Page 13

13

Oberon

The tavern pulsed with restless energy, thick with the aroma of ale, roasting meat, and damp wool. Laughter and drunken boasts clashed against the steady clatter of tankards slamming onto wooden tables, each impact a heartbeat in the tavern’s fevered rhythm. Shadows flickered along the walls, cast by the dancing flames of lanterns swinging above.

She healed the village while I was still asleep.

Sneakui dilthen adaneth.

Sneaky little woman.

My eyes scanned the crowded room, searching. She had to be here somewhere—drained and exhausted from everything she had done, with little sleep. But there was no sign of her.

A slow tension curled beneath my skin before movement near the far end of the tavern caught my attention. A younger knight, one of the few who had dared to speak when she questioned them, sat hunched over his drink. His fingers traced the rim of his mug, his eyes distant, as if he were still grappling with the weight of what had occurred.

I strode toward him, my voice laced with impatience. “Where is the herbalist?”

His head snapped up, and his posture stiffened. Under my gaze, he shifted uncomfortably, tightening his grip around the handle of his cup. “She stayed,” he admitted. His eyes darted to his fellow knights, hoping one would answer on his behalf. When no one did, he exhaled heavily. “She made medicine for the villagers and stayed by the hearth to tend to the knights who weren’t improving.” His brows furrowed.

Of course, she did.

A muscle in my jaw twitched. I raked a hand through my hair, gripping the strands at the base of my skull. I should have expected nothing less.

Conversations dwindled, and voices faded into an uneasy silence as I passed. The knights’ gazes pressed against my back, burdened by unspoken questions. The heavy slam of the door behind me pierced through the tavern’s din.

Three steps into the square, movement caught my eye along a narrow path leading into the woods. A blurred flash of a cloak whipped behind a figure. An instinctual, bone-deep ache pulsed in my chest. My teeth clenched, and my boot sunk into the gravel path, propelling me forward.

“Herbalist!” My voice pierced through the trees, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t hesitate or waver.

A snap cracked through my ribs. An aching, splintering sensation unfurled into something wilder. Heat surged through my veins, searing through reason. It wasn’t just concern that drove me forward; it was something deeper, raw, and unshackled. It had nothing to do with duty and everything to do with her.

The forest blurred past me. Shadows twisted in the fog, and bare, skeletal branches clawed at the sky. My pulse, a steady war drum, thundered in my ears.

The chase set me alight.

Every stride and sharp pivot she made drew me closer. Her movements were fast, controlled, and fluid—born of instinct and necessity. She ran as though she belonged to the wild, as though Elduvaris itself yielded beneath her steps, undisturbed.

She had learned this. Had honed it. The knowledge of escape was etched into her bones, polished over time.

It was breathtaking. Dark. Addictive.

My heart pounded.

Why did it excite me?

Hunting was in my nature. To move unseen, to close the distance before my prey knew I was there, was instinctual. But chasing her wasn’t about the hunt. It was how she ran. She must have learned what it meant to be prey from experience.

The thought of someone else chasing her—hunting her with cruel intent—sent a dark sensation slithering through my gut. A sudden, unique, and unwelcome feeling dug in deep and wound tight around my bones.

My mind flickered back to the journal, to the ink-stained pages filled with precise agony, the remedies, poisons, and wounds described in depth. Each word had been deliberate and clinical, yet beneath them, it was raw and shaped by experience. My body tensed. My boots slammed against the damp soil, pushing harder, faster. But she was too quick. Too fucking fast, even for me.

Phantom hands of mist curled through the trees, swirling as we tore through them. The scent of wet leaves, overturned soil, and damp rock filled my senses. A nightbird cried somewhere above us; the wind swallowed its lonely, warbling call. Insects scattered, their tiny wings clicking in startled chaos as we passed. A golden-banded moth flickered too close but vanished into the fog before I could swat it away.

