Chapter 10 #2
But even as I take a seat, my mind keeps circling back to the conversation we just had.
The weight of the promises made, the love I admitted to, hangs over us like a delicate thread, fragile yet unbreakable.
I can’t help but steal glances at the others, the way their expressions shift as we settle into our seats, the familiar camaraderie settling in alongside the tension.
It’s different now. I see it. Feel it. The way they look at me isn’t something I can pretend not to notice anymore.
My gaze drifts first to Oberon, who is seated across from me, his shoulders broad beneath the fitted fabric, the movement of his arms pulling slightly at the seams as he reaches for his glass.
He moves with a dangerous kind of control, every motion precise and restrained, but the moment his gaze flicks to mine, the edge softens enough to steal my breath.
Sylvian sits to my side, composed as ever, but I’m suddenly far too aware of how close he is.
Of the strength in his hands as they rest against the table, long fingers relaxed but capable, steady in a way that makes me feel anchored just being near him.
When he shifts slightly, the fabric across his chest pulls, and I have to look away before I stare.
Ashton is impossible not to notice. He leans back just slightly in his chair, all easy confidence and quiet amusement, his attention flicking to me more often than not. There’s something in his expression, a hint of a wicked smile, that makes warmth curl low in my stomach before I can stop it.
And Cassius… I forget how to breathe for just a moment.
He’s quieter than the others, more contained, but that only makes everything about him feel more deliberate.
The way his hands move, precise and controlled.
The way his posture stays perfectly composed, even as his gaze lingers just long enough to make my pulse stutter.
My face warms, and I drop my gaze to the table, trying to collect myself. They’re all just so strong. Beautiful. Impossible to ignore.
And somehow… they chose me.
This situation is complicated. Confusing. Completely outside anything I understand. And yet… I do.
“Lady Alette,” Lord Ferngull says, drawing my attention. “You look absolutely stunning this evening. You’ve elevated the entire room simply by stepping into it.”
My cheeks flush instantly. He says it too easily, too carefully, like every word was chosen in advance. It doesn’t make me feel good the way the kings’ compliments do.
“As flattering as that is,” Ashton says, “I think she’s been adequately informed of that fact.”
A few of the servants nearby go very still.
Lord Ferngull’s smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes flick briefly to Ashton, assessing. Then back to me.
“Humility,” he says softly, “is often most charming when it’s undeserved.”
“You’ve said enough,” Oberon says, voice calm but edged.
The air tightens. Just slightly.
Lord Ferngull’s smile deepens, as if he enjoys the resistance. “Of course,” he says easily. “Merely acknowledging what’s in front of me.”
“Are there no others that will be joining us?” Ashton asks, changing the subject.
Lord Ferngull shrugs. “There were more when the labyrinth first surrounded us, but you saw how dangerous this place is. It took us a while to learn how to survive here, and by then, we’d lost far too many fae lives.”
I barely have a second to consider his words before Lord Ferngull gestures lightly, and a servant steps forward with something small resting on a velvet cloth.
“A token,” he says, his tone softening as his attention returns fully to me. “For our honored guest.”
The servant lifts a delicate bracelet, fine silver threaded with faintly glowing stones that catch the candlelight. It’s beautiful.
“Please,” Lord Ferngull continues, leaning forward slightly. “Allow me.”
He reaches for it.
“No.” The word is immediate. Sharp. Oberon doesn’t even hesitate.
Sylvian’s hand rests lightly against the back of my chair, an unspoken signal. “We appreciate the gesture,” he says evenly. “But she won’t be accepting it. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Lord Ferngull hesitates, the bracelet glinting faintly between his fingers. Something subtle surfaces beneath his composure. Not anger.
Interest.
“How protective,” he murmurs.
Oberon’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You could call it that.”
The tension stretches.
Lord Ferngull smiles again, as if nothing at all has happened, and sets the bracelet back onto the cloth.
“As you wish,” he says smoothly. “I wouldn’t want to overstep.”
But his eyes return to me almost immediately.
“You must forgive me,” he continues, his tone shifting into something more conversational, more inviting. “It’s rare to encounter someone so… intriguing.”
My pulse picks up again.
