Page 9

9

Oberon

THE MORNING LIGHT slanted through the high-arched windows, gilding the dust motes that swirled in the draft. The hush of dawn still cloaked the corridor. Beyond the walls, distant birds chirped, their sound a counterpoint to the steady echo of my boots.

The castle was waking, though sluggish. The guards shifted at their posts, murmuring among themselves. Their voices were a quiet undercurrent beneath the occasional rustle of servants moving through the halls. None of it demanded my attention.

With each step, a dull, persistent throb pulsed through my shoulder, serving as an irritating reminder of my former carelessness. I rolled it to test the stiffness, feeling the sharp and persistent tension pulling. It was possibly still bleeding, too. My jaw tightened, and I bit back a grimace.

The damned wound had been slow to heal. Now, I had torn it open again.

Calder would have forced me to go to the infirmary if she had seen me favoring it. The thought of enduring her inevitable lecture—her exasperated sighs, her pointed remarks about how I never let myself heal properly—was enough to steer me elsewhere.

I had no interest in dealing with the new herbalist any sooner than necessary; the forced pleasantries and her ability to conceal whatever thoughts ran through her mind were off-putting.

Calder and Alric spoke of her as if she were rare and trustworthy. They didn’t see what I did: the controlled and careful nature of her actions, the way she guarded her words. A darkness lurked beneath her surface that she wasn’t willing to show. She wasn’t just here to help or for the quince. Whatever motives she had for coming to this castle, I would uncover them.

My fingers flexed around the worn leather of her journal. I should have returned it to her the previous night. I should have closed it the moment I finished reading. But I had lingered, flipping through the pages long after I had memorized the parts that disturbed me. The words had sunk deep into my thoughts, a warning whispered too late.

As I approached the stables, the scent of hay and leather wafted through the crisp morning air. The aroma of damp soil and manure blended with the faint smell of rain. Sparrows flitted among the rafters, their tiny wings stirring up dust while a barn cat stretched atop a hay bale. Its tail flicked in irritation at the commotion of the awakening grounds. The familiar sounds of shifting hooves, the murmur of stable hands attending to their tasks, and the occasional snort of a restless mare filled the space.

I had readied Neryth earlier, tightened the girth strap, checked the bridle, and ensured the saddlebags were secure. The massive black destrier stood fully geared just outside the stable doors, his coat gleaming in the slanting light. His ears flicked, and his nostrils flared as he sensed my approach. He shifted his weight, and his muscles rippled beneath his dark hide, exuding the quiet power that had made him my only trusted companion.

A flash of movement beyond him caught my attention.

The herbalist stood at the edge of the stable doors, eyeing Neryth as though he were an insurmountable beast. Her fingers twitched at the hem of her uniform before she caught herself and curled them into fists. She didn’t know how to ride. It almost made me smirk.

Almost .

“Dilthen Doe.” My voice carried with my approach.

Her eyes snapped toward me, and the corner of her mouth pulled into a tight, forced smile. A flicker of irritation crossed her face, subtle yet satisfying.

Oh, good. She enjoyed this as much as I did.

The moment her eyes landed on the journal in my hand, her smile faltered, a brief crack in the mask she wore so well. Her shoulders stiffened, and her chin tilted higher, as if it could disguise the unease rolling through her. She met my gaze when I stopped a few paces in front of her. Her expression smoothed into glass. “Sir Sinclaire,” she greeted. She displayed a practiced steadiness but remained guarded.

I extended the journal to her. Her firm grasp suggested that she believed I might snatch it away. “Calder didn’t ask for permission before she handed over your notes.” It was a statement meant to convey that I could read her.

Her jaw tensed before she responded, “She told me Prince Alric needed evidence of my competence before she sent me to Silverfel.”

An indirect way to say no.

“Welcome to the Capital,” I scoffed. She didn’t know how things worked here if she thought this was an overstep. The sooner she learned, the better.

She had taken long enough to arrive, and standing around exchanging pleasantries was just wasting more time. I had no patience for unnecessary delays. I nodded toward Neryth. “I assume you can ride.”

I already knew the answer, but I relished the anticipation of watching that forced smile break.

“Yes.” Her response was immediate.

I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head, feigning consideration. “Alright then,” I said, gesturing to the horse. “Get on.”

