19. 18 #2
Aurevyn’s gardens were beautiful, yes. But sterile. Every hedge trimmed to symmetry, every weed plucked before it dared to grow. It was beauty without chaos. And it made her feel like she didn’t belong.
She wandered without purpose, feet sticking to the snow-covered paths, eyes tracing the lines of perfection she couldn’t quite stomach.
Her gaze lifted to the stars. Not a single cloud veiled them; they glittered fiercely, refusing to yield even as the first hints of sunrise bled across the horizon.
The gods have chosen you. The words replayed in her head over and over. The Prince of Magic.
She closed her eyes, drawing a long breath as she tried to steady herself. The world felt too large, too loud. She sank to her knees, fingers threading through layers of frost.
What if this is bigger than us?
She’d always known it was. But now the truth pressed down from the stars themselves, cold and merciless.
A sudden thump jolted her. Whisper landed in front of her, less than gracefully, tripping over his own feet before flaring his wings in a flustered attempt to recover.
The sight tugged her back into the present, just for a heartbeat.
A soft laugh escaped her, fragile but real, as she watched the young raven regain his dignity.
He huffed an indignant caw, beak lifting as if offended on principle.
“Come here,” she whispered, reaching out.
Her fingers brushed along his neck, and he melted instantly, leaning into her palm with a pleased rumble of sound.
“Taking an early morning stroll, are we?”
The voice sliced through the quiet, cold and unmistakable. A chill shot up her spine so fast it stole her breath. Her body locked. Her throat tightened. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder.
“Go,” she whispered, barely shaping the word. “Don’t let him see you.”
Whisper narrowed his eyes, stomping in the snow as if refusing to leave her.
“Please—”
“Mabel.”
Her name, spoken in that tone, sent another shiver crawling down her back. She gave Whisper one last desperate look—go, please—before pushing herself to her feet. Slowly. Carefully. Trying to hide the tremor in her hands.
She still didn’t turn. “Father.”
His footsteps crunched through the frost, each one closer, each one stealing a little more of her breath.
“Why are you here?” she managed, the words barely holding shape.
“It seems I should never have left.” His voice curled with venom. “I didn’t think you’d go so far as to whore yourself out to the bastard prince.”
A pit opened in her stomach. He knows.
“Ada sent for you?” she asked, bitterness scraping her throat.
“I don’t need maids to do my bidding, child.” His hand clamped down on her shoulder, unyielding. Her heart thundered. “Even you should know that.”
Whisper flared his wings, a furious burst of black. For a heartbeat, he looked ready to take on the world. Then he launched.
Mabel’s heart dropped.
A piercing caw split the air—then cut off mid-cry. Whisper froze, suspended in the cold morning light, wings outstretched, body locked in place as if the world itself had stopped around him.
“What did you do?” Mabel shrieked, trying to lunge forward. Cavric’s grip tightened, yanking her back against him. Her eyes darted to Whisper’s still form. “He’s—he’s not breathing!” she cried, struggling against his hold as tears blurred her vision.
“The longer this takes, the more likely he’ll die.” His tone was ice. He meant every word.
Mabel stilled. She swallowed hard, nodding as tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
“You’ve embarrassed this house. Tarnished your name. And for what? A prince with a no claim and no sense of consequence?” He turned her to face him, fingers seizing her chin.
Her breath hitched.
Cavric leaned in. “You will end it. Immediately.”
Mabel’s lips parted, but no sound came.
“And if you don’t”—he gestured toward Whisper, still frozen midair, wings trembling in stasis—“then I can’t promise the bird will be the only one that dies.” The words weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be. They slithered through the air, cold and final.
Mabel’s knees nearly buckled. She clutched her arms around herself, eyes wide, heart screaming.
Cavric smiled, thin, cruel, and entirely satisfied. His gaze drifted to the necklace of bruises blooming along her throat. With a slow, calculated motion, he tilted her chin up and brushed his fingers against them. Mabel flinched as his thumb pressed into one of the tender marks.
“Seems the prince can handle his own problems,” he mused. “Good. Now, make yourself presentable. You’ll spend every moment at his side. You will prove what a dutiful wife you can be.”
He released her at last; the absence of his grip almost as jarring as the hold itself.
Mabel stumbled back.
His eyes locked on Whisper, a scowl on his lips. “Filthy beast.” He turned away, hands clasped behind his back once more. The silence returned. But this time, it was laced with blood.
The spell broke.
Whisper dropped to the snow with a softened thud, wings limp, gasping for breath.
Mabel was there in an instant, knees digging into the frost as she scooped him into her arms. Her fingers trembled as they brushed over his feathers, trying to soothe, trying to undo what had been done.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, voice cracking. “You’re okay.” But she couldn’t tell if the words were meant to soothe him—or herself.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto his small body as he nestled closer.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
Whisper let out a broken trill, soft and strained, as if to say he understood. As if he forgave her.
She clung to him, arms wrapped tight, her body shaking with sobs that wouldn’t stop.
And in that moment, it didn’t matter how much magic she held.
She felt powerless.