21. Shifting
Chapter twenty-one
Shifting
Dinner is a cacophony of noise. We sit at a long, wooden table in a crowded hall, the air filled with the chatter of Fae voices, mugs sloshing, and laughter echoing off the stone walls.
The clinking of silverware against plates fills the gaps between conversations, but despite the lively atmosphere, my mind can’t seem to escape Oberon’s earlier words.
His voice still lingers in my thoughts, “You’ll have to face your past if you want to unlock your full potential.
” The weight of that statement settles heavily in my chest, the thought of confronting what I’ve buried within bringing a tightness to my throat.
Ash, as usual, is the one who’s doing most of the talking.
He has a way of commanding attention, his voice smooth and effortless as he entertains the table with his never-ending jokes.
Even Oberon seems more at ease here, his usual broody demeanor slightly softened as he engages in Ash’s banter, though I notice he is still sparing with his words.
Every now and then, his gaze will flick toward me, and for a split second, I’ll catch something unreadable, before he shifts his attention back to the conversation at hand.
Zander, however, chooses not to sit with us.
Not that I am disappointed. I don’t exactly crave his company, especially after the tension that was brewing between us earlier.
The way he shot me that glare, the coldness in his eyes, was enough to make me wonder just what kind of person he truly is.
And as I look at him now, sitting off in the corner of the room by himself, I can’t help but think that his perpetual scowl might just be his default expression.
He is . . . off-putting, to say the least.
I’m not sure what it is about Zander that rubs me the wrong way, but it is more than just his surliness. It is his presence, intense and unnerving. It makes me feel uneasy, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Ash, noticing I am quiet, nudges me with his elbow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Lyra. Either that, or you’re plotting the perfect escape route from this little soiree.”
I manage a smile, though it is more out of politeness than anything else. “Just thinking,” I say, my eyes inadvertently flicking back to Zander, who is now glaring at the far wall like it has personally wronged him.
Ash follows my gaze and snorts. “Oh, don’t mind him. Zander’s always like that. The somber, mysterious type. Thinks it makes him look dangerous.” He pauses, eyeing me with a teasing smirk. “Although it does kind of work on some people.”
I can't help the slight tension that rolls through me at his words, but I quickly push it down. “I’m sure it works on someone,” I mutter, taking a sip of my drink to mask the unease crawling up my spine.
Oberon, who has been unusually quiet, speaks then, his voice low and slightly more playful than usual. “Don’t let Zander’s mood swings get to you, Lyra. He’s been like that since I met him.”
I glance at him, catching a glimpse of that familiar, indifferent expression. “And what about you?” I ask, unable to stop myself. “You’ve got your own . . . charm going on.”
Oberon’s lips curve just slightly, as if he is amused by the challenge in my voice. “Me? I’m nothing like Zander,” he says, a faint chuckle slipping through his usually guarded tone. “And I happen to be very charming.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh? Because I don’t see you exactly joining the party either.”
His eyes meet mine, sharp and intense. “I don’t need to,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “Some people . . . speak the loudest by saying the least.”
Before I can reply, Ash cuts in with a grin, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe you are a little more like Zander than you’d like to admit.”
Oberon gives Ash a sidelong glance, but there is a hint of amusement in it. “Watch it, Ash.”
I feel a strange flutter in my chest at the subtle exchange. Whatever this is between Oberon and me is getting harder to ignore.
For now, though, I focus on the noise around me, the clinking of mugs, the laughter, and the strange sense of belonging that is creeping into my chest, despite the war looming on the horizon and the ever-present pull of the past I still haven’t faced.
After dinner, Ash wanders off to his room, leaving Oberon to show me to mine. We walk down a long hallway, each door identical to the last. It is a maze in here, and I can't help but feel like I could get lost in this place far too easily.
When we reach a door at the end of the hall, Oberon opens it, stepping aside to let me in.
This room is nothing like the small, dingy one above the tavern I’d stayed in before.
It is massive, luxurious even. The bed in the center is the largest I’ve ever seen, with black blankets and pillows stacked high.
