I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 21: The Invitation

Abel returned to their chambers with exactly one minute to spare, bursting through the door with a gust of outside air and a face flushed from running.

Orion was sitting by the window, a ledger open on his lap—an attempt to understand the meager household accounts that were now technically his responsibility. He looked up as Abel skidded to a halt in the middle of the room.

”You’re back,” Orion observed, setting his quill down.

”I am!” Abel announced, puffing slightly. He stood very straight, hands clasped behind his back like a soldier reporting for duty. ”Angel was... very busy.”

”Oh?” Orion leaned his chin on his hand, watching him. Abel was a terrible liar. His ears turned pink when he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

”Yes. Very busy. Flying. And... delivering things.” Abel nodded, convincing himself. ”We talked about... clouds. And the best way to build a nest.”

”Fascinating,” Orion said dryly.

”It was!” Abel insisted. He shifted from foot to foot. ”She also said... she said it’s a nice day. For being outside.”

”It is a nice day,” Orion agreed, glancing at the sunlight streaming through the window.

”A very nice day,” Abel stressed. He took a step closer, his expression turning earnest. ”Too nice to be inside. With ledgers.” He frowned at the book in Orion’s lap as if it were a personal enemy.

Orion tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. He was confused, but the sheer, transparent effort Abel was putting into... whatever this was... was oddly endearing. He decided not to pry. ”Perhaps you’re right.”

Abel’s shoulders slumped with visible relief. ”Good. That’s good.” He seemed to remember something else. ”I’m going to go... check on the horses. Later.”

”Alright.”

”And I might... visit the kitchens. To see about... supper.”

”That’s very thoughtful.”

Abel gave a sharp, decisive nod, his mission for the morning apparently accomplished. He wandered over to the mantelpiece and picked up the mended wooden horse, turning it over in his hands carefully, checking the glue joint. He didn’t say anything else, but a quiet, focused energy hummed around him for the rest of the morning.

---

In the afternoon, the secret council went to work.

The south meadow was a good twenty-minute walk from the manor, beyond the formal gardens and the home farm. It was, as Willem had noted, rarely used by the family, making it the perfect clandestine location.

The children became a small, efficient supply corps.

Millie, with her braids tucked under a too-large kitchen maid’s cap, distracted Old Grumpy—the head cook—by asking a million questions about the proper way to knead dough. While the cook was demonstrating with great floury emphasis, Toben, round and silent as a ghost, slipped into the pantry. He emerged with a small, serviceable wicker basket tucked under his tunic.

Willem, the planner, had a list. Using a stub of pencil on a scrap of paper, he directed operations from the safety of the apple tree courtyard.

Lissy was assigned flowers. She took her task with grave seriousness, wandering the edges of the kitchen garden where the cutting flowers grew. She picked not the showy, prized blooms, but the cheerful, hardy ones that wouldn’t be missed: a handful of bright yellow coreopsis, some sprigs of lavender, a few late daisies. She arranged them clumsily but with great care, tying the stems together with a piece of twine Willem provided.

Toben, having delivered the basket, was sent to the bakehouse. The afternoon bread was just coming out. He waited until the baker’s back was turned, then snagged two of the small, seeded rolls still warm from the oven, wrapping them hastily in a clean-ish cloth.

Cheese was trickier. Millie, finishing her dough tutorial, boldly asked if she could try a slice of the white cheese to ’understand its flavor profile.’ Grumpy, amused and flattered by such culinary interest, cut her a generous wedge. She thanked him profusely and scurried away, the cheese safely hidden in her apron pocket.

Two apples from the barrel in the courtyard completed the picnic.

They assembled the loot in the basket under the apple tree: the cloth-wrapped rolls, the cheese, the apples, and Lissy’s little bouquet laid gently on top. It looked humble, honest, and strangely perfect.

Willem surveyed their work, adjusting his spectacles. ”Aesthetically simple, but nutritionally sound. The emotional value will be in the execution.”

Millie brushed her hands off on her skirt. ”Right. Now we gotta get it to him.”

They didn’t have to wait long.

As the afternoon light began to soften, Abel appeared at the secret door, his head ducking low to step through. He looked anxious, scanning the courtyard.

”We got it!” Toben whispered loudly, pointing to the basket.

Abel hurried over. He looked at the contents, his big hands hovering over the basket as if it were a holy relic. He touched the edge of the daisy with one fingertip.

”It’s good?” he asked, looking to Millie for approval.

”It’s perfect,” she declared. ”Now remember. Be confident. Don’t ask him if he wants to go. Tell him you’re taking him. It’s a surprise.”

”A surprise,” Abel repeated, committing the script to memory.

”And carry the basket!” Lissy reminded him.

Abel picked up the basket. It looked comically small in his hand. He held it carefully, afraid the wicker might snap.

”Good luck, Brother Abel!” Toben said, giving him a thumbs-up.

Willem nodded solemnly. ”Remember the objective: emotional recalibration.”

Millie just pointed a stern finger. ”No kiss unless he smiles first.”

Abel took a deep, fortifying breath. ”Okay. Okay, I can do this.” He turned and marched back towards the manor, the picnic basket swinging at his side, a knight off to slay the dragon of sadness with seeded rolls and daisies.

---

Orion was trying to read a book. It was a dry history of trade routes, a thing he’d pulled from the library in a vague attempt to feel useful. The words blurred on the page. His mind kept replaying the previous night—the weight of Abel’s arm, the scent of him, the shocking vulnerability in his voice.

The door opened.

Orion looked up.

Abel stood there, framed in the doorway. He’d changed his shirt. He held a small wicker basket in one hand. His other hand was clenched at his side. He looked intensely serious, like a man about to deliver a vital declaration of war.

”Orion,” he said, his voice a bit too loud.

”Yes, Abel?”

”Put the book down.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a gentle command, delivered with shaky authority.

Orion, surprised, slowly closed the book and set it on the table beside him. ”Is something wrong?”

”No.” Abel took a step into the room. ”Something is right. The sun is out. The sky is blue. It is...” he searched for the word Willem had used, ”...aesthetically pleasing outside.”

Orion blinked. ”I... see.”

”I am taking you,” Abel announced, sticking to Millie’s script, ”on a date.”

The word hung in the air between them. Date. Orion stared at him. He looked at the determined set of Abel’s jaw, the white-knuckled grip on the basket handle, the hopeful, terrified light in his golden eyes.

All the strange behavior today—the talk of angels and clouds, the visits to stables and kitchens—it clicked into place with a soft, almost painful clarity.

This big, bewildering man had spent his day planning this. For him.

Orion felt something crack open in his chest, something warm and fragile.

”A date,” he repeated softly.

Abel nodded, a quick, jerky movement. ”To the south meadow. I have provisions.” He held up the basket a little, as evidence. ”And... there are flowers there. But I brought some too. Just in case.” He gestured vaguely at the basket.

Orion looked at the humble bouquet peeking out over the rim. He saw the simple rolls, the wedge of cheese. It was the most unpolished, most sincere offering he had ever received.

He stood up slowly.

Abel watched him, barely breathing.

”Alright,” Orion said.

The single word seemed to unlock Abel’s entire body. The tension drained from his shoulders. A brilliant, relieved smile broke across his face, so bright it was almost disorienting.

”Alright?” he verified, needing to hear it again.

”Yes,” Orion said, and found himself smiling back, a real smile that reached his eyes. ”A date sounds lovely.”

He walked towards Abel, who was practically vibrating with triumph now. As Orion reached him, Abel thrust the basket towards him.

”You carry it,” Abel said. ”So your hands are busy and you can’t change your mind.”

Orion took the basket, his fingers brushing against Abel’s. ”I won’t change my mind.”

”Good.” Abel turned and strode towards the door, then stopped, remembering something. He turned back and offered his elbow with a stiff, formal gesture, like something he’d seen in a painting. ”Shall we?”

Orion looked at the offered arm, then up at Abel’s expectant, proud face. He felt a laugh bubble up in his throat, sweet and unexpected. He slid his hand into the crook of Abel’s elbow.

”We shall.”

And together, the disgraced Omega and his penitent Alpha husband, armed with a picnic basket and a pocketful of child-stolen hope, walked out into the golden afternoon light.