13. Inner Conflict #4
I could leave, run, and never look back. But what would I be running to? What kind of life is left in a world ravaged by war?
Ripping the king who did this to me to shreds is a tempting offer. Fighting back, isn’t that what I want? But fighting alongside him, aligning myself with someone I still can’t fully trust?
He can see the turmoil on my face as I weigh my options.
“If I stay,” I ask quietly, “am I still a prisoner?”
He hesitates for a heartbeat, considering the question. Before he can respond, I add, forcing determined resolve into my voice, “I want the wards gone. If I stay, I will not be bound to this place any longer.”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
“If I am still here in the morning when you or Ash decides to check on me . . .” I let the words trail off, the meaning clear. “If I’m not, then I won’t need your assistance finding my way back to my realm. Either way, you will have your answer.”
The air in the room pulses with an unspoken intensity, the gravity of the decision settling between us. I can sense his inner conflict mirroring my own, a silent battle playing out in the space we share.
I don’t know if I am ready for what might come next, but I know with certainty for the first time in what feels like forever, it will be my choice.
With a flick of his hand, the wards falter, their oppressive presence lifting. I feel a rush of freedom, the strain that held me captive for so long easing, just for a moment.
I can leave.
I can finally run.
But something deep inside me urges me to stay. To listen.
Oberon’s gaze never wavers from mine as he speaks, his voice low and measured, “Done.” The word falls between us like a spark, and yet it’s filled with an emotion unlike anything I’ve heard from him before.
His eyes darken, filled with recognition. This moment, this choice, has sealed something. Something neither of us can take back.
As much as I want to flee, as much as I want to ignore the nervousness twisting in my chest, I know that staying will only lead me deeper into the unknown.
“I will no longer be a prisoner here,” I state, my voice barely above a whisper, yet each word carries a silent declaration.
The fear, the uncertainty, betrays me, slipping through despite my best efforts to hide it. "Or anywhere," I add, steadying myself, forcing the words to land with conviction. "I will not be your prisoner."
Oberon rises from the table, the air shifting with his movement. His frame is steady and imposing, but there is a glint in his eyes now, a flicker of something lighter, teasing beneath the tension. “No,” he replies, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You were never meant to be my prisoner,” he adds, stepping closer, closing the distance between us with deliberate ease.
“If you choose to stay, it will be by your will. No chains. No tricks. You can leave whenever you want.” He leans in, his voice dropping, a playful edge curling the words, “But I can’t say I’ll be thrilled if you go.
” His smile deepens, eyes glinting with mischief.
“I’ve grown rather fond of your company. ”
Another step. Close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from him.
He tilts his head, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“If you do leave . . . well, I’ll be left all alone.
” He sighs dramatically, brushing an imaginary speck from his shoulder.
“I’m not sure I’d survive the crushing loneliness.
” A wink follows quickly. But behind the playful bravado, I catch a flicker of hesitation.
Then, without warning, he reaches for my hand, his fingers brushing mine before gently curling around them.
His touch is warm and steady. “For luck,” he murmurs, slipping something small and cool into my palm, guiding my fingers closed around it.
Then he steps in closer, so close I can feel his breath stir the hair near my temple.
His other hand comes up, brushing lightly against my arm softly, and he presses a feather-light kiss to the top of my head. It isn’t possessive. It isn’t rushed.
It feels like a goodbye.
“I do hope I’ll see you in the morning,” he says, his tone dropping even quieter, his face lingering just above my head as he inhales deeply, breathing me in before stepping back.
I glance down to see my hand wrapped tightly in his before looking up again, his expression shifting as he rebuilds his carefully crafted armor, a teasing smile playing on his lips.
“If not . . . well, I suppose I’ll have to start talking to the shadows.
” His smile tilts ruefully. “Though they’re terrible conversationalists. ”
The shadows around him stir, curling closer. The room seems to dim.
“But if you’re gone,” he continues, backing away, his hand slipping from mine with a lingering touch, “I’ll learn to live with my loneliness.”
He pauses at the edge of the darkness, his gaze locking with mine one last time.
He opens his mouth, then quickly snaps it shut, leaving unspoken whatever final words he had left to say.
And then, he is gone.