Chapter 10
Alette
The storm hasn’t stopped. If anything, it sounds worse.
Rain lashes against the windows in relentless waves, the wind howling through the stone like it’s trying to claw its way inside.
The sky beyond the glass is a constant, churning gray, flashes of lightning cutting through it just often enough to remind me how trapped we really are.
We slept through all of it. I’m still not entirely sure how. But when I woke, the light hadn’t changed. The storm hadn’t eased. And somehow, that made everything feel… suspended. Like time is waiting for something.
Then, after sleeping for nearly a full twenty-four hours, we’d had servants come and let us know that dinner would be served in just a short time, so we’d hurried to get ready. Starving after so long, but also, finally, fully rested.
But the feeling of everything being suspended, of us waiting, hadn’t quite let up. I’m safe. Indoors. Warm. And dry. That’s all that really matters.
Except it’s not. Because I can’t stop thinking about what they said. About what it means.
I turn slowly in front of the mirror, my fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of the gown.
It doesn’t feel like mine. The deep blue clings in all the right places, soft and elegant in a way I don’t recognize.
The stitching is delicate, the cut far more refined than anything I’ve ever worn.
My hair falls loosely over my shoulders, cleaner, softer than it’s been in days, and my skin, somehow, doesn’t look like I’ve been fighting for my life in a labyrinth.
I barely recognize the girl staring back at me. She looks… composed. Almost regal. Like she belongs in a place like this.
Like she could stand between four kings and not fall apart.
My stomach tightens at the thought. Four. They didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even seem surprised. As if it was something they’d already been circling around, something they understood long before I did.
Sharing.
The word alone makes heat creep up my neck.
I press my fingers lightly to my lips, my pulse picking up as my thoughts betray me, wandering somewhere they absolutely should not. What would that even look like? Being with one man is already something I barely understand. Something I’ve never… experienced.
But all of them?
My breath catches, and I quickly look away from my reflection, like the girl in the mirror might know exactly what I’m thinking. I can’t even imagine how that would work. Where I would look. What I would do. How I wouldn’t completely fall apart under the weight of it.
The memory of Ashton’s hands on me flashes through my mind, uninvited and far too vivid, and heat floods through me all over again. And that was just one of them. Gods.
My face burns, and I press my hands to my cheeks, willing the thoughts away, but they linger anyway, curling at the edges of my mind. They all said they care about me. That they loved me.
A strange ache blooms deep inside me. They didn’t say it lightly. And they didn’t take it back.
A small, quiet part of me doesn’t recoil from it. Doesn’t run. It leans into the thought instead. Into the way they look at me. The way they move around me. The way I feel when they’re close.
Someone knocks at my door. I wonder if it’s just whichever one is currently guarding my door, or a signal that all of them are here to see me.
My heart stutters. “Come in,” I call, a little too quickly.
The door opens. And then… I forget how to breathe. All four of them step inside. And gods, they look nothing like the men I’ve been surviving beside.
Or maybe they do.
Just… more. Refined. Sharper. More dangerous in a different way.
Oberon enters first, his dark clothing fitted to his broad shoulders, the clean lines doing nothing to hide the raw strength beneath. If anything, it makes it worse. More noticeable. More intentional. His presence fills the room instantly, controlled but still barely contained.
Sylvian follows, composed as ever, his long black hair loose around his shoulders, the dark strands only making the sharp green of his eyes more striking.
His clothes fit him perfectly, accentuating the length of his body and the quiet strength in every line of him.
He doesn’t move like someone trying to impress, but he doesn’t have to.
He carries himself with an effortless confidence that’s impossible to ignore.
Ashton lingers in the doorway for a heartbeat, shoulder braced against the frame like he owns the space, his grin already in place.
It sharpens when he sees me, then softens, just enough to feel real.
His long blond hair falls carelessly around his face, his clothes fitted in a way that somehow makes him look even more dangerous, not less.
There’s nothing restrained about him. Even polished, even dressed like this, he looks like trouble…
the kind you know better than to touch, and still want to anyway.
Cassius closes the door behind them with deliberate care, the soft click sounding louder than it should.
