44. Betrayal #2
A familiar presence washes over me, one that sends a shiver down my spine as I feel him before I even see him.
Oberon.
For a fleeting moment, the world around me ceases to exist. The fear, the uncertainty, the crushing weight of the unknown presses down on my chest, all of it vanishes in an instant.
My body responds before my mind has a chance to catch up.
Every muscle in me tenses instinctively, preparing to run to him, to reach for him, to find the comfort I have been aching for.
I need to go to him. I need to feel him, to hold him, to make him real again in my arms. I have waited so long for this moment.
A silhouette emerges from the tree line, standing tall atop a hill that rises across a small clearing. The mist of the morning light clings to him, but even through the haze, I know. I can feel it. My breath hitches in my throat.
It is him. There is no doubt.
As he steps into clearer view, the sharp lines of his figure become more defined. The relief is short-lived, replaced by a realization that something isn’t right.
He isn’t wearing the familiar dark leathers I have grown accustomed to, the ones that have always seemed to mold perfectly around him, as if they are a part of him.
Nor is he clad in the loose shirts he favors, the fabric barely containing the wild storm of a male beneath. This male, this stranger, is different.
Gone is the Oberon who leaned against walls with that easy smirk, his posture relaxed yet always exuding a quiet, effortless command.
The confidence that always seems to be an extension of him is now absent.
In its place stands someone . . . colder, harder.
The male before me is not the Oberon I know.
Instead, steel-black armor encases him from shoulders to boots, forged in the unmistakable design of the king’s army. It gleams in the dim light, the surface dark as obsidian, edged with silver, built not for speed or stealth but for war.
A deep black cape billows behind him.
But it is the crown that shatters me.
A golden crown, stark against his dark armor, sits atop his head, unmistakable even through the strands of dark hair that have fallen loose around his face. It is simple yet imposing, its metal pokes catching the light in jagged, cruel edges.
I can’t move.
The warmth that surged through me a moment ago, the breathless relief of him, is twisted into something sharp and cold.
My hands curl into fists at my sides as I will myself not to run to him.
It’s like my body hasn’t caught up with the reality before me. My heart still screams that he is safe, that he is mine, that if I reach for him, he will be there.
Oberon’s face is unreadable, a mask of carefully constructed indifference. I wonder if there is any chance he just hasn’t had time to change.
Maybe he is here for me, for us. I need to hold on to hope that he didn’t completely lose himself.
The space between us has never felt so vast.
The silence stretches, taut and unbearable.
Say something, I want to beg.
He is too far. Even if I scream, he won’t hear me. Between the clatter of the soldiers behind me and the vast distance that still lies between us, my voice will be lost in the chaos.
I am frozen, torn between wanting to run to him and the overwhelming confusion eating at my insides.
The stillness, his stillness, is torturous.
Every second stretches into eternity, suffocating me.
I shoot a glance at Zander and Ash, desperate for some hint of what is going on, but their faces mirror my own shock and confusion. They are just as lost, just as unsettled.
I turn back to Oberon, my expression pleading for him to give me something, anything. But there is nothing.
Then . . . another figure emerges from the trees, stepping into place at Oberon’s side. . . . Keagan.
His gaze flicks to me, and I see it, the delight, the amusement that dances in his sadistic face, drinking in my shock like it is the sweetest thing he has ever tasted. My stomach twists. He isn’t just standing with Oberon. He is reveling in this. In my unraveling.
This can’t be happening.
I want to scream, to shout at him, to demand answers.
But my throat is tight, my mind spinning too fast for words to form.
I can barely breathe, and all the while, I am watching him, watching him as more figures emerge from the trees, as if they have been waiting for this moment to finally make their move.
Soldiers, one by one, file into place behind Oberon, their steps perfectly synchronized, their movements like a machine, cold, methodical, and terrifying.
Their armor is the same as his: steel black, polished to an almost unnatural sheen in the early light.
Their blue capes flutter behind them like eerie banners, caught in a wind that doesn’t seem to exist. They are soldiers, and they are here for us.
What strikes me most is their silence.
They aren’t shouting orders. There is no clamor of a battle-ready force. No tension in the air, just an unsettling, unnatural stillness. Their presence is oppressive.
My legs feel weak beneath me as the weight of that truth settles heavily into my chest. There is no longer any denying it.
My mind races, desperately clinging to any shred of hope, any explanation that will make sense of what I am seeing.
Bile rises in my throat, as my limbs begin to tremble, the chill creeping over my skin, all pointing to the same thing: Oberon, the male I trusted, the one I fought beside, is now standing in the very heart of the king’s army, leading them to our doorstep.
The thought slams into me, as brutal as a stone to the chest. I want to deny it, but the truth is staring me in the face.
I look around, scanning the horizon as more figures continue to pour from the forest, surrounding us.
There are so many.
My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out everything else. My heart beats faster, harder, as panic creeps its way into my chest.
We are completely surrounded.
The wards are down, and with them, half of our defenses.
I can feel the cold press of fear squeezing my ribs as I shudder involuntarily.
The ground beneath my feet feels unsteady, but I force my gaze back to Oberon.
The soldiers are looking at the stronghold, their eyes wide with disbelief, their faces etched with surprise.
This wasn’t the reaction of men who had planned an invasion.
This was something else. They have been searching for this place.
They have looked for it time and time again, and yet, here they are, standing at the edge of the clearing, seeing it with their own eyes for the first time.
It is as though the very sight of it is impossible to comprehend.
Oberon turns back to me then.
For the first time, I force his gaze to meet mine, desperate for something, anything, resembling the male I once knew.
But it isn’t me he is looking at. His eyes don’t find mine. They don’t linger on my face.
Instead, they dart over me, past me, focusing on the stronghold behind me, the one that was once our sanctuary.
Oberon takes in the sight before him, his gaze flicking to Keagan. Realization strikes. Keagan can see it too. They all can.
For the briefest moment, panic etches itself across Oberon’s face before he forces it back behind the cold indifference he has been wearing.
His expression shifted, his eyes widening as if he were snapping out of some fog.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but I saw it.
A flicker of something, shock? Realization? Fear?
The muscle in his jaw tightened.
My heart stutters in my chest as a tremor of uncertainty shudders through me. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. That flicker of something I can’t quite name.
Keagan saw it too.
A slow, knowing smile curls at the edges of his lips, his amusement sharp enough to cut.
The air goes cold. I can feel it, his change, his unease, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
The sight of the fortress unsettled Oberon. I can’t understand it. It doesn’t fit. And that flicker, that moment of vulnerability, it is all wrong. My stomach twists, unease curling deeper inside me.