Chapter 20
Oberon
Something in me goes still in a way that isn’t natural, like a beast that’s just caught a scent it doesn’t like. My jaw tightens, a slow grind of my teeth, and my gaze drags from the others to Alette.
I feel like I’m memorizing her. The tension in her shoulders. The way her hands curl in her lap, like she’s bracing for something that already happened years ago.
My chest pulls tight. Six. She was six. The thought lands heavy, wrong, impossible to ignore. A flicker of something hot and vicious curls low in my gut. Rage. Not the easy kind that I’m used to wielding like a weapon, but something sharper. Quieter. The kind that settles deep and waits.
I imagine it, before I can stop myself. Alette, small and shaking, hiding from a bloodthirsty fae. Alone. Listening. A fragile human who didn’t have the power to save her mother’s life.
My hands curl at my sides, fingers digging into my palms hard enough that I should feel it. I don't. Not really. What I feel is the echo of her fear. What I feel is the hollow, aching certainty that no one was there to pull her out, to tell her it was over, to carry her away from it.
My throat tightens. I hate that. I hate that she had to endure it. I hate that the thing that did it still breathes. I hate, most of all, that I hadn’t known her then. That I hadn’t been there.
The thought is irrational. Useless. It doesn’t matter. Even though it still burns.
“I get it now,” I say softly.
“Get it?” Alette asks, looking confused.
“I get why you hate us,” I say, not looking at her, but at the floor. “The fae, I mean. All of us.”
Nobody says a thing.
“It makes sense,” I go on. “If I saw that happen to my mother—” My voice cuts off. I don’t want to finish the sentence, but now I’m committed.
So I do.
“I watched my own father die. Not the same way, but close enough. He died fighting the monsters. They ripped his arms off before he could even use his magic.” I force a laugh, sharp and ugly.
“The next day, my mother drank poison. They said it was an accident, but I was old enough to know better. She chose not to go on. And the courts, my own people, let her.”
Cassius looks at me, face blank, but his hands curl, slow and deliberate, into fists. Ashton leans back against the wall, head tipped to one side, eyes narrowed. Sylvian is quiet, actually listening for once.
The silence stretches. It’s too heavy, too full.
I could stop here. Should stop here. But the words are already out, and once they start, they don’t seem to want to stay buried.
My jaw tightens. Damn it.
“My brother was the heir,” I say. “The perfect one. Kind. Smart. Everyone loved him. The court would have built him a palace of gold, if he’d wanted it.
I was the spare. The backup. The only thing I was good at was fighting, and even then, the old generals called me a liability.
Too reckless. Too much temper, not enough thought. ”
I smile, slow and bitter. “They started sending me to the borders before I was even grown. They’d say it was for training, but it was just to keep me out of the way.
Every season it was a new front with more monsters, more rebels, more things that needed burning down.
When I did well, they’d give the credit to my brother because he was the heir.
The beloved one. When I failed, it was my fault, always. But I kept going.”
I pause. There’s a feeling in my throat that I don’t like. It feels like weakness. Like maybe if I keep talking, I’ll let it out and never get it back in.
Alette asks, voice soft, “Is that where all your scars are from?”
I bark a laugh. “Not all. Some are from training. Some are from fights I shouldn’t have walked away from.
Some—” I touch my side, just under the ribs, where the flesh always aches in cold weather, “—some are from the dungeons. I got thrown in every time I crossed a line they didn’t like.
I think the record was three months, in a cell smaller than this.
They kept it just warm enough to keep me alive, but not enough to stop the burns and wounds from healing wrong. ”
Alette stares at me, but not with pity. With interest. Like maybe I’m finally making sense to her.
“My brother died when I was nineteen. Monsters attacked the palace. Tore it to pieces. I fought my way back, but it was too late. I found him dying. He tried to say something, but his throat was gone. I just held him.” My hands clench. “There was nothing I could do.”
Sylvian says, “We knew about how much you fought, but they never told us the rest of this. About the dungeons and the torture.”
“Why would they?” I spit. “It makes the court look weak. Makes them look scared of their own weapon. I wasn’t supposed to rule. I was supposed to die in battle, or rot in some hole, or serve as a warning to every other hothead who thought they were better than their betters.”
