Divorce The Duke, Marry The King!
Chapter 133: Iced water

Chapter 133: Iced water

As they walked, Belle could not help but ponder how Christabel’s tale had ended. Now that she had acquired the bracelet, she longed to ask, yet the opportunity had not arisen. She did not want to impose on her but she couldn’t keep her curiosity in check either.

Lost in thought, she failed to notice a loose carriage rushing toward her. Cries rang out around her, urging her to move, yet she remained oblivious to their warnings.

"Belle!"

His voice cut through her thoughts, and she snapped her head up, frowning as she saw Quinn rushing toward her, his face taut with urgency. Turning away, she spotted the carriage but it was too late. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she braced herself for the impact, shrinking back instinctively, only to be wrenched aside.

Gasping, she slowly opened her eyes, squinting as her gaze met Quinn’s, his own a storm of conflicting emotions. He did not look angry, nor was he pleased. He was neither anxious nor composed. She could not decipher his expression, as though he himself struggled to form one.

He questioned, "Were you seeking to end your own life?" His voice was dangerously low, tinged with frustration.

"I did not see it! Why would I ever seek to end my own life?" She retorted, now glaring at him. Did he truly believe her so reckless? Once, she might have stood before death willingly, but not now, not when she had reason to live.

"I-I am most sorry! Please, forgive me!" The owner of the carriage fell to his knees, his voice trembling with remorse.

Quinn straightened and extended his hand to her, but she scoffed and rose of her own accord, brushing herself off.

"It is quite all right. No harm was done, you need not kneel." She approached the man, offering her hand to help him up, smiling in reassurance.

"You would have lost your head had matters taken a darker turn. See that you employ better sense next time," Quinn said coolly.

The man fell to his knees again, weeping and pleading for mercy.

"What, pray, are you about?" Belle whispered sharply, casting Quinn a pointed look as she studied him from head to toe.

A strange feeling stirred within him at her scrutiny, one he knew all too well. Yet, as much as he wanted to embrace it, he forced it down. The war loomed ever nearer, and he could not afford to be careless. A single distraction could cost her life and he dared not contemplate what he might become should such a fate befall her.

Christabel merely stood by, watching their quarrel with quiet amusement. The way they feigned coldness toward each other, despite being unable to do without one another, was almost entertaining. If only she could defy the heavens, she would guide them to where they truly belonged but fate was not hers to alter.

They would have to endure many trials before truly understanding what they meant to each other. Though danger loomed ahead and the future could not be altered, she knew they would find their way to each other in time.

"It is quite all right, pay him no heed," Belle said, helping the carriage owner to his feet once more. Thankfully, Quinn refrained from uttering any further harsh words, and the man hurried away.

"That was rather alarming. I believe I must ensure you remain by my side now," Christabel finally spoke, stepping in beside Belle, whose cheeks burned with embarrassment for causing such a scene. She cursed her own foolish musings!

"I do apologize," she murmured, but Christabel merely waved a dismissive hand before entwining their fingers.

"This way, you shall not stray," she said, then positioned herself beside Quinn, keeping Belle between them. Without a word, Quinn stepped back, putting distance between himself and Belle, causing her to scoff inwardly. How utterly petty of him! Not that she cared, if anything, she preferred it this way.

Yet Christabel, who well understood the true reason behind Quinn’s retreat, merely smiled and led them forward.

She soon pulled them toward a stall selling hairpins, and Belle raised a curious brow. Gesturing toward the delicate ornaments, she remarked and asked, "These are quite unique. What are they made of?" Then picked up a hairpin that resembled white jade, yet it was far too transparent. There was something surreal about it, something almost alive...like a soul?

"They are made of souls," Christabel replied, and Belle’s eyes widened in shock. So her suspicion had not been true. They truly crafted hairpins from souls? That was most impressive—unless, of course, it was done without the owner’s consent.

"Truly?" She muttered, inspecting the hairpin more closely.

"No! I got you!" Christabel declared, laughter dancing in her eyes.

Belle frowned. That was hardly amusing and her heart had nearly leaped from her chest!

"Oh, come now, I was merely jesting. Do not be vexed," Christabel quickly added, pouting in a cute manner.

Belle could not help but smile. Unexpectedly, Christabel was rather amusing despite her esteemed status. One might assume the Lord of Witches would be a solemn, imposing figure, yet here she was, teasing with ease. Belle had never had a friend before, not truly. Her step-siblings had always kept her hidden away, and aside from Mia, there had been no one. Even Marcel, who defied his noble parents by befriending her, had never seen her for who she truly was, for she feared what her father would do to her.

"What are they truly made of?" She inquired.

"With our magic, we create new things based upon our visions and insights. This, for instance, is crafted from iced water, in addition with our Chi so that it shall never melt," Christabel revealed.

Belle’s surprise only deepened. Iced water was a rare commodity in the werewolf kingdom, reserved for nobles and royalty. If the witches had mastered such an art, then Hezekiah had indeed chosen his allies wisely. No wonder the hairpin possessed such an ethereal quality.

"Gentleman, will you do the honor?" Christabel urged, plucking the ornament from Belle’s hand and turning expectantly to Quinn.