She pivoted in a sudden, flawless movement. Her body twisted, knee bent, as she dropped low, sliding across slick grass and damp leaves in a motion so fluid it seemed inhuman and left me breathless.

It was perfect—no missteps or hesitation. It wasn’t the frantic, desperate scrambling of prey trying to escape a predator. No, it was control, adaptation, a honed skill.

And it was enthralling.

An intense, unwelcome hunger coursed down my spine. I craved the thrill of the chase, the way she moved and ran.

I wanted more .

I wanted to keep chasing her.

I needed to catch her.

My boots skidded across the damp soil as I pivoted, mirroring her. When we slowed, the bitter air seared my lungs, and my chest heaved with ragged breaths.

“Herbalist.”

She stood before me, heaving, her cheeks flushed and lips parted. Wild, untamed strands of dark hair clung to her face. The smudges beneath her amber eyes did nothing to dull the fire within them. She was still immersed in it, still exhilarated as I was, caught up in the thrill of the chase, as if she hadn’t just guided me through the most maddening pursuit of my life. My gaze dropped, and my breath hitched for an entirely different reason.

Her skirts lifted as she adjusted her stance, and for the briefest moment, there was a flash of skin. The smooth curve of her thigh, the taut muscle beneath pale flesh, flexed. Molten heat slammed through me in a violent, gut-wrenching pulse of desire. A need so intense and sudden it had my cock twitching, straining uncomfortably against my pants. The reaction was instant and visceral as my body betrayed me before my mind could suppress it.

In one swift motion, a dagger was unsheathed from its holster against her thigh as she suddenly dropped to her knees. Saints. It was effortless, strikingly graceful, and precise. Every movement was controlled. Heat licked up my spine. My pulse stuttered, and my teeth ground together as I sucked in a sharp breath, trying and failing to wrestle my thoughts back into focus.

The iron-laced smell of blood hit the air when a dark line split across her palm, glistening under the moonlight.

The world tilted.

My focus snapped, and my vision turned red. Everything inside me coiled as I braced against the force of the new sensation crashing through me. I inhaled sharply through my nose, but it did nothing to stop the twisting in my gut.

The words tore from me, angry and desperate. “What the hells are you doing?” She didn’t flinch. Blood dripped from her clenched fist, sizzling as it hit the vine at her feet. The muscle in my jaw locked so tightly it ached.

I focused on how the plant reacted to her blood, on her. Alric had been right. It was magic. And I had utterly fucking missed it.

“Magic,” she murmured, as if she had plucked the realization straight from my mind. Her bright, steady eyes met mine. “This is what has been poisoning them.” A pause. The weight of the truth settled between us. “They have been burning this in their wood.”

A smoldering fury washed over me.

“How the fuck did you know that?” I glowered, stepping closer.

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, I don’t know, Sinclaire,” she mocked. “Maybe it’s because I pay attention?”

Heat flared across my skin, my pulse still hammering. She was bleeding, crimson streaks marring the pale canvas of her skin, and instead of tending to it, she merely glared at me.

My jaw ticked as I took another step. “That doesn’t answer my damn question.” She must have placed it there. There was no way I could have overlooked this. There was no way she had found a solution while I had found nothing. She knew more than she was letting on. And I was determined to make her explain herself.

She scoffed and crossed her arms, letting her injured hand dangle carelessly. Blood dripped from her fingertips, dark and glistening. “Solving this is my job. I consider everything, not just what’s in front of me. Unlike you, who glares and threatens until everything falls into place.”

A slow breath dragged through my teeth.

She was challenging. Exasperating. Maddening.

Yet, the blood on her skin, the flush in her cheeks, the sharp snap of her voice… The frustration, that dark, twisting hunger, created an unbearable heat pooling in my stomach. I dragged a hand through my hair as my control continued to wane. My pulse was a deafening drumbeat in my ears, overwhelming reason. My vision narrowed until the world became nothing but the stark red of her blood against her skin.

