Page 16

16

Eden

CANDLE SMOKE FILLED the air, mingling with the cloying scent of perfume. It enveloped me in a dense, suffocating fog. My dress was too tight; the corset dug into my ribs, making each breath feel stolen rather than given.

I sat stiff-backed at the dining table, my hands folded neatly in my lap and my nails digging into my palms. Across from me, my father swirled his glass of amber liquid while he scrutinized me with sharp, assessing eyes. My mother’s fingers rested on my shoulder, a gentle weight that felt like a shackle.

Stay still. Stay quiet. Be what they require you to be.

“You’re lovely,” Marcus murmured, his voice silken and sweet, poison in honey. I tensed when he reached for my hand. His fingers ghosted over mine before curling around them. He held me as if I were something delicate or breakable—a thing to be cherished.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“Like something crafted,” he continued, his grip tightening. “Sculpted. Almost too perfect to be real.”

My stomach twisted. Gods, I wanted to pull away, but I knew better. I understood what would happen if I embarrassed them, so I remained still and quiet.

Somewhere behind me, the faint crack of a whip rang out in the silence, and I flinched.

Marcus chuckled, and his voice curled around me like a noose. “Nothing to say? No need to be shy, Darling. A girl like you,” the whip cracked again. My throat tightened as I dug my nails deeper into my palm. “—was made to be adored.”

My breath hitched, and my pulse hammered into my skull.

Liar.

My father sighed with annoyance. “Don’t be ungrateful, Eden.”

My mother’s nails dragged along my arm. “Smile. Please, just smile.”

I tried, but it felt like swallowing glass.

Marcus lifted a hand to brush the hair behind my ear so soft and slow, like the knight had. I flinched harder this time. His expression darkened, and the room suddenly felt wrong. The candlelight flickered, casting a warped glow over his features, and shadows twisted across his face.

The whip cracked again, closer now. The walls curled inward. Marcus’s grip on my hand became iron. The shadows behind him stretched, turning monstrous.

“Why do you look so scared?” Amusement played at the edges of his insensitivity. “Don’t you know? You are mine, Eden.” The darkness swarmed and swallowed everything but his emotionless, hungry eyes.

“You should be grateful,” my father’s voice rasped from beyond the abyss.

“You should be honored,” my mother whispered. The sound was ice against my ear.

No. No, no, no.

The whip cracked and split the air as if it had struck my skin. My mouth opened in a scream.

I woke up with a gasp. My body trembled, and my wrists ached. My chest heaved as my lungs strained for air that felt too heavy for them to hold.

The room came into focus. Dim candlelight illuminated wooden beams, and the air carried the scent of smoke and old parchment. Not that dining room or that mansion. I was at the inn, far from Wickloe, far from them.

My eyes landed on Oberon’s.

He sat on the floor beside the bed, his dark eyes searching my face with furrowed brows. His fingers pressed against my arm.

Had he been trying to wake me?

I swallowed hard. My heart throbbed in my chest, and my throat was dry and raw. I tried to look away, grounding myself in the candlelight, the worn blanket tangled around my legs, and the distant sound of footsteps. Not on the crack of a whip or the sound of his voice that replayed in my mind.

Oberon remained still and silent. He simply waited. I clenched my hands against the sheets. I needed to say something to reassure us both that I was present. But I could only muster a raspy whisper when I finally spoke. “I’m okay.”

We made eye contact again, and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t look the least bit convinced. “I’m fine,” I said, unsure if I was trying to convince myself or him. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine.

It was anything but fine.

The echoes of the nightmare still gripped me. The faint crack of the whip continued to resonate in my mind, and the scars on my back had reopened into fresh wounds. The weight of Marcus’s hand against my skin remained palpable. His way of always calling me “Darling” suggested that he believed I belonged to him—a possession, a prize to display on his shelf.

A shudder ran through me, urging the memories to fade. Oberon’s fingers flexed. I had been trembling. His voice was hushed and cautious. “Liar.” I pushed myself upright with a shaky breath.

My cheeks were damp.

I froze.

When did I cry?

A laugh bubbled up, sounding forced. “Gods,” I muttered, dragging the heel of my palm across my face to wipe away the evidence. “That must have looked dramatic.”

