20. 19 #2
“Yes, actually. Glad you asked.” Lance pushed off the cold stone wall, brushing his clothes with practiced grace. “I do need your help.”
“That is not what I asked,” Ada groaned. “Is it not enough that you’ve poisoned my princess? Now you must drag me into your affairs?”
“This was your idea,” he hummed, his long legs carrying him up the steps, slow, careful, almost intimidating as he neared Ada. “And seeing as we are now friends—”
“I am not your friend.”
“—you are obligated to help me.” He grinned.
Ada adjusted her grip on the heavy basket, a scoff leaving her lips. “You have deeply misguided values on friendship.”
“Forgive me for being new to friends.” He rolled his eyes, then straightened. “You said you would help. Now’s your chance.”
“I said I would try to keep the rumors from spreading further, not that I would help you,” she huffed, moving to step past him. “No rumors, no need—now if you’ll excuse me, I have laundry to attend.”
He caught her arm before she could take the next step, not roughly, just enough to halt her. Her glare snapped toward him, sharp as a blade, but it faltered the moment she registered the wreckage on his face.
“Please.” His voice was stripped bare, sorrow threading through every syllable. “I … I just need to talk to someone.”
“Lance …” Her tone softened. She studied him, lips pressed thin as she took in his stupid, sad, hopeless expression.
Then she tipped her head back, whispering a silent prayer to whatever gods were listening, before fixing him with a resigned stare.
“Fine. But you’re holding this.” She shoved the basket into his arms and marched up the stairs.
At the landing, she turned—only to freeze at the sight of him standing there empty-handed. “Where—”
“Washroom. Figured that’s where you were headed.” He shrugged, maddeningly casual.
Her glare sharpened. “You can teleport baskets of clothing to a washroom and yet we are the ones trudging up and down these stairs?”
“Yes. Now come along.” His smirk was infuriating as he sauntered past her and continued upward.
Ada blinked, let out a huff of breath, then hurried after him. “Where are we going?”
Lance didn’t answer. Just kept walking—up the stone steps, through the arching halls, and out toward the upper balcony where the sun cast dim rays of light in the cover of snow.
And that’s where they found them.
Theodore stood beneath the edge of a colonnade, hands clasped behind his back. And across from him, Mabel—light spilling off her shoulders like she carried her own small sun.
Lance stopped, and Ada nearly collided with him. They said nothing. They just watched.
The courtyard was hushed beneath a soft blanket of snow, the stone path half-covered in powdery white. Footprints marked the path Mabel and Theodore had walked moments before.
High above them, on the east-facing balcony draped in frost-veiled ivy, Lance stood with his arms resting heavily on the stone balustrade.
His eyes never left them, watching as Mabel’s shoulders tensed, as her breath clouded the air near Theodore’s, as her laughter lit briefly and disappeared just as fast.
“She’s smiling,” Ada said softly, surprise filtering through her tone.
Lance’s jaw tightened. “No, she’s not.”
Ada didn’t argue. She merely looked down again, watching the pair below wander aimlessly, their silhouettes framed in silver light and cold breath.
“She doesn’t love him,” Lance muttered.
Ada’s brows knit as her gaze cut toward him. “Oh?” A short laugh slipped out, brittle. “You’re only just realizing that?”
He scoffed, sharp as steel. “Hardly. She may have chosen him, but love has nothing to do with it.”
Ada’s eyes drifted back to the figures strolling the garden paths. A rush of relief surged through her chest, more than she’d ever dare confess. Mabel had decided. And now, Ada wouldn’t have to fend off the whispers tying her fate to Lance.
“It’s better this way,” Ada said softly. “The last thing she needs is an ongoing affair with the future king’s brother—no offense.” She side-glanced Lance.
“Offense taken.” His fists tightened on the icy stone. Below, Mabel and Theodore drifted deeper into polite reminiscence, and every soft laugh felt like a small fracture in Lance’s resolve. “Though, you’re right. An affair with the bastard prince doesn’t bode well for her.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he bit.
She watched the mask slide over his face, his eyes dull. Slowly, she settled her arms beside his on the stone railing. “I understand why you’re upset. But you can’t be angry with her for making her own choices,” Ada said softly.
“Her own choices?” Lance scoffed. “None of this is her choice. She’s never been given one. She wouldn’t be marrying him if she had.”
“You think she’d marry you?” Ada asked, genuinely curious as her gaze swept over him. “What makes you think she wants marriage at all?”
Lance’s jaw flexed tight. “She doesn’t. Not like this.” He exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face as if he could wipe the whole situation away.
Ada’s lips pressed together, her brows knitting in thought. “If I ask you something, would you answer honestly?”
“I’m not in the habit of lying,” Lance muttered. His fingers drifted to a frozen ivy leaf clinging to the stone, picking at it as though it might spare him from whatever she was about to ask.
“Why did you pursue her? You must have known it would never work out.” Ada shifted beside him, her gaze drifting to the pair wandering below. “Given the circumstances.”
“Are you asking if it was some ploy to get back at my brother?” His scowl cut toward her.
“No.” She shook her head quickly. “Though I won’t pretend I didn’t assume that.”
Lance exhaled, watching his breath fog the air before tipping his face toward the cloud-choked sky. “I had dreams—”
“Do not get sappy—”
“Do you want an answer or not?” His bark snapped through the cold. Ada fell quiet, folding her arms and waiting.