I had killed men without hesitation. I had made them beg for death, drawn out their suffering until the only mercy left was the blade in my hand. But seeing her blood sent a rush of aggravation through me. Made my hands itch and my restraint fray.

It shouldn’t have.

My job was to protect her and ensure she completed this mission. That’s why it bothered me and why I was so damn close to losing control. I failed to protect her. That must have been it.

She managed one step before my hand shot out, locked around her wrist, and yanked her back hard. Her spine hit the tree with a dull thud, an impact that rattled through both of us. My grip secured her wrists, pinning them above her head. A sharp, pained gasp escaped her lips. My pulse quickened, and my breathing became rough. Quinn twisted against my hold, her amber eyes flashing. “What in the five hells is your problem?”

My free hand pressed against the tree beside her head, fingers curled around the rough bark as I enclosed her. “You knew what to look for,” I growled. “You recognized it before I did.”

She scoffed and tugged at her wrists again in a futile struggle against my grip. “I’m an herbalist,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “It’s my job to know. That’s why they sent me here, not just you.”

I leaned in closer, close enough to convey the weight of my presence and the unspoken threat. “No, Dilthen Doe.” My voice was a whisper of steel.

Her breath hitched.

“You ran straight to it,” I continued, my words a slow, deliberate blade. “You were faster than me. And you didn’t hesitate before cutting your hand to test it.”

When my words struck, her throat bobbed. Her pulse fluttered at the base of her neck, and Saints help me, I longed to feel it beneath my teeth. Quinn rolled her eyes, but a flicker of her pulse, a quick jump beneath her skin, betrayed her. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her voice dripped with mockery. “Should I have waited for you to scowl at it first, Sir Knight?”

My cheek twitched. “You put it there, didn’t you?”

She let out a laugh of disbelief. “Are you serious?”

The accusation thickened the atmosphere between us, making the space suffocating. Her eyes searched my face. She knew I wasn’t just suspicious. I was pushing her too far. Testing her. Watching for the slightest crack.

Her lips parted with a shallow breath as her expression shifted. Her brow arched, and her smirk deepened. “You think I orchestrated an entire curse?” Her voice dropped lower, rich with mock amusement. “For what? To frolic in the woods with you?”

The tension inside me frayed, unraveled, and became dangerous.

I was still hard, still aching from the chase and how she moved and ran as if made to be pursued. And with her wrists still locked in my grip, her body pinned against mine, I felt her. The heat of her. The shape of her pressing into me.

My control was tenuous.

I let the silence stretch between us as I absorbed the way her pulse thrummed beneath my fingers. We locked eyes, and I could taste the challenge in the air. “No,” I admitted, my voice rougher. “But I know you’re hiding more than you’re saying.”

Quinn’s smirk was a blade sliding from its sheath. “Funny,” she murmured, “I was about to say the same about you.”

My eyes burned with the warning that flickered in my gaze. I should have intimidated her. She should have shrank back, swallowed her words, and looked away. But her chin tipped up, daring me to push harder.

Audaci—o hi adaneth.

The audacity of this woman.

My grip tightened before I forced myself to release her. The instant my fingers left her skin, she pushed off the tree, shot me a glare, and then turned to stalk away.

Damn her.

I huffed a harsh breath, raking a hand through my hair. I had to find answers, which meant I needed to read her notes, search for clues that indicated she had been hiding something, and discover what the hells had concealed it.

Once there was ample space between us, I headed toward the village. By the time I returned, the streets were empty. The villagers still crowded the tavern, exhaustion weighing on the night in a thick shroud.

Low in the town square, a fire’s embers crackled quietly.

Quinn hefted an armful of logs toward the pit. The orange glow painted flickering shadows across her face. Soot streaked her cheeks, her skin glistened with sweat, and wisps of dark red hair curled at her temples. She grunted as she dropped the logs into place, stepping back to brush her hands against the rough fabric of her apron.

An unfamiliar tightness coiled in my chest.

Regret?

I scoffed inwardly. No.

Neryth strained against the rope at the well beside her. His muscles flexed as his hooves scraped against the stone, pawing for balance. His ears flicked toward her, and his nostrils flared as if he sensed a disturbance I hadn’t yet deciphered.

Pushing forward, I shouldered through the inn’s door. The heavy wooden slab thudded shut behind me, sealing out the night. I strode toward the table, spun the chair around, and dropped into it, straddling the worn wood. Quinn’s notes lay scattered across the surface. With every page, every scribbled formula, and every hastily drawn rune, the weight in my stomach sank lower.

She had unraveled it.

Every part.

My teeth ground together as another page turned, the parchment rasping under my fingers. She hadn’t just been guessing; she had proof and discovered connections I hadn’t even considered. She was right.

A curse escaped my lips as the book slammed shut. My fingers drummed against the leather cover of her journal. My thoughts spiraled back through every missed clue and overlooked sign.

Why had I not seen it?

I ran through it again, this time at a slower pace: the beliefs and traditions the village had abandoned, the symptoms, the patterns, the color, and smell of the logs, and the magic beneath them. Magic was present in the forest. Right in front of me, she sliced her palm and allowed her blood to drip onto the vine. I stood beside her, watching. But I missed it.

How?

Magic always left a mark. Even when concealed, dulled, or buried beneath layers of deception, it left traces: a shift in the air, a pull in the wrong direction, the weight of the unseen pressing against reality.

And I hadn’t sensed a damn thing. My stomach twisted. Someone had concealed the magic so well that even my Fae blood hadn’t detected it.

The implications set my instincts on edge and made the nape of my neck prickle. I sighed, rubbing my face before returning to Quinn’s notes. She had pieced it together without magic, without knowing what to look for—just her relentless, maddening logic and refusal to let anything slip past her.

I despised relying on others. I didn’t trust it.

Relying on others signifies weakness and vulnerability, and grants someone the power to let you down or betray you. I learned early on that trusting the wrong person could cost everything.

Heat licked beneath my skin as I pushed away from the desk. Crossing the room, I braced my hands against the window ledge. Quinn was still outside, hauling another armful of firewood. The firelight flickered around her, reminding me of the soot smudged across her cheek and the damp strands of hair clinging to her temples. Ash streaked her apron, dirt scuffed her boots, and quiet determination set on her features.

She was reckless, headstrong, and exceedingly clever.

And I needed her.

I pushed the door open, stepping into the cool night air. The scent of damp soil and lingering smoke clung to the square, mingling with the distant murmur of laughter spilling from the tavern.

Neryth’s hooves scraped against the stone. His ears flicked back, nostrils flaring as he stretched his neck toward Quinn. Above us, a cluster of crows perched along the rooftops, watching without a single chirp.

Quinn stacked logs with a steady rhythm, her movements precise but stiff. The fire crackled beside her, casting flickering shadows across the dirt. I stood a short distance away, arms crossed over my chest. “Why didn’t you make the others help?”

She lifted another log onto the pile. “I don’t need another arrogant man telling me what to do.”

My brow twitched.

Another?

I huffed, prepared to snap back, but the slight tremor in her hands halted me. The soot smeared across her fingers concealed the fresh burns, the raw patches where her skin had turned red. And she still hadn’t wrapped her stupid, cut palm.

A sharp pang of irritation flared in my chest.

“Do you only care about everyone else?” I bit out. “Or do you just enjoy being a hypocrite?”

That made her pause. She turned to me with furrowed brows. “Excuse me?”

Nodding toward her hands, I stepped forward. “You nagged me about my shoulder getting infected, yet here you are—burned, bleeding, and toiling while the men you healed are off drinking.”

Neryth stomped his hoof, and a crow ruffled its feathers above us as the rooftop watchers shifted.

Quinn scowled, flexing her fingers as if she had just realized how raw they were. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, you’re fine. Of course. Silly me.”