I hated the way Oberon looked at me. It stripped me bare and made me feel exposed, as though he could dissect everything I didn’t say—everything I wanted to bury. I took another deep breath and released a lighter laugh. “You can let go now. I’m awake, see?” I waved my hand in the air, attempting to appear nonchalant and conceal that I had crumbled in my sleep.

My jaw slackened as I stared at my hand, and I frowned. The cuts and burns had been bandaged. I didn’t do that. I intended to, but fell asleep when my head touched the bed. I didn’t even remember dozing off.

My eyes darted to Oberon’s, and the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding collapsed in my chest. The intensity of his gaze and how he saw through me was overwhelming. A fresh wave of tears welled up in my eyes. I gritted my teeth, but the more I tried to suppress it, the worse it became.

Shit.

I ripped my gaze away from his with a sharp inhale, blinking at the wall, the floor, anywhere but him. “Can you do anything besides stare at me?”

Oberon made a sound just short of a scoff. His grip on my arm tightened briefly before he let go and leaned back. “Forgive me for ensuring that you were still breathing,” he muttered.

A weak laugh escaped me, but it didn’t hide the tremor in my voice. “I’m fine.”

THE FRESH MORNING air nipped at my skin as I rolled my shoulders, stretching my arms overhead to shake off the lingering stiffness of sleep. My breath fogged in the pre-dawn light as I exhaled, pretending to breathe smoke to mask my unease. Beside me, the horse’s hooves scuffed against the dirt as Oberon secured the last of our supplies. The sounds of leather straps tightening and buckles fastening filled the quiet between us.

“How far is Vaelwick?” I asked, rubbing the horse’s neck. Its warmth seeped into my fingertips, providing a grounding sensation against the morning chill.

Oberon gave the strap one final tug before answering. “Close,” he grumbled, his voice rough from the early morning air. “But it’s across the river. We should arrive by sunrise.”

I nodded. A small wave of relief eased the tightness in my shoulders. At least we didn’t have to pass through Emberhollow again—no monstrous Ashenmaws lurking in the mist as they called for blood. The memory still clung to me, the phantom sensation of their piercing shrieks reverberating in my bones.

That had passed.

The nightmare had ended.

Oberon noticed the change in my expression and gave me a pointed look. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he warned, his tone laced with unspoken caution. He didn’t elaborate. He would have said more if it had been important… wouldn’t he?

I relaxed my grip on the saddle as we crossed the main path. The dirt road winding through the trees was a ribbon of shadow in the dim light. I took one last glance at Silverfel.

The heavy, stifling fog that covered the village when we arrived had lifted. The air was clearer now, lighter, as if the land had been holding its breath and could finally release it. A hollow stillness remained, the quiet after something dark had passed, leaving only memories. The thing we faced, the illness that had clawed through the village, had become insignificant. A memory. A nightmare that would fade with time.

Whatever lay ahead for us in Vaelwick was unlikely to be more dreadful than that. Blighted harvests and creatures disappearing into the forest were problems we could manage. Such issues didn’t seize your mind and linger long after your safety. They were commonplace enough.

NIGHTFALL DRAPED OVER the woods in deep blues and grays as we drew closer to the river. Silhouettes of trees reached toward the sky. The distant rush of water filled the silence, a whisper that only intensified the quiet between us. The air carried the scent of the river mixed with moss, wet leaves, and an unfamiliar metallic tang beneath.

I shifted in the saddle, my fingers wrapping around the worn leather reins. The unease that had settled in my stomach churned, making it impossible to sit still. My body remained tense, every muscle bracing for danger.

“So,” I broke the silence, my voice sounding too loud in the hush of the woods. “How big is Vaelwick? Is it bigger than Silverfel or smaller? Do they have an inn, or are we—”

“Herbalist,” Oberon warned quietly. The alert set my nerves on edge. He dismounted in one fluid motion. His boots touched the ground silently, his movements precise and deliberate. He crouched low, fingers skimming the dirt, and his sharp gaze flicked over the underbrush.

“What—”

He silenced me with a single glance, and my pulse quickened. I followed his line of sight but only saw the tangled undergrowth, the dark shapes of branches shifting in the faint breeze. A threat lurked nearby that he sensed, but I didn’t.

