29. AUREVYN #4
Theodore’s hands curled into fists at his sides, the dried blood on his knuckles cracking.
“I don’t care how delicate it is,” he growled. “I want her back. I want this kingdom to see her beside me. I want the whispers to stop.”
Cavric stepped forward, voice still measured, like a man soothing a wild horse. “And they will. But if you act from rage, you’ll lose more than her. You’ll lose control. Let me handle this. Let me bring her back in a way that ensures loyalty—not just from her, but from the people.”
Theodore’s jaw clenched. He turned away, pacing beneath the towering bookshelves, past the desk where his father once signed treaties and death warrants alike.
“She was supposed to be mine,” he grumbled. “She said the vows. She stood beside me. And now she’s gone, and I’m the one left to answer for it.”
Cavric’s eyes narrowed slightly, calculating. “And you will answer for it,” he said. “With strength. With resolve. When she returns, she will kneel beside you—not as a runaway, but as a queen who knows her place.”
Theodore stopped pacing. He didn’t respond.
But the silence between them was no longer uncertain. It was agreement.
“I have a temporary solution,” Cavric smiled cruelly, voice smooth as oil. “Ada!” His call rang through the study.
Theodore hadn’t even noticed her lingering on the lounge. She rose—slow, trembling. Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor, but her eyes, wide and glassy, betrayed her fear.
“Come here, sweetheart,” Cavric crooned, venom laced in every syllable.
She moved with hesitant steps, each one a silent plea. When his hand clapped against her back, she flinched, shoulders curling inward.
“Your queen’s servant could be … useful,” he said, smiling with something that didn’t reach his eyes. “She knows Mabel better than anyone. She could play the part.”
“Play the part?” Theodore scoffed. “You think the servant girl could pass as the queen? That’s madness.”
Cavric didn’t respond. Instead, his hand snapped around Ada’s wrist. She cried out, a sharp, involuntary sound—and then her body began to shift. Skin paled. Hair lightened, thickening into copper curls. Her frame reshaped, her features reformed.
By the time Cavric threw her to the floor, she was no longer Ada. She caught herself on her hands, breath ragged. And when she looked up—she was unmistakable from the promised queen.
Theodore’s gaze hardened on her, as if the sight alone of his runaway was enough to refuel the rage coiling deep within him. “How long can you hold the magic?” The question was aimed at Cavric, but his eyes continued to trace every reformed angle of Ada’s—Mabel’s features.
Defeat wrapped around Ada, tears welling in her eyes. “Don’t do this. Please, Theodore—”
“Silence!” Cavric roared, his boot connecting with her shoulder and shoving her further against the ground. “You do not speak unless spoken to. You do not dare address your king—”
“How long can you hold the magic?” Theodore repeated, voice rising. His fists curled at his sides as Ada helplessly peered up at him.
“Do you mistake me for an apprentice?” Cavric scoffed.
Theodore leveled a glare at him.
Cavric shook his head, fingers rising to pinch the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Indefinitely.”
Theodore nodded, kneeling in front of Ada. His hand, still bloodied, cupped her cheek. His thumb gently wiped at a fallen tear as he searched her face and her fear-ridden eyes, leaving a smear of red in its wake. She trembled under his touch.
“Please,” she whispered for just him to hear.
“The people need their queen, Mabel.”
The corridor outside Thalen’s study was cloaked in shadow, the torchlight dimmed to embers along the stone walls. Lance stood just beyond the doorframe, breath shallow, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the weight of what he was hearing.
He hadn’t meant to follow Theodore. Not at first.
But something in his brother’s eyes after the fight—something unhinged and hollow—had pulled him down the corridor like a thread he couldn’t ignore. And now, pressed against the cold stone, he listened.
Cavric’s voice was calm, too calm. “When she returns, she will kneel beside you—not as a runaway, but as a queen who knows her place.”
Lance’s jaw tightened. He heard the silence that followed. He heard Theodore’s breath, heavy and uneven. And he heard the worst part of all—
Nothing.
No protest. No hesitation. Just quiet, complicit agreement.
Lance stepped back from the door, his pulse roaring in his ears. His face still ached from Theodore’s fist, but that pain was nothing compared to the one blooming in his chest now.
Mabel didn’t deserve this. As hurt and broken as he was—at her choices, at her rejection—he knew one thing with absolute clarity. She had never wanted this crown. Never wanted this cage.
And if Cavric was hunting her …
Then so would he.
But not to bring her back. To keep her free.
Lance turned on his heel, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor, the weight of his decision settling over him like armor.
He would find her first. He needed to find her first.
No matter what it cost.