He shrugs, but doesn’t take offense. “I always thought you just liked fighting.”
I grunt. “I don’t even like war. I just don’t know how to do anything else. They made sure of that.”
Silence. Alette is still watching me. They all are, and I know I said too much. I bore my soul when I never should have.
Ashton says, “I didn’t know how your brother died. They just said it was in battle.”
I look at him. “Nobody knew the full story. That he was never much of a warrior and could do nothing to fight and protect himself when the monsters came. The official story is that he fought like a warrior, but I was too slow. Too pathetic to save him. And those are the nice stories. The others say that I wanted the crown. That I didn’t save him on purpose.
I hate it. I hate the throne. The power.
The responsibility. I’d have traded places with my brother in a heartbeat. He’s the one who was meant for this.”
He nods, just once.
Cassius asks, quietly, “What about your court? Do they follow you now? They seem to follow you.”
I shrug. “They do as I say. But they don’t respect me as their king.
As their leader. They never will. I’m just the only royal they have left.
Even the women seem torn between the horrifying idea of being stuck with me, weighing it with the benefit of being royalty.
The most desperate of them try, thinking the wealth and power are worth it. ”
Sylvian leans closer, his voice gentle, for once. “Why are you telling us this?”
I open my mouth, but the words jam up. It takes everything I have to get them out.
“Because we’re growing closer. Something between us… it’s changing. Because you should know. Because you deserve the truth. And because,” I say, eyes fixed on the stone, “I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t matter.”
Alette moves first, surprising all of us by climbing into my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck. Her weight, her warmth, the easy way she touches me... It’s everything.
“Thank you for telling us,” she says, and I lean into her touch, drinking it in. Remembering what it feels like to be alive. To be cared for.
Sylvian grins, wide and stupid. “So that’s why you’re such a miserable bastard all the time.”
He says it with a brightness that makes me want to punch him, but it works. The others laugh. Even me.
“Yeah,” I say. “Now you know.”
Alette doesn’t let go. She holds me closer to her, our hearts beating as one, and I swear that I’ve never felt more loved. Even if this isn’t love.
I don’t hate it.
Alette looks up at me, pulling back just a little. “Do kings still go and fight the monsters?”
Ashton laughs. “No, the courts aren’t willing to risk the last of the royals like that.”
“So, your days of fighting are over?” she asks, those brilliant blue eyes of hers impossible to look away from.
I stare at her. “As long as the fae don’t begin to fight amongst themselves again.”
“So, you’re done being a warrior?” There’s something gentle in her expression.
“It doesn’t feel like they’re over.”
She smiles, small and sad. “But they are. You’ve got to teach your mind and your body that when you get back, it’s time to relax. To stop fighting everything. I mean, you’re going to be pretty miserable if all you ever do is fight. Right?”
I open my mouth, then shut it.
“He’s speechless,” Sylvian teases.
“Thank the gods,” Ashton mumbles, but he’s teasing me.
Cassius tilts his head slightly. “There’s some truth to that,” he says.
“I read a book once on how the body responds to prolonged danger. It talked about how the mind doesn’t always recognize when the threat is gone.
The body stays… primed. Muscles tight. Breathing shallow.
Ready for something that isn’t there anymore. ”
His gaze flicks briefly to me, then back to Alette.
“It said it can take a long time to retrain that. To convince yourself you’re safe.”
“See?” Alette says softly.
“You too,” Cassius responds, gesturing toward Alette. “I don’t think you know how to not live in fear either.”
She looks surprised, but I feel even more connected to her. How has a warrior who has never known peace experience the same fear as a little human who has rarely known kindness in her life? I don’t know, but we do, and maybe in that way our souls dance together.
The others settle back, a little looser now, as if some invisible rope around us has gone slack.
I feel lighter. Not much, but enough. And for the first time, I let myself think about what I might want after all this.
I don’t have an answer, just that I want Alette around me, all the time.
But maybe that’s fine. Maybe, for once, it’s enough just to have the question and the one thing that I know will make me happy.
I stare at the little sliver of sky, the way it goes from black to blue so slow you could almost miss it, and I think about what Alette said.