There is a couch on one side, and a seating area with a fireplace on the other, not to mention a private bathing chamber tucked away behind an arched door.
The space is so grand it feels like something out of a dream, a stark contrast to the cold, hollow rooms I am used to.
I glance at Oberon, disbelief and confusion rushing through me. “This whole room is for me?” I ask, my voice a little higher than I mean it to be.
Oberon gives a light chuckle, his usual guarded expression softening just a little. “No, this is my room.”
My heart skips a beat, and I freeze.
“What do you think you’re doing, taking me to your room?” I demand, heat flooding my body. My pulse quickens, and I try to steady myself, but the surprise, confusion, and something else, something I can’t quite place, rush to the surface.
Oberon doesn’t seem fazed, though his lips curl into that infuriating, devil-may-care smile I am getting to know too well.
“Relax, Lyra,” he says, his voice smooth.
“I won’t try any funny business. Unless you ask, of course.
” His words are laced with a teasing tone that makes my face flush even more.
Before I can muster a response, he continues, his eyes glinting with amusement.
“You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. ”
I open my mouth, then snap it closed again. “This giant fortress,” I start, my irritation rising, “and they don’t have an extra bedroom for me?”
Oberon raises an eyebrow, the smallest flicker of challenge in his gaze, but he brushes off my tone as if it doesn’t faze him in the slightest. “They do.” He answers simply. “There are plenty of available rooms. actually,” he says, walking over to a nearby table.
He grabs two cups and pours us each a glass of wine. “But they’re several floors away.”
I cross my arms, refusing to let him off the hook that easily. “So, what? You decided I should sleep in your room?”
He glances back over his shoulder, the teasing glint still in his eyes. “With your nightmares, I wanted you closer. I meant what I said. You don’t have to face this alone.”
His words hit me harder than I expected. I can feel the weight of them, the suggestion in his voice, but it isn’t what he says. It’s how he says it. There is something unspoken behind it, a quiet care that feels oddly comforting . . . and dangerous at the same time.
“I don’t need you,” I snap, trying to push the vulnerability that creeps into my chest away. “I can manage just fine on my own.”
Oberon’s eyes soften, but the teasing smile never leaves his lips. He takes a step closer, handing me a glass of wine. “I’m sure you can,” he says quietly, the playful edge to his voice still present. “It’s not about whether you need me or not. It’s knowing I’m here regardless.”
I take the glass, my fingers brushing his briefly, and the contact sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.
His gaze lingers for a moment before he breaks the silence. “I’ll take the couch. You can have the bed, as I said.”
I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms, and eye the massive bed once again. “You want me to sleep in your bed—alone?” Disbelief and defiance line my tone.
Oberon’s smirk deepens, his eyes darkening with that familiar teasing glint. He takes a deliberate step closer, his voice low and teasing. “Well, if you get lonely . . .” He leaves the suggestion hanging in the air between us, charged with unspoken possibilities, making my heart skip a beat.
Before I can say anything else, he adds, “If you’d rather sleep alone, I’ll just draw you a bath while you finish your wine.
” He shrugs, already setting his own glass down and moving toward the chambers.
“There are fresh clothes waiting for you in the bathing chamber.” His eyes flick to the door that leads to the bathing area, his tone smooth and casual, but his words are clearly an offer meant to draw me in.
I can’t quite tell if he is serious or just messing with me, but either way, I can’t shake the heat in my chest as I process the weight of his suggestion. The tension between us is palpable, lingering in the air like a challenge I’m not sure I want to accept or can avoid.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” he adds, his voice a little quieter now, though the sly grin still lingers at the edges of his lips.
I swallow hard, trying to steady myself, and glance at the door he has pointed to. For a moment, I don’t say anything, just stare at him, wondering whether I should be irritated or intrigued. Maybe both.
The night winds down as I lie in this massive bed, clean and dressed.
The only sound is the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth as I focus on the ceiling above, my mind buzzing from the day’s events: the rebellion, the secrets, the tension in every word Oberon said, and the weight of the conversation we shared.
I am too restless to sleep, but too exhausted to do much else.
