25. 24 #2
“Stop!” Mabel cried, instinct snapping into her voice. “Whisper—come!”
The raven obeyed immediately, banking sharply and landing atop the curve of her outstretched arm with eerie precision. His wings flared once for balance, then folded neatly as he gave a low croak of greeting.
She held him close, her heart still racing—but not entirely from fear.
Tucked between talons was a slender scroll wrapped in red thread, parchment curled tight. Her breath caught as she slipped it free, fingers nimble, gaze flicking briefly to Lance—who was too busy brushing feathers from his coat to notice.
She palmed the note, holding it behind her back as the raven settled.
Whisper had found her. So had someone else.
Whisper nestled calmly on her arm, unbothered by the confrontation moments before. Mabel’s heart was still racing—not just from the dive, or from Lance’s startled reaction, but from the message now hidden against her palm.
She turned slightly, shielding the note beneath a fold of her gown, fingers curling protectively around it. Then she looked at Whisper, voice lowered just above the hush of the river. “How did you find me?” she asked.
Whisper blinked, head tilting as if considering the question. He let out a faint chirr, low and gravelly, and sidestepped closer along her arm, feathers catching the fading sun.
Mabel smiled faintly despite herself. Behind her, Lance was still brushing himself off, muttering something under his breath, unaware of the shift in the air around her.
She didn’t open the message. Not yet. Some truths, like flames, needed to wait for darkness.
Lance shifted slightly. His arms folded, but the gesture looked half defensive, half uncertain.
“So,” he said, voice quieter now, as though afraid to disturb the moment too much, “What happens next, Mabel? You ran from a wedding, from—well, everything. Are you just going to disappear into the forest and hope they forget?”
His eyes flicked—again—to the raven perched neatly on her arm.
Whisper’s beady gaze never wavered, unblinking and dark as obsidian. Watching him. Measuring.
Lance cleared his throat. “I mean … Do you have a plan?” he asked, trying for casual, failing at it. “You’ve always had one. Even if you didn’t tell me.”
Mabel didn’t answer right away. She stroked a finger absently along Whisper’s back, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath her touch. Her mind was already spinning with the weight of the hidden message.
Her plan had been to escape. But now, escape had turned into something else—thicker, stranger. A silence full of knowing.
“I don’t know yet,” she eased the lie through her teeth. “But I know I’m not going back.”
Not to the altar. Not to the path laid out for her like a gilded snare.
Lance nodded slowly, but his gaze ticked to the raven once more. He didn’t hide it now.
Whisper clicked his beak once, a warning.
Mabel arched a brow, her arm still steady beneath the raven’s talons. Whisper blinked slowly, unbothered by the attention. She turned her eyes back to the river, letting the quiet settle again.
Lance watched her, the wind tugging at his sleeves as evening began to settle its weight across the riverbank. The light had shifted—slanting gold turning to ash; the trees casting longer shadows with every breath.
“We should find shelter,” he said at last, glancing toward the thickening woods. “Night’s coming on fast, and you’re still in a dress meant for ceremony, not cold.”
Mabel looked down at the fine silk soaked at her torn hem, felt the weight of the crown still tangled in her hair like a question left unanswered. Part of her wanted to argue, to remind him she had managed plenty without him. But another part—the weary part—knew he was right.
She said nothing, only gave a curt nod and adjusted Whisper on her arm. The raven ruffled his feathers once but remained still.
The snow cracked gently beneath their feet, ice-glazed twigs snapping as they passed. Lance’s cloak swayed with his stride, steady and sure, the way he always moved when he wasn’t trying to command attention.
Mabel kept a careful distance behind him, the silence between them brittle and quiet.
“Maybe I should’ve told you,” Mabel said quietly, eyes fixed on the icy path beneath them, “why I was shutting you out.”
Her heels crunched softly through the frostbitten leaves. She didn’t glance at him—just folded her arms tighter around herself. Half for warmth. Half to keep the pieces from falling apart.
“I wanted to,” she continued. “But I couldn’t risk it. Not with what I was planning. If anyone had known …”
Lance’s voice came gently, cutting through the hush. “You could’ve trusted me.”
She flicked her gaze toward him, then dropped it again. “Can I?”
He slowed; something caught in his throat. “What does that mean?”
Mabel’s breath came out in a plume of fog. “It was never just about you or him, Lance. It was about me. Choosing myself for the first time. Not a kingdom. Not an alliance. Not even love.”
She finally looked at him. “If I had told you … you’d have asked me to stay. And I don’t know if I would’ve had the strength to say no.”
The silence that followed was weighty but not bitter—just a moment suspended between truth and grace.
“Well,” Lance said, a trace of a smile softening his voice, “I’m not here to drag you back to Aurevyn. Or trick you into marrying me instead.”
He nudged her shoulder gently, watching the snow crunch between their feet.
She smiled in return, the expression slow, tired—maybe real.
And yet … something in him felt off. Subtler than deception, quieter than guilt. A difference she couldn’t name.
The trees thinned slightly as they climbed a gentle ridge; the snow crunching beneath their steps like brittle parchment.
A hush hung between them—not uncomfortable but layered.
Mabel walked a pace behind Lance now. Her eyes narrowed slightly, trained on the line of his shoulders, the way his hands kept fidgeting—twitching. Still, she said nothing.
Instead, she tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear and asked, “How did you find me?”
Lance didn’t miss a beat. “I followed the guards’ confusion. Then the petals. It wasn’t hard to find you.”
“I wasn’t exactly trying to be discreet,” she scoffed.
“No,” he said after a pause. “But if you ever plan to flee mid-ceremony again … maybe don’t leave a trail of chaos behind you.”
Mabel frowned, brushing a low branch aside. The silence pressed for a breath too long before Lance added, with a strange bitterness, “I’ve always known you’d do something reckless eventually.”
That stopped her.
She looked at him—really looked. The words weren’t laced with admiration. Not quite disappointment, either. But something in the way he said it … it was eerily familiar.
Her voice was slow, edged. “Is that how you see me? Reckless?”
His gaze lingered on the horizon. “No,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you aren’t.”
She didn’t respond. Just pulled her arms tighter around herself, the warmth between them thinning.
Still, she walked on. But now there was a wedge of distance—not physical but felt. A thread she couldn’t yet name tugged at her ribs. Like she’d missed something. Or something had changed, and only the forest had noticed.
The snow deepened as they moved further into the forest, muffling the world into softness. Their footsteps fell in a slow, uneven rhythm—Lance keeping to the lead, Mabel trailing just behind, her breath visible in pale ribbons.
Neither of them spoke. Only the hush of the forest accompanied them now, and the occasional snap of brittle twigs underfoot.
Whisper circled overhead once, then disappeared beyond the trees.
Mabel continued to follow Lance deeper into the forest. But even as she did, her fingers brushed the edge of the scroll hidden in her gown, and something in her chest tightened.
She wasn’t running anymore.
But she wasn’t safe yet, either.