His movements are precise, economical… nothing wasted.
His attire is simpler than the others, but on him, it feels intentional, the clean lines molding over broad shoulders and a solid, muscular frame that doesn’t need embellishment.
His pale blond hair catches the light, almost silver against his skin, and when his eyes lift, and they’re icy, impossibly blue, before they settle on me with a focus that feels… consuming. Measured. Controlled.
Except for the way they linger just a second too long.
My pulse stutters. They’re all… too much. Too big. Too strong. Too there.
And they’re all looking at me.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I force myself to look away before I do something incredibly embarrassing, like stare. Well, stare more than I already had. Not that any woman could blame me.
“Well,” Ashton says after a beat, his voice lighter, though there’s something underneath it. “That’s not fair.”
I glance back at him. “What?”
He gestures vaguely in my direction. “You’re trying to kill us now, apparently.”
Oberon huffs quietly, but he doesn’t disagree.
Sylvian’s gaze softens slightly. “He’s saying you look beautiful.”
The word sends an unexpected jolt through me. Beautiful? Me?
Cassius says nothing, but the way his eyes move over me, careful, assessing, almost reverent, says enough.
My cheeks warm again, and I smooth my hands down the front of the gown, suddenly very aware of myself. A flash of lightning illuminates the room, followed by a crack of thunder that rattles faintly through the walls. The storm isn’t letting up.
Before anyone can say anything else, there’s another knock at the door. This one is softer. More formal.
Cassius moves first this time, opening it without hesitation.
A servant stands just outside, bowing slightly as the door opens. “The evening meal is prepared, your highnesses… my lady,” he says, his voice respectful, but distant, like he exists just outside whatever this moment is.
The reality of it hits immediately. Dinner. The lord. This place. The tension shifts again, lingering beneath everything.
I draw in a breath, straightening slightly. “We should go.”
No one argues. But they don’t move away from me, either. If anything, they close in just a fraction, forming around me without thinking. As if it’s already become instinct.
So, I guess I’m leading. Wherever I go, they go. Which is oddly nice. Together, we step out into the corridor.
“If this is another trick of the labyrinth,” Oberon says quietly, “don’t worry, we’ll see it coming.”
There’s no doubt in his voice.
Only certainty.
I note their swords, then touch my own, just to make sure it’s still there. I haven’t seen a lot of people in this castle, or a lot of guards, but it doesn’t mean we won’t need our weapons if we have to escape.
Sylvian falls into step beside me, close enough that his presence feels deliberate, grounding. “We don’t let our guard down,” he adds. “Not here. Not anywhere in this place.”
His hand brushes lightly against mine, and it steadies something inside me.
Cassius’s voice comes from just behind us, calm as ever. “We observe first. React second,” he says. “If something is wrong, we’ll know.”
“And if everything is fine,” Ashton cuts in, a quieter edge beneath his usual tone, “then we take the win.”
I glance back at him.
He shrugs slightly, one corner of his mouth lifting. “We’ve earned a decent meal.”
Sylvian’s gaze flicks to me again. “This storm won’t last forever,” he says. “When it breaks, we move on.”
Cassius nods once. “Which means this may be the only moment of relative stability we’re given.”
I draw in a slow breath. “So we stay alert, but we enjoy this time.”
The dining hall comes into view ahead, warm light spilling into the hall. For a moment, it almost feels… normal. Almost.
As we step inside, the space opens up around us, grand without being overwhelming. A long table stretches through the center, set with a feast. The scent of roasted vegetables and fresh bread fill the air, and I breathe it in, happy for the good food.
Lord Ferngull rises to greet us, his smile warm, his posture relaxed, every inch of him the gracious host. But after everything we’ve learned from our time in the labyrinth, none of us take it at face value.
“Welcome, my kings and my lady,” he says, gesturing to the table laden with food. “I hope you’re hungry.”
The spread is enticing. There is fresh bread still warm from the oven, vibrant vegetables, and fragrant stews bubbling in large pots. My stomach rumbles in response, the hunger I’ve been pushing aside suddenly demanding attention.