19. Let’s Begin #3
Before I can react, Oberon’s posture stiffens.
His hand against my back suddenly becomes more possessive.
He steps forward, a low, guttural growl escaping from his throat, still baring his canines at Zander.
“You forget your place, Zander,” he snaps, his voice like ice. “You answer to me. And she is with me.”
For a brief moment, Zander’s face twists into a light snarl, holding his ground.
There is a pulse of raw power in the room, a tension thick enough to cut, but after a long beat, Zander backs down. His gaze flickers briefly to Oberon, a silent acknowledgment of the dominance in the exchange.
Oberon, never breaking his cold stare at Zander, gently guides me toward a chair at the table, pulling it out for me in a smooth, deliberate motion.
I don’t know what to make of the gesture. It is courteous, yet there is an undercurrent of something more intimate in the way he touches the chair, like he is marking his claim.
Ash follows suit, pulling out the remaining chairs and taking his seat. Zander, still silent, sits himself across from me, his eyes now fixed firmly ahead, his expression hard.
With a final glance at the table, Oberon strides to the front of the room, his commanding presence filling the space.
He turns to face everyone, his gaze sweeping over the gathered Fae.
“Thank you all for coming,” he begins, his tone authoritative and unwavering. “We have a lot to cover. Let’s begin.”
I listen intently to every word Oberon says in his commanding tone, which sends chills down my spine.
This is a side of him I have not seen before: focused, authoritative, and utterly composed.
His words cut through the tension in the room like a blade, each one carefully chosen to steer the conversation in the direction he needs.
He begins with the growing strength of the King's army, his tone darkening as he speaks. “The King’s army is becoming more organized, more coordinated,” Oberon says, his voice darkening as he studies the map of the kingdom.
“They’re tightening their grip, using more subtle tactics, spies, sabotage, whispers among the nobility.
It’s no longer just about troops. They’re trying to smother any spark of resistance before it can spread. ”
He pauses, his fingers trailing over the edges of the map, his gaze narrowing.
“Keagan.” His voice is heavy with something unreadable, disdain, caution, maybe even a hint of something deeper.
“He is more than just a weapon. He’s a strategist. Unlike the others, he doesn’t just follow orders; he anticipates and adapts. ”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand at the mention of Oberon’s ruthless cousin, bringing back pieces of the past, both the stories told to me as well as my own painful experiences of the monster they send when blood is to be spilled.
I shake the thought away, focusing back on Oberon as he continues.
“He’s smart, striking where it hurts the most, supply lines, informants, safe houses.
” His fingers curl into a fist over the map.
“Right now, the King still believes his biggest threat is a handful of disgruntled farmers and petty thieves. That works in our favor, for now. But Keagan isn’t blind.
He’s watching, waiting for something to confirm his suspicions.
The moment he realizes we’re more than just scattered factions, the moment he sees the full extent of our network, he will come down on us with everything he has. ”
Silence settles over the room, heavy and unspoken.
“We need more allies,” Oberon presses on, shaking off the weight of the conversation. “The southern territories remain largely neutral, but that won’t last forever. If we offer them something they can’t refuse, they’ll join our cause.”
“After that, we will turn to the western mountain clans. They’re fiercely independent, but they’re also at risk of being overrun in the army’s path. Convincing them won’t be easy.”
His voice becomes quieter, almost conspiratorial. “My father believes he’s hunting down rogue factions,” he says, a flicker of something dark in his gaze. “He still thinks we’re just a small group of rebels, insignificant and disorganized.”
My breath catches in my throat. I know what he is doing.
I know he is playing both sides, the sacrifice he’s made by wearing the mask of his father’s loyal son.
The pieces of himself lost to that person.
But hearing him say it now, sitting here with him, discussing it . . . it feels different. It hits harder.
A cold edge enters Oberon’s voice as he continues, “His ignorance works to our advantage, for now. We need to use that. The longer he underestimates us, the stronger we become. We have to stay hidden, but I’ve been gathering intelligence, and soon, we’ll have enough to strike decisively.”
He pauses again, his gaze sweeping over the room, locking onto each person in turn, then back to me.
His voice softens, but the determination in it is unmistakable.
“We’re not ready yet,” he adds, his tone sharpening.
“But we will be. When the time is right, we will prevail. We don’t have a choice. ”
With a final glance around the room, he nods. “Meeting adjourned. We have work to do.”