Page 12 of Touch of Oblivion (Woven in Time #1)

Wren

W e stop just outside the door to my chambers and as he turns to face me, his shadows retract from my back, retreating back into the ink on his forearms.

His gaze rests on the dark wood of the door.

“Earlier…when you drifted. Did you remember something from your past?”

The question startles me more than if he’d barked it across the council chamber. It’s soft, almost hesitant.

His eyes lift to meet mine as my mouth parts, unsure what to say.

“I thought maybe you didn’t want to speak of it in front of Ilyria,” he continues. “But if you remembered something, I’d like to know.”

There’s no kingly arrogance or demand in his words. Just a gentle request, that he’s hoping I’ll fulfill.

I can’t, though–not yet. If I speak it aloud, and it never happens again, what does that make me? Unstable? Dangerous? Both?

“I don’t think it was a memory of mine,” I hedge, carefully choosing my words. My tongue darts to wet my lips before I continue. “I can’t explain something that I don’t yet understand myself, Azyric.”

My head is clear of the tingly effects of the alcohol, as if whatever occurred with those threads washed it away, though it left even more confusion in my mind in the wake.

His silver eyes narrow just slightly.

“Maybe I can help you understand, Wren.”

There’s a beat of silence between us before I lift my chin and hold firm to what feels right to me. “When it happens again– if it happens again–I’ll tell you about it.”

He’s taken me into his home, ensured I have food and clothing, and provided a semