Chapter 14 #2
My fingers tighten slightly in his, and I let out a slow breath, my gaze drifting ahead as we turn another corner.
I don’t know what happens after this. When the storm breaks.
When the labyrinth lets us go, if it lets us go, I don’t know what we’ll be outside of this place. If this… can even exist anywhere else.
But I know this. I’ll never forget it. Never forget how they made me feel. How we found each other in the middle of something meant to break us.
How, somehow, it didn’t.
It brought us together instead.
A small, almost private smile touches my lips before I can stop it. No matter what happens next, this time is mine. Ours. And I’ll carry it with me, always.
By the time we reach the dining hall, the storm outside feels distant, muted by stone and warmth and everything still lingering inside me. The others are already seated, their voices low as they wait.
The three men glance up at me, and there’s gazes are full of love and softness. And I feel it again. That quiet sense of belonging.
Like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
The table is laden with an impressive spread of fruits, vegetables, and breads, the produce likely freshly harvested from the garden.
The vibrant colors leap out at me. The deep reds of ripe tomatoes, the bright greens of crisp lettuce, the golden crust of the warm bread.
It’s not a feast in the sense that the fae have feasts, but it’s feast to us after so long of eating our pathetic meals, though the absence of meat is glaringly obvious.
Ashton pulls out my chair with an exaggerated flourish that earns him an eye roll from Oberon, but I can’t help but smile.
As we begin to eat, the atmosphere lightens.
The conversation flows easily, laughter bubbling up as Ashton recounts a ridiculous tale of a fae festival gone wrong.
The way his eyes sparkle as he speaks draws me in, and I find myself hanging on his every word, laughing with the others as he embellishes the story.
Even Oberon cracks a small smile, though he tries to hide it behind his goblet, and it makes my heart swell to see the camaraderie between us.
But then I notice Lord Ferngull. He sits at the head of the table, his plate untouched. His usually animated demeanor is subdued, his eyes fixed on the far wall as if lost in thought. The difference is stark against the lively atmosphere surrounding us, and unease creeps into my gut.
“Not hungry?” I ask, breaking the flow of conversation, my voice cutting through the laughter like a knife. The moment feels charged, and I can see the way the others pause, their gazes shifting toward our host.
He blinks, as if pulled from a trance, and offers a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tired of fruits and vegetables, I suppose,” he says, his tone light but unconvincing, although he does politely take a few bites of the food on his plate.
It’s strange. Wasn’t he raving about these same foods the other night?
The response sets my nerves on edge. There’s something in his demeanor that feels… off, like a storm brewing beneath the surface. I glance around the table and see that I’m not alone in my concern. All four of my men are tenser than before, although they’re trying to hide it.
But just as quickly as the strange moment arises, it’s gone. Lord Ferngull’s smile broadens, and he launches into a lively anecdote about the castle’s history, his voice smooth and engaging. The oddness of the previous moment fades.
We finish the meal without further incident, the laughter returning as we share stories and stolen glances. Plates are cleared away, leaving only the soft glow of candlelight and the storm’s muffled growl as background music to our chatter. The relaxed atmosphere feels almost normal.
As the candles burn lower, signaling the end of the meal, Lord Ferngull rises from his seat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling rather fatigued. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he says with a bow before retreating into the shadows of the hall.
The moment the door closes behind Lord Ferngull, the room feels… different. Quieter. The warmth is still there, his food mostly untouched, but something has shifted.
I lean forward slightly, lowering my voice as I glance between them. “Was that… strange?”
Oberon’s gaze flicks to me immediately. “Yes.”
No hesitation.
Sylvian exhales slowly, his fingers tapping once against the table before going still. “He didn’t eat,” he adds, his tone thoughtful. “Not much.”
Ashton leans back in his chair, though his expression isn’t as relaxed as his posture suggests. “And the mood swings,” he mutters. “One second he’s charming, the next he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.”
I press my lips together, my unease growing.
“So it wasn’t just me,” I say quietly.
“No,” Sylvian says. “It wasn’t.”
There’s a brief pause.
Then Cassius adds, more measured, “That said… anyone trapped in the labyrinth for an extended period would exhibit irregular behavior.”
Oberon huffs softly, not quite agreeing, not quite dismissing it either. “Doesn’t mean we ignore it.”
Ashton’s gaze flicks toward the door Lord Ferngull exited through, then back to me. “We stay aware,” he says. “That’s all.”
I nod, but the unease inside me doesn’t fade.
My gaze drifts toward the windows, where the storm still rages beyond the glass, relentless and unchanging.
“I hope it passes soon,” I admit, my voice softer now. “As strange as the idea of someone wanting to go back into the terrors of the labyrinth is… I think it’s time we move on.”
The words hang there. Unspoken agreement follows. Because comfortable or not, none of us belong here. Eventually, we need to escape this labyrinth… or die in it.