said gently. “An early wedding gift.”
Mabel blinked up at her, surprised.
They stepped into Frey’s study, warm and quiet. Magic hummed faintly in the air, mingling with the scent of wax and lavender. On the desk sat a covered dome.
“Go on,” Frey encouraged, smiling.
Mabel hesitated, then stepped forward and lifted the maroon cloth. Beneath it sat a gilded cage, its metalwork delicate and ornate. But it was the creature inside that stole her breath.
A small raven perched on a bed of moss and lavender sprigs. Midnight-feathered, sharp-eyed. Young, but steady. It tilted its head at her, letting out a soft coo, half greeting, half question.
Mabel drew in a breath, hands rising instinctively to her chest. “You didn’t …”
“I did,” Frey hummed, smiling. “I promised you I would, didn’t I?”
Mabel let out a breath that was almost a laugh, her eyes shimmering.
The raven blinked at her, solemn and watchful.
“A wedding gift,” Frey said, settling gentle hands on Mabel. “For you. For your new beginning. He’s clever. A little wild. Just like you.”
Mabel leaned closer, fingers brushing the cage’s bars. The bird didn’t shy away. “What’s his name?” she asked softly.
“I thought you might name him yourself,” Frey replied, warmth tucked into every word. “But I’ve been calling him Whisper. He doesn’t cry or caw much—he just … listens.”
Mabel nodded slowly, still watching him. There were no flowers that could’ve meant as much.
“Whisper,” she repeated quietly, admiring the raven. “I think it suits him. May I?” she asked, glancing back at Frey, fingers hovering at the latch.
“Of course, dear,” Frey beamed.
Mabel’s excitement shimmered just beneath her skin as she opened the cage. She extended her palm slowly, carefully. The raven studied her fingers, gave a gentle peck, then hopped onto her wrist.
“Hello,” she whispered, lifting him to eye level.
He cocked his head, glossy black eyes locking with hers. Then, with a flutter of wings, he climbed onto her shoulder.
A delighted giggle escaped her lips.
Whisper pecked curiously at her earrings, then tugged at the blue jewel nestled at her throat. He croaked softly, unimpressed.
“I think he likes you,” Frey said, voice warm.
Mabel turned, radiant. “Thank you, Frey. I don’t know what to say—he’s perfect.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Frey said, cupping her cheek. “I was going to wait until the wedding, but after last night …” her voice trailed off.
Mabel’s smile faltered. She looked away.
“Are you alright?” Frey asked gently. “Thalen and I were worried. You seemed so distraught. And when Theodore didn’t join us … I feared he’d been unkind.”
Mabel steadied her breath. Whisper nudged his beak beneath her jaw, sensing the shift. She stroked his feathers, grounding herself.
“He was,” she said softly. “He lost his temper. He was cruel.”
“I’m so sorry, dear. I’ll speak to him—”
“No, it’s alright,” Mabel said quickly. “We spoke this morning. He apologized.”
“An apology doesn’t erase the harm,” Frey said firmly. “When I saw you running, saw you in the carriage—I wanted to shake sense into him. What happened?”
Mabel hesitated. “He saw me dancing with Lance. He’d forbidden me from speaking to him. I-I overstepped.”
“Forbade you?” Frey scoffed. “Who gave him that kind of authority?”
Mabel let out a quiet laugh, but it faded quickly. The memory of Theodore’s grip, the way he’d shoved her—it settled cold in her chest. She looked away. Should she say it? Would it only make things worse?
“You can tell me,” Frey said, voice gentle but unwavering.
“He shoved me,” Mabel whispered.
Without a word, Frey stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her with a warmth so caring, so motherly, it stirred something deep inside Mabel.
“This is my failing. I’m so sorry.” Frey squeezed her tighter before pulling back. “I truly thought I’d raised him better than that.”
Mabel glanced down, fingers absently picking at the skin around her nails. “It’s not your fault, my queen.”
Whisper let out a sharp, dissatisfied caw and fluttered down to her wrist, pecking at her hand with impatient precision.
A soft laugh escaped her lips as she pulled her hand away. “He is clever,” she said in awe of the raven.
“Just like you,” Frey said gently. “Which is why I trust you know how to handle yourself. But if you’d like me to speak with him—”
“No,” Mabel said quickly, before shaking her head. “My apologies. It’s … We’ve spoken. We’re … giving each other space. For now.”
Frey nodded, though her eyes still held a flicker of disapproval. She was glad Mabel had stood her ground, but it wasn’t enough.
“If he gives you trouble again, you come to me,” she said firmly. “I am his mother. He will listen.”
Mabel nodded, grateful but uncertain.
Frey sighed, brushing a hand over her own temple. “Now, I have a dozen things to tend to—Lance’s mission, the council, the usual chaos.”
She pulled Mabel into a warm hug. Whisper fluttered up, settling once more on Mabel’s shoulder, talons light, eyes sharp.
“Thank you,” Mabel whispered again.
Frey opened the door to the study, and Mabel stepped out, the raven still tugging at her necklace with indignation.