Her lips parted as a flicker of hesitation crossed her face. I thought she might argue, but she squared her shoulders and stepped forward with stiff determination. She lifted her foot to the stirrup, her fingers gripping the saddle’s pommel with white-knuckled resolve. She hesitated for a breath, a moment of uncertainty.

She was hopeless.

Without giving her time to reconsider, I stepped behind her. My hands gripped her waist and lifted her onto the horse with little effort. Her layers of fabric concealed most of her form, but she was thinner than expected. There was strength, but not enough for someone accustomed to hard travel.

Neryth snorted beneath her as she shifted, adjusting in the saddle. I stepped back to observe how she settled, working to compose herself after the brief shock of being manhandled.

She released a startled sound, somewhere between a gasp and a curse, as Neryth stomped his hoof. There was no protest or immediate retort, only the gasp and the quick way she braced herself.

She wasn’t used to being handled, then.

She went rigid when I swung myself into the saddle behind her, as straight as a damn spear. She straightened, and her spine locked in place as if sheer stubbornness alone could prevent her from acknowledging our proximity.

“Hold on tight,” I said firmly. “If you think you might fall, lean into me. I’d prefer not to hear an earful from Calder because of your stubbornness.”

Her head turned, revealing the tension in her jaw. She likely wanted to deliver a sharp retort meant to create distance where there was none. But I didn’t give her the opportunity. With a flick of the reins, I urged Neryth forward.

The rhythmic pounding of hooves shattered the early morning silence as the deep, steady beats of Neryth’s stride echoed through the ground. The scent of wet leaves and turned soil was cool, carrying the lingering bite of dawn. Around us, the forest enveloped the world. Towering oaks and slender birches swayed in the wind, their golden-green canopy rippling like silk.

A soft mist clung to the ground in the shaded hollows where the sun had yet to reach, curling around the undergrowth. Birds stirred in the branches, their wings rustling against the leaves as they took flight. A frost hare darted across the path ahead, a blur before vanishing into the brambles. Somewhere in the distance, a raven’s low, throaty call echoed through the trees.

Quinn remained unmoved. She was still rigid. Too proud.

I huffed loudly enough for her to hear. “You ride as if you’re waiting for a blade in your back.”

The tension in her shoulders tightened even further.

She had gone silent. Her breaths were steady yet restrained, focusing on maintaining her composure. This was how she held herself, despite the fluid motion of the horse beneath us. It was control. She refused to let herself slip and insisted on not relying on anyone else to keep her upright.

Her stubborn independence would have amused me had I not been grappling with my own growing discomfort. I was accustomed to riding, to the speed, the rush of wind through the trees, and the ground’s pulse beneath thundering hooves. I lived for the thrill. However, I wasn’t used to sitting behind someone, feeling each shift, each breath, and every subtle movement of the person in front of me.

Her thighs pressed against mine with each stride. The proximity was unavoidable, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every bounce of Neryth’s gait rocked our bodies together, and no matter how much I tried to focus on the ride, the awareness settled deep in my bones. Unwelcome heat curled up my spine.

Quinn, of course, was oblivious to my distress.

She leaned forward and adjusted to the horse’s rhythm. Her hips swayed in time with Neryth’s movements, a gesture that was graceful in a way she probably didn’t even realize. I gripped the reins tighter, forcing myself to look ahead, only to glance back at her a second later. The gentle curve of her back, the way the fabric of her uniform molded against her frame, and how the strands of her hair whipped against my cheek with the wind were cool and silken. I shifted, cleared my throat, and adjusted the reins to keep myself occupied.

The faintest trace of herbs and the elduven tang of the infirmary still clung to her, mixed with that floral smell that was unique to her. The lingering chill of the morning air sharpened it and weaved it into the damp smell of the forest floor, of moss and fallen leaves. It was an oddly soothing combination.

Until she started talking.

Or rather, yelling over the pounding of hooves against the dirt path. “Are you always so pleasant in the morning, or is it just me?”

Hoping she would take the hint, I remained focused on the path ahead. At the very least, her constant chatter relieved the tension that had settled between us.

But I should have known better.

She interpreted my silence as a sign of encouragement. “I understand. You’re a big, brooding knight. You have to maintain that image.” She shifted her position. “But you could at least pretend to be friendly. Maybe even smile. Have you ever tried that? Smiling, I mean.”

My fingers flexed against the worn leather as I tightened my grip on the reins. She couldn’t sustain this forever. Her voice would eventually give out from yelling.

She kept proving me wrong.

“I bet you’re grumpy because you didn’t get enough sleep. You should take a nap when we arrive. Oh, wait. You probably sleep with one eye open, considering the whole perception thing and all.”

The corner of my eye twitched.

“Farn.”

Enough.

With a subtle flick of the reins, I urged Neryth forward in a sudden burst of speed. Quinn released a startled yelp, and her hands scrambled to grip the saddle.

For a blissful, perfect moment, there was silence.

“How rude!” Her head whipped to the side, eyes flashing as she scowled at me. I hissed through my teeth and bit back a groan as she twisted in the saddle to glare at me over her shoulder. “I’m sure most people have conversations while traveling; it could help pass the time.”

“I don’t need conversation,” I warned. “I need silence.”

“Well, I do.”

Of course, she did.

And judging by the smug, slight tilt in her voice, she knew how much she had grated on my nerves. She relished every damned second of it. A slow sigh escaped me, meant to ensure she heard my annoyance. If she continued to run her mouth, I had to steer the conversation to a more tolerable topic.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “Why?”

She twisted in the saddle as if she couldn’t believe I had responded. Then came that irritating, triumphant curve of her lips. “Oh, so you do engage in conversation,” she teased.

I shot her a look.

She cleared her throat. “Right. Why do I talk so much? It’s simple. I don’t like silence.”

I arched a brow. “Why?”

She shrugged, but it was too casual a gesture. “Because when it’s quiet, I overthink.” She sounded sincere. It was less that she wanted to provoke me and more that she revealed something she hadn’t meant to admit.

I should have left it at that and let the conversation die, just as I had with others I had cut short over the years. But I added it to the ever-growing list of things I should have done around her.

“Thinking about what?”

She hesitated, scrambling to push the information back behind whatever armor she wore, and sighed. “Oh, you know. Life. Death. The possibility that I could be thrown off this horse at any moment and break my neck.”

“Not if you hold on properly,” I scoffed

“So, you do care if I fall off.”

“I care about getting to Silverfel without having to scrape you off the ground halfway there.”

She snorted but didn’t press further. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at the treetops as we rode beneath them. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling her freckled face in shifting gold. “Well, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Why do you dislike conversation?” she ventured.

I huffed, redirecting my focus to the path. “People talk too damn much.”

She let out a hearty laugh. “I can’t argue with that!”

Neryth chose that moment to leap over a fallen branch. His powerful muscles contracted and released in one fluid motion. The impact of landing sent a jolt through us both. Quinn rocked against me, and her head collided with my shoulder.

A vicious pain lanced through me. I clenched my teeth, willing myself to stifle any reaction and breathe through it as I had a thousand times before. But it was too late. She turned her head, undoubtedly ready to make another witty remark. Except her eyes darted across my face, catching that breath of pain before I masked it. Her expression soured.

Damn it.

I groaned.

“Are you—”

“I’m fine.”

“Like hells you are,” she hissed. Her brows creased, and her lips formed a tight line. The expression warned of an impending argument that didn’t interest me. But it felt different this time—less irritation, more… concern.

Hearing her curse stirred unwelcome feelings within me, and I despised how unguarded it sounded coming from her, slipping past her lips without a second thought. The way it settled into my skin was an irritant I couldn’t shake. It grated against me in ways I didn’t comprehend. I had heard women swear before and was accustomed to it, thanks to Calder. But hearing it from her unsettled me, and I had no explanation for why.

She became rigid again and sank into a blissful silence.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, streaking the clouds in molten gold and ember-red. The light fractured through the canopy, dancing shadows along the path ahead. The air cooled, the smell of damp soil thickening as dusk crept in. Before us stood the uprooted tree, it was massive and gnarled, its roots twisting toward the sky and dense with dirt and stone. The trunk sprawled across the path, its bark weathered and stripped bare where rain and wind had battered it. Moss and fungi crept along its surface, evidence of its long slumber.

Quinn shifted in the saddle, breaking the silence. “Whoa.” Her voice carried a note of fascination as she took in the sight. “Did something knock it over? Or has it always been like this?”

“Storm took it down a long time ago.” I pulled the reins as I guided Neryth around the obstacle.

She hummed thoughtfully. Her eyes lingered on the fallen giant as she attempted to piece together a story from the way the bark had peeled and split. Silence settled again, heavier this time, until the skeletal remains of a village emerged through the trees.

Quinn pointed. “What is that?”

“Our midpoint,” I said tersely. “Emberhollow.”

“What happened there?”

I flicked a glance at her. Was her village under a damned rock? Was she even from Aurelith? “The uprising.”

Her posture shifted, the tension in her shoulders clear, and her fingers curled. “They didn’t talk about that back home,” she murmured. “If I could even call it that now.”

The way she said that didn’t sit well with me. I narrowed my eyes. “Most have seen it while traveling.”

“I didn’t leave the village until I left for the castle.”

That disarmed me. Her words bore a peculiar weight, not only in their expression but also in what remained unspoken. “Never?” I pried.

She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the town’s skeletal remains. The last of the sun bled across the horizon, its dying light painting the ruins in deep hues of orange and violet. The jagged remnants of rooftops jutted into the darkening sky like broken ribs, while the crumbling chimneys served as gravestones, unmoving guards of a place long lost to time.

I shouldn’t have been curious. I should have let the silence stretch between us while it lasted.

Unfortunately, I included that on the list of should-haves.

“Where are you from, then?”

The change was subtle: a slight tilt of her chin and a shift in her posture.

“It’s just a small village; you wouldn’t recognize it.”

Evasion.

I let the silence settle this time. Her fingers toyed restlessly with the edge of the saddle as if she needed to keep occupied. Naturally, she didn’t let the quiet linger with us long.

“Stop here,” she demanded.

My grip on the reins tightened. “We’re halfway to Silverfel. If we keep going, we’ll arrive by mid-morning. I’m not stopping.”

Quinn shot me a glare, and damn her, the heat of it curled straight into my gut. “If you won’t stop so I can assess the damage to your bleeding wound, at least stop because I need to piss, and my butt hurts,” she clipped.

I swept a hand across my face, inhaling sharply to stifle the growl in my throat.

Stubborn adaneth.

“Fine.” I pulled the reins and steered Neryth toward the river bordering the village’s outskirts. He huffed as I dismounted and reached up to help Quinn. She was anything but graceful about it. The moment her feet touched the ground, she stretched her legs and let out a murderous groan.

I tied Neryth’s reins to a low-hanging branch before her eyes burned into my back. When I turned, her hands gripped her hips, her chin lifted, and her eyes were full of intent. Ready for war.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groaned.

“You split it open while you were sparring with Garrick, didn’t you?” Her brows furrowed, and her lips pressed into a firm line. That stormy, relentless look was back. She was prepared to pry me apart piece by piece.

My brows pulled together, and my eyes narrowed while I studied her face. That was a remarkable guess. As if she could read my thoughts, she continued. “I saw you on my way to the greenhouse. As if your vanishing into the night wasn’t enough.”

Of course, she noticed. Her eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings like a trained scout, when I found her at the castle garden. I shouldn’t have expected anything less.

Shifting my weight to my good side, I scoffed. “I didn’t have time to sit around a miserable infirmary.”

Quinn closed her eyes and took a slow, deliberate breath, as if I were the one testing her patience. When she opened them again, they appeared calm and calculating. She wouldn’t let it go. “Why didn’t you go before we left?”

Because I didn’t want Calder prying into my business, and I wanted to avoid seeing her there before I had to see her every day. I rolled my shoulders with feigned indifference. “I didn’t want to deal with Calder nagging me.”

Her lips pursed before she muttered, “A lot of good that did you.” I expected more arguing, for her to keep digging, pushing, and demanding. Instead, she stepped around me and moved toward Neryth. Her fingers brushed against the buckles of the saddlebag, grazing the leather with deliberate intent, before she turned and glared at me. “Take it off.”

I scowled. “Excuse me?”

She raised an unimpressed brow. “Your shirt, Sir Oberon Sinclaire,” she articulated.

“I’m fine.”

She stepped closer. “You’re bleeding through it.” I glanced at my aching shoulder. Small, undeniable dark blotches seeped through the fabric.

Quinn crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one side, watching me with an expectancy that made my blood heat. “You can either remove it yourself, or I can remove it for you.”

I huffed a quiet, bitter breath. “You’re insufferable.”

She smiled sweetly. “And you are terrible at hiding injuries. Take. It. Off.”