At a subtle gesture from Lord Ferngull, the servants move in.
They don’t ask. They simply begin placing food onto our plates with quiet precision, each motion practiced, almost… rehearsed. The dishes are vibrant, arranged with an attention to detail that feels more deliberate than necessary.
A slice of roasted squash rests onto my plate, its edges caramelized to a deep golden brown, glistening faintly with oil and herbs.
Beside it, a medley of vegetables. There’s bright peppers, deep green leaves, something pale and delicate I don’t recognize, all are arranged in careful balance.
A small portion of grains follows, soft and fragrant, infused with something sweet and unfamiliar.
The scent is rich. Warm. Inviting.
I glance down the length of the table, taking in the spread. There’s more of the same. Beautifully prepared dishes, layered with color and texture, but all of it drawn from the earth. Fruits split open to reveal jewel-bright centers, vegetables roasted and glazed, breads brushed with oil and herbs.
No meat.
Not a single trace of it.
“No meat?” Sylvian asks the question I’d just been wondering about, raising an eyebrow as he picks up a piece of roasted squash with his fork. The texture looks delectable, and I can almost taste the flavors bursting with the warmth of spices.
Lord Ferngull dabs at his mouth with a napkin, swallowing a bite of food, and gives a small chuckle.
“Meat is difficult to come by in the labyrinth,” he explains, his tone light.
“The creatures here are… unpredictable, to say the least. Hunting them often results in more trouble than it’s worth.
We’ve adapted to a plant-based diet, and I must say, it’s grown on us.
Besides, it’s better for the soul, don’t you think? ”
Sylvian nods slowly, though I notice a faint crease in his brow. “I suppose it would be. It’s certainly better than starving,” he says, his tone neutral but thoughtful.
The conversation shifts as we eat, and I’m struck by how delicious the food is.
The flavors are bright and full, each dish perfectly seasoned and balanced, a rich explosion of tastes that dance on my tongue.
The roasted squash is sweet and savory, while the other vegetables are fresh and vibrant.
It’s a far cry from the dried rations and foraged scraps we’ve been surviving on.
Despite my lingering unease, I find myself savoring each bite, the warmth of the food spreading through me.
As we talk, Sylvian’s questions grow more pointed, his curiosity evident.
“You mentioned earlier that these were once your lands,” he says, his tone casual, though his green eyes gleam with intent.
“Do you remember attending the ball at the House of Earth a century or so ago? The one celebrating the god of nature? It was quite the event.”
Lord Ferngull leans back slightly, his expression warm and nostalgic.
“Ah, yes,” he says, his voice tinged with fondness.
“A splendid affair. The decorations alone were breathtaking, and the music… unforgettable.” His eyes sparkle as he continues.
“I remember dancing with a particularly enchanting lady that evening. What a night that was.”
Sylvian hums in agreement, leaning back in his chair, the way he holds himself relaxed yet alert. “And the celebration at the House of Air? Surely you remember the fireworks?”
“Of course,” Lord Ferngull replies smoothly, and the ease in his voice is both charming and disconcerting. “A masterpiece of light and color. I’ve never seen anything quite like it since.”
I glance at Sylvian, noticing the subtle tension in his posture.
I get the sense that he’s probing, testing, but Lord Ferngull’s answers are flawless.
If Sylvian is trying to catch him in a lie, he’s not succeeding.
Still, there’s a trace of suspicion in Sylvian’s expression that he makes no effort to hide, his mouth twitching as though he’s resisting the urge to say more.
Throughout the meal, Lord Ferngull’s attention drifts back to me, his compliments frequent. “Lady Alette,” he says at one point, his gaze unwavering, “your strength and beauty are truly remarkable. It’s no wonder you’ve captivated such formidable company.”
The air around the table shifts, a palpable tension rising like steam.
Oberon leans back slightly. “You’re not the only one who sees her as strong and beautiful. Any fool would notice those facts.”
“Of course,” Lord Ferngull says, inclining his head graciously. “My apologies if I implied otherwise. Strength and beauty are a rare combination, and Lady Alette possesses both in abundance.”
I force a small smile, unsure of how to respond.