A lump formed in my throat.

Oberon’s jaw tightened when his fingers brushed against the ground again. Then, with casual efficiency, he pulled a dagger from his belt and slashed downward. A sharp snap echoed as a thin, invisible cord recoiled into the brush, disappearing into the darkness. A trap. My grip on the saddle tightened as tension filled the air.

We weren’t alone.

A hiss pierced the night.

The arrow whispered through the air and brushed against my skin, the only warning before it zipped past my ear, narrowly avoiding my shoulder. The world lurched. I flinched, ducking, my breath caught between my ribs. My heartbeat throbbed in my skull.

Oberon shoved himself onto the horse behind me in one smooth, hurried motion, the warmth of his presence searing through my back. My breath turned shallow. Whoever had set the trap and watched us from the shadows had closed in.

Oberon’s voice rang out above the thunderous sound of hoofbeats. “Take the reins!” he barked, capturing my attention. The demand surprised me, but I focused on the gleaming knives fanned between his fingers, which I hadn’t seen him draw.

My pulse faltered. My voice was muffled by the wind and the pounding of hooves. “Where did those come from?” I shouted.

The muscle in his jaw jumped, irritation flashing in his silver-flecked gaze. “Take the damned reins, Herbalist!”

“I don’t know how to—”

“Then learn!”

Another arrow flew past. Oberon twisted at the last second, but the tip grazed his cheek, leaving a thin line of crimson behind. He held my wide gaze without flinching.

Panic gripped me as I scrambled for the reins. I almost missed them due to the trembling in my hands. The leather straps felt foreign in my grip, slick with sweat and rain. I didn’t know how to sit on a horse, let alone steer one. The gravity of the moment crashed over me. If I lost control, we would die.

The horse jolted beneath us, spurred on by the chaos. The sudden lurch sent me rocking sideways, my grip slipping. Behind me, Oberon became a living weapon, his knives striking true. The pained groans of our pursuers blended with the sickening thunk of metal meeting flesh. The sound caused my stomach to lurch.

Gods.

We hadn’t outrun them.

We barreled straight for the river.

A flicker of movement ahead made my breath seize in my throat. The dark water stretched before us, glassy and endless, with no sign of a bridge or way across it.

We were trapped.

My stomach plummeted. “Sinclaire!” I choked out. “There’s no bridge!”

“Jump it!”

“What?” My voice pitched in panic. “Are you out of your mind?”

We rode too fast, and the river was too wide. Our chances of making that jump were slim to none.

Oberon stirred behind me, pressing forward until his chest pressed against my back. His arms ensnared mine, anchoring me in place. His warm breath brushed my ear as he growled, “Brace yourself.”

He snapped the reins.

The horse let out a fierce cry and surged forward. The force yanked me from the saddle and threw me against Oberon as the warhorse dug its hooves into the ground, propelling us toward the edge with terrifying speed. The wind lashed against my face, and my lungs felt constricted in my chest.

The ground disappeared.

Weightlessness enveloped us.

For a moment, no sound or movement lay beneath us—only the vast expanse and the dark maw of the river. My stomach flipped, my breath halted, and my whole body tensed as we soared through the air.

The far bank loomed closer.

Hooves struck the soil near the riverbank. The force rattled through me, snapping my teeth together. The horse skidded, sliding in the mud, as the weight of two riders threw it off balance. My heart lurched, and my fingers clenched the reins in a death grip. When we crashed to the ground, the destrier quickly recovered. Its muscles convulsed as it heaved itself forward and regained its footing.

We made it.

The shaking rattled my bones. My breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps. My eyes were glued to the river, as if staring too long might rewind time and reveal that we had plunged into the water and drowned.

Oberon’s hands still covered mine on the reins. His grip remained firm, his warmth the only thing anchoring me here. He pulled back first, gazing at the tree line and scanning for movement. He stayed ever-vigilant and ready to fight.

My voice rose above a whisper. “How did we make that?” My heart pounded in my ears. “Gods, you are truly deranged.”

Oberon tore his gaze away from the trees and met mine. “Any other horse would have landed us in the river—or left us stranded, fighting off bandits. But Neryth isn’t just any horse.”

I blinked.

Neryth. The name was unfamiliar, yet fitting.