About the future, about wanting more than the old war, the endless games of power.
The loneliness. The royals always end up fighting, dragging their people into it, and then there’s death and bloodshed in every direction for years until another tense truce comes again.
It’s suddenly hard to ignore how stupid we all are.
I clear my throat. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”
Nobody reacts, at first. Maybe they think it’s a joke, maybe they’re waiting for the punchline, but I just let the words hang there.
Sylvian is the first to bite. “You mean, ever?”
I nod. “I mean with you. With any of you. I’m done hating the other courts. Done being the sword for people who don’t care if I live or die.”
Cassius raises an eyebrow. “And your court? You think they’ll just go along with peace?”
I shake my head. “I don’t care what they want. I’m not their monster anymore.”
Alette smiles, small but bright enough to scorch the inside of my skull. “Does this mean you’ll try for peace?”
My answer comes strangely easily. “Yeah. I’ll try.”
Sylvian grins, wolf-bright. “If the four of us get along, the courts will fall in line.”
Ashton flicks a bit of hay at my face. “We could live forever in a world of peace.”
Cassius doesn’t smile, but the tension in his jaw relaxes, just a little. “It’ll be hard. We’ll have to talk. Compromise. Not overreact.”
Alette looks at us all, eyes wide, like she’s seeing something she never expected. “Just like that?”
Sylvian gives her a funny look. “No, not like that. This tension between us has been changing with every step we take through this labyrinth. Every moment we spend with you.”
She laughs, a sound so full it makes me feel a hundred years younger. “It’s not me, but still, I’m impressed. In my experience, it’s hard for people to change.”
“We have proper motivation,” Cassius says, his gaze sweeping to her face.
“Proper motivation?” she asks, looking confused.
Ashton leans in. “We’re changing for you. Because of you.”
She looks down, blushing, and I want to drag the sun down and make it crown her.
I don’t say that. Instead, I ask, “How do you do it?”
She frowns. “Do what?”
I gesture at her, at all of it. “All of us are a bunch of pampered royals. But not you. You’ve lived a hard life. And yet, you just keep going. After everything. Even after…” I can’t say it. I just nod at her, and she gets it.
She shrugs, a little embarrassed. “I’m scared all the time. I just do it anyway, because I don’t see another choice.”
I stare at her. “That’s what bravery is.”
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m just doing what has to be done.”
I nod. “That’s what warriors do.”
She laughs, but it’s almost shy. “You really think I’m a warrior?”
Sylvian grins. “You’re tougher than any fae I know. And you look better swinging a sword than any of us.”
Ashton sighs dramatically. “She does have a certain way with violence.”
Cassius adds, “You also don’t quit. That’s rare.”
I feel like my chest might split open from the pressure of it. This is good. The way Alette is opening up to us. The way we’re opening up to her. She can’t still plan on leaving us when we get back. She’ll stay with us, and then I’ll have a reason to smile every day for the rest of our lives.
There’s a pause, the kind that should be awkward but isn’t. Then the air changes. There’s a hum, deep in the wall, and a flicker of light, at first just a pulse, then a steady glow, as if the cell itself is waking up.
The stones on the far side begin to shimmer, letters searing through the grime, words forming in lines of crimson that burn the dust away.
I stand up, the others scrambling after. The message is clear, each word dripping with threat: AT DAWN YOU DIE.
The last word stretches, the lines of red crawling down the wall, underlining the promise. We stare at it, as if we can outstare it. We can’t.
Sylvian’s face is pale. “What the hell?”
Cassius goes to the door, testing the bars again, hard enough that his palms bleed. “Come fight us like men!”
Ashton starts pacing, hands knotted behind his back. “How long until dawn?”
“A few hours, at most,” Cassius says, not looking away from the tiny barred window on the door.
Sylvian cracks his knuckles. “We need a plan.”
I look at Alette. She’s watching me, waiting. I try to remember how it felt to be a weapon. How it felt to want to burn the world. But the angry, empty feeling’s not there. Not that it matters. This cell doesn’t need a weapon. It needs a solution.
Ashton stops pacing. “Anyone have an idea?”
But only silence meets his words. Fuck.