The conversation shifts again until I feel like I can relax a little again. Hopefully, this Lord Ferngull is starting to understand that he should keep his distance from me. The chatter is lighter, but careful, every word considered before spoken.
Finally, as the meal begins to wind down, Lord Ferngull signals the end of the evening. “It has been an absolute pleasure sharing this evening with you all,” he says, rising from his seat with a gracious smile. “But the hour grows late. My servants will ensure you have everything you require.”
We thank him politely, though the gratitude feels a bit hollow.
As we make our way to my room, the storm outside seems to rage harder, lightning illuminating the hall in brief, startling flashes that draw gasps from us all. The guys form a protective circle around me, their footsteps firm against the marble floor.
When we reach my door, Oberon steps ahead, his hand hovering over the handle, a guardian in every sense. “Wait here,” he says, his voice firm, and the authority in his tone brooks no argument. He pushes the door open, scanning the room carefully before stepping aside to let me in.
The room is just as warm as it was the night before, the fire already lit, casting a soft golden glow across the space. Somehow, even though this room is in the labyrinth, it’s starting to feel safe here. Almost homey.
Oberon nods once, satisfied, though the tension in him doesn’t fully ease. “We won’t be gone long.”
I blink. “What?”
Cassius glances at me, expression calm. “We’ll change and return. As always, keeping one of us to guard your door at all times.”
Ashton’s mouth curves slightly, softer than usual. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the atmosphere by sleeping in formal clothes.”
Something about the way he says it makes warmth creep up my neck.
“We’ll be back,” Sylvian adds, his tone gentler.
Then they’re gone.
The door closes behind them, and suddenly the room feels too quiet. I stand there, staring at the space they just occupied, before forcing myself to move. Right. Change.
I cross to the wardrobe, pulling out the nightgown and robe inside. The fabric is soft, lighter than the dress, easier to breathe in. I change quickly, though my fingers fumble more than once, my thoughts refusing to settle.
By the time I tie the robe closed, my heart is already racing again. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the fire. Trying not to think. Failing completely.
Last night, I hadn’t slept right away. Not with all of them there. Not with the sound of their breathing surrounding me, steady and… distracting. I’d laid there, staring at the ceiling, listening to them shift, to the quiet rise and fall of their chests, acutely aware of how close they were.
Too aware.
And there had been moments, small ones, when it felt like they were just as aware of me. Like the space between the floor and the bed wasn’t quite enough. Like they were holding something back.
My pulse stutters. Like they wanted me.
I draw my knees up slightly, wrapping my arms around them as my thoughts drift somewhere dangerous again. Would anything happen tonight? The question lands harder than I expect. Is there any reason why something shouldn’t happen?
I should be focused on surviving. On the labyrinth. On everything waiting for us when the storm finally ends. Instead, I’m wondering what it would feel like if they didn’t stop touching me. If one of them crossed the space that’s been between us and just… made me feel alive.
Or if all of them did.
Heat floods through me, and I press my lips together, shaking my head slightly. I’ve never even been with one man. And now I’m sitting here, thinking about being with four. Gods.
My face burns. This is insane. All of it. And yet…
A quiet, traitorous thought slips in anyway. This opportunity may not be here forever. What if they change their minds about loving me? What if what they said was just because of the way the labyrinth is making them feel?
They’ll return home and realize it was a mistake. That they don’t actually don’t love me.
A hollow ache opens deep inside me. I don’t want that. I don’t want them to take it back. But if they do…
I go still, breath stalling in my chest. Would I regret not being with them? Not touching them? Not having them inside me?
I stop the thought there, my heart pounding. Even one night… The idea lingers, soft but insistent.
I exhale slowly, pressing my hands to my face. I don’t even know how I’d handle it. Where I’d start. What I’d do. But the thought doesn’t scare me as much as I think it should.
That’s the problem.
That’s exactly the problem.
A small, nervous laugh slips out of me as I drop my hands, staring at the fire again. Is there even a way to get them to… want to have sex with me? To make a move?
The thought trails off as footsteps sound in the corridor.
My heart jumps into my throat. It’s too late to think now. They’re coming back.
And suddenly, I’m not sure if I want to hide… or if I just want to say the hell with it and offer myself to them on a silver platter. But, I couldn’t. Could I?