When my gaze shifted to his face, I was drawn to a thin, fresh line of red streaked just above his temple. Another cut I hadn’t even noticed occurring. A frustrated breath escaped from me. I should have been aware. His injuries were a consequence of my hesitation.

Oberon turned his gaze to me, his brows furrowed. “What?”

I sighed and shook my head. “You’re collecting injuries at this point.”

His expression settled into that familiar deadpan stare. “You’re one to talk.”

A breathless chuckle escaped me, easing the tension in my chest. “I suppose so.”

Without another word, Oberon leaned forward again, reclaiming the reins. His hands brushed against mine, his calloused fingers grazing my knuckles as he flicked them, guiding Neryth into the woods. His movements seemed effortless, and his composure remained unshaken.

I was captivated by the way he wielded those knives as if they belonged in his hands. The blades fanned between his knuckles with effortless precision, not a man holding a weapon but a man extending his fingers.

The knights didn’t carry ranged weapons, did they?

And the trap… he hadn’t hesitated or second-guessed. He knew what to look for. Drills and honor-bound battles didn’t teach that awareness. Did they?

I turned enough to glance back at his uniform. The dark fabric blended with the night, shifting alongside the flickering shadows. Such armor was unlike any knight’s armor I had ever seen—too flexible, too subtle, designed for movement rather than defense. It allowed him to vanish into the darkness as if it were a part of him.

It wasn’t the armor he wore while escorting me to the infirmary on my first night at the castle. That armor had been ornate, designed to intimidate—obsidian plates, pauldrons etched with gilded vines, and a helmet crowned with horns that made him appear more beast than man. It had been a performance, a deception of power, as if the elaborate design allowed him to look the part well enough to distract.

But now, the gilded facade had vanished. There was no unnecessary weight. Practicality drove every piece, designed for function rather than spectacle. This armor’s purpose wasn’t visibility but survival—moving low and making the first strike.

It didn’t resemble a knight’s gear but that of a hunter.

And his horse. The damned creature was massive. Did knights ride such beasts? Warhorses demonstrated strength, yet Neryth surpassed that. He embodied a being crafted for endurance, speed, and battle. He carried Oberon as if the weight of armor and weapons were negligible. As though his training had gone far beyond mere battlefield charges.

A low rumble echoed in the distance, pulling me from my thoughts. I lifted my gaze to the sky. Thick clouds obscured most of the stars, a heavy curtain blocking the moon’s glow. The sky had been clear earlier.

Oberon must have sensed my shift in tension. “Great. As if tonight weren’t miserable enough,” he muttered.

Though I agreed, someone had to keep up morale. “I think the night has been rather… exciting.” Oberon groaned as if I had spoiled his evening. I held back a grin. “Do you think we’ll reach Vaelwick before it rains?”

A pause long enough for me to know he was considering something. “I doubt it. There are several abandoned buildings in the area. We can stop at one until the storm passes.”

I frowned. Abandoned buildings? The density of the trees concealed the path ahead. How did he know that? I turned in the saddle to peer back at him again, narrowing my eyes. “And how do you know that?”

His focus remained ahead, but his jaw tightened. “I know things.”

“Oh, how reassuring, Sinclaire. That clears up everything,” I scoffed.

This time, he glanced at me, allowing me to catch the scowl in his now onyx eyes before he looked away. “I scouted the area once. A long time ago.”

I gazed at him, unimpressed. That might have meant anything coming from him.

When? Why? With whom?

I wanted to press further, to dissect the vagueness of his answer, but exhaustion weighed more heavily on me than curiosity. Investigating would have to wait until my head no longer ached and I wasn’t drenched in sweat from yet another near-death experience.

Tilting my head, I studied him with a smirk. “Do you have any other emotions, or is being grumpy your entire personality?”

Oberon expelled air through his nose, burdened by a deep sense of impatience. “Do you ever let people think in peace?”

I gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting your deep, brooding reflection? Perhaps you’re having an existential crisis?”

His grip tightened on the reins. “Just keep your eyes ahead, Herbalist.” With a huff, I shifted my focus to watch the darkened road stretch endlessly before us. The strain between us had settled into the familiar rhythm we fell into when the silence made me wary: me needling him with questions and him gritting his teeth through it.