Oberon settles on the couch, just as he promised, and for a while, I hear his slow, even breathing, a reminder that he is close.
Despite the distance, my thoughts keep drifting back to him, the way he looks at me, the things he says, the way his presence is never quite so distant, even when he isn’t physically near.
But eventually, exhaustion catches up with me, and I drift into an uneasy sleep.
The nightmares come quickly. Dark shadows, flashes of forgotten memories, voices that call my name, pulling me into a vortex of fear and confusion, as if my past is chasing me down, relentless and cruel, never letting me escape.
I wake with a gasp, my heart racing, my breath shallow as I sit upright in bed, drenched in sweat. The room feels suffocating, the darkness closing in around me, and for a moment, I think I am back there, back in that place.
Then, I feel a presence, a warmth behind me. Before I can process it, arms are around me, strong and steady, pulling me back into the safety of a chest. I freeze, my breath still too quick, before realization washes over me. “Oberon,” I whisper hoarsely.
He says nothing at first, just holds me tighter, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, a calm contrast to the panic I still feel coursing through me.
He doesn’t ask what happens, doesn’t try to make me speak.
He just holds me, his hand brushing my hair back, his body heat sinking into me, grounding me.
“You’re alright,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got you.”
All I can do is lean back into him, the weight of his body behind me, bringing a sense of comfort that I haven’t felt in a long time.
The warmth of his touch, the way he is holding me, protecting me, is a strange contradiction to the fear still clawing at my chest. I feel safe here, with him, in a way I haven’t in so long.
I don’t know how long we stay like this. Time blurs. The world outside the bed fades. It is just him and me, entwined in the quiet of the night, and for once, I’m not running from anything.
Eventually, I drift back to sleep, this time without the nightmares.
When I wake again, the room is bathed in the soft light of dawn, the first rays of morning filtering through the curtains. My eyes flutter open, and I feel a warmth against my back. I almost forget where I am until the memory of the night comes rushing back.
Oberon is still there, his chest pressed against my back, his arms wrapped around me like a shield. His steady breathing tells me he is still asleep, but the fact that we are so close, his body against mine, our limbs tangled, makes everything feel . . . complicated.
I try to move, to ease myself away, but his grip tightens ever so slightly, as if sensing the shift.
I freeze, unsure of how to process the knot in my chest. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t let go of me throughout the night.
The way he holds me has been more than just protective.
It is . . . intimate. I can feel his heart beating against my back, a comforting rhythm in the stillness of the morning.
A wave of conflicting emotions surges through me: gratitude, warmth, guilt, confusion. I don’t know if I should be thankful or frustrated that he hasn’t let me go, that he held me through my fear, through my nightmares. I don’t know if I should feel safe or . . . exposed.
His grip loosens slightly, and I hear him murmur something under his breath, too quiet to catch.
For a brief moment, I think he is still asleep, but then he shifts again, the movement gentle.
“I didn’t mean to . . .” His voice is rough with sleep, but there is something tender there that catches my breath.
“You didn’t mean to what?” I ask hesitantly.
He doesn’t answer right away, but his hold on me doesn’t falter.
Instead, he pulls me a little closer, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck, as if he isn’t ready for this strange moment between us to end and is willing to test its boundaries.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says softly, the words a confession.
“I just . . . couldn’t leave you like that. ”
My throat bobs as the words settle over me, strange yet calming.
I don’t know how to respond or if I should respond at all, but for the moment, this quiet of the morning, with his arms securely around me, I get this sense like maybe everything will be okay.
I’m not ready to leave the safety of his embrace, but the tension between us is too much, and I’m not sure what it means or how I am supposed to feel about this. About him?
When I don’t say anything, Oberon gently pulls away, though his hand remains on my back for a moment longer than necessary. He sits up, the motion smooth, casual, like this is normal, natural even. “Let’s get moving,” he says, his tone more commanding now, as he reaches for his clothes.
But as he moves toward the door, I can’t help but feel the heaviness in the air between us. It is more than just the nightmares. Something is shifting between us, something neither of us can ignore. Something I’m not ready to face yet, but I can feel it coming.