Her glare intensified as she curled her fingers to hide the worst of it. I couldn’t decide what infuriated me more—the reckless self-neglect or the realization that I actually cared.

Quinn’s eyes flashed, and her shoulders squared as if she were ready for a fight. “I said I’m fine. It won’t hinder my work.”

I tipped my head back, searching for the patience that had been lost to her. A sigh escaped me as I locked eyes with her again. “Oh, well, if it won’t hinder your work,” I gestured to the wood, “by all means, go ahead. Bleed all over the firewood.”

She stepped closer, jabbing a grimy finger at my chest. “If you were truly concerned, perhaps you should have offered help earlier instead of throwing accusations at me.”

I had half a mind to toss her over my shoulder just to silence her. A muscle in my jaw twitched. I forced a slow breath through my nose, attempting to ease the sharp edge of my temper. “This isn’t about that,” I gritted.

Quinn scoffed, brushing past me as though the conversation was over. She bent down to pick up another log, but her hands trembled under the weight. Red skin stretched tightly over her knuckles, and the burns contrasted sharply with the smudges of soot.

Stubborn, reckless adaneth.

I reached out and caught her wrist before she could lift it. She tensed but didn’t pull away. Her gaze flicked to mine, wary yet steady. Despite her exhaustion, the fire in her eyes remained undimmed. She set her jaw, her posture defiant, even as her body betrayed its limits.

Damn it.

“I was wrong.”

Quinn froze. Her lips parted. My chest tightened, and I let her go.

She blinked once and tilted her head. “What?”

“You heard me.” I resisted the urge to grind my teeth.

A beat of silence stretched between us before she lifted the log, walked past me, and let it fall onto the burning pile with a dull thud.

“Is that all? Nothing else?”

She dusted her hands on her skirts. “You expect me to what? Say thank you?”

My fists clenched at my sides. “Most people recognize an apology when they hear it.”

She looked at me with a raised brow. “You didn’t apologize.”

I scowled. “It was implied.”

Quinn chuckled softly, shaking her head as she returned to the logs. “Go to the tavern, Sinclaire.”

My irritation spiked again. “I am not—”

She cut me off. “You’re better off gathering information. Drunk men say foolish things. If something is wrong in this village, you’ll hear it there.” I hesitated, watching her pick up another log. The slight, unmistakable wince on her face revealed her pain as her burnt hand gripped it.

My jaw flexed as I fought the urge to argue, to force her to stop before she tore her hands apart completely. I knew better. Nothing I said would have prevented her from working. A slow breath escaped my lips. “Fine.”

The tavern keeper served me a steaming bowl of spiced venison stew, with dark rye bread and a tankard of honeyed mead. Roasted juniper, smoked meat, warm spices, ale, and sweat mingled in the heavy air. Laughter and slurred conversations rumbled through the packed room, voices rising and falling in a drunken cadence.

My stomach twisted with restless unease as I stared at the food. Had the herbalist eaten anything other than the nuts and seeds on the desk? Had she even slept beyond those brief, unintentional naps since our arrival?

My chest burned.

Why did I care? She was stubborn. She had made that abundantly clear. I didn’t owe her.

But the image of her face when I had pinned her against that tree refused to leave my mind. Her wrists were too delicate in my grip, and deep, exhausted shadows rested beneath her eyes. My jaw clenched tighter as I forced myself to cut into the meat, grounding my focus in the sharp tang of juniper and smoke, the slight burn of spice.

Focus.

Information.

The tavern swelled with carefree voices, men deep in their cups. My gaze drifted across the room, settling on a group of knights at the far end. Young. Intoxicated. Speaking too freely. I dismissed them.

Until I heard her name.

My grip on the knife tightened.

“…She’s got that look, y’know?” one of them laughed, downing his ale. “All prim n’ proper, actin’ like she’s too good for any of us.”

“She’s an herbalist, not a noble,” another scoffed. “Bet she’s just waiting for the right man to put her in her place.”

A slow, dark, heat knotted in my gut.

“The way she looked when Valdier had her by the jaw?” A low whistle pierced the tavern’s murmur. “I bet she’s feisty in bed.”

The world narrowed.

He what?

My mind went blank, then burned. One of them had touched her, and I hadn’t noticed.

I should have been more aware.

She should have informed me.

My thoughts clawed through every moment and every interaction. Did she flinch? Did her voice waver? Had I missed the signs?

I had pushed her, taunted her, and questioned her intentions. I hadn’t seen it. I hadn’t thought, even for a moment, that one of them might have touched her.

It pissed me off.

She had healed them, walked into their quarters alone, tended to their wounds, and hadn’t considered the danger. The thought never crossed my mind. My suspicions had occupied my thoughts, my damn arrogance had blinded me, and those bastards were laughing. They didn’t even realize how close they were to losing their teeth.

Why did it eat at me?

Because I knew what could have happened.

Or what already had .

She had recklessly walked into a chamber filled with knights, unaware of the weight of her vulnerability. Did she think they honored an unspoken code of decency? That men, hardened by war and raised in violence, saw her as more than an opportunity?

It was too vivid: the shift in their stance, the way they closed in, testing her nerves, hands brushing too closely under the guise of jest, one of them reaching, gripping, and the startled intake of her breath. A glance passed between them, unspoken but understood.

How far did it go?

The sickening thought burrowed, slithered, and spread in my mind.

She hadn’t mentioned it, hadn’t even hinted at it. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.

Fuck.

My jaw popped.

Forcing my fingers to relax, I drove the knife into my meal, slicing through the meat with deliberate precision. One wrong move, one slip, and I would lose control. I couldn’t make a scene here, but if he had done more, if any of them had, there wouldn’t be enough left of them to bury. The slow burn of my drink did little to dull the sharpness of my thoughts.

One of them laughed. “She’s got them big, pretty eyes, y’know? The kind that look up at ya all soft—”

“—or wild,” another chuckled. A violent heat gripped my spine. My fingers curled against the table, nails pressing into the wood.

I was going to fucking kill them.

“Healer’s hands are always nice. But hers? Soft. Even with all that work she does.”

“Did ya’ see how small her wrists are? Could pro’lly wrap a whole hand around ‘em.”

“Bet she likes that.”

A new surge of anger ignited within me and settled deeply in my bones. The tavern blurred, and voices twisted into static against the throbbing in my skull.

“Not sure what the fuss is about,” one of them scoffed. “She’d be pretty if it weren’t for her face looking like a dirty canvas.” I rolled my knife methodically between my fingers, my pulse steady but loud. My body knew better than to react too soon, but I was dancing on the thin line of self-control.

The man across from him smirked and leaned in. “But imagine her tied up. Held down. The look she gave Valdier, but it’s your hand on her jaw.” He released a low groan. “The way her eyes would roll back?”

My hand released the blade before my mind caught up. Steel whispered through the air, sliced past the bastard’s ear so close it severed a few strands of hair, and buried deep into the wooden beam behind him. Suffocating silence followed. The kind that thickened the air, pressed against the ribs, and squeezed the breath from lungs.

Chairs scraped against the floor as they rose to their feet, hands gripping the edges of the table. The casual arrogance they had displayed moments ago cracked and crumbled into a far more satisfying fear—anger. I met their eyes while my fingers tapped against the wood. Each thunk against the table served as a warning. Their chests heaved rapidly and shallowly while mine remained steady.

The heat in my blood cooled and intensified, becoming focused and quieter. A searing sting burned through my vision as silver blurred my peripherals. Their eyes widened, and their jaws slackened as recognition dawned on their faces.

They realized they hadn’t been speaking in the presence of another knight. Not a man who would let their words pass as harmless filth, nor another brute who laughed it off, shrugged it off, or sat by idly.

No.

They realized that I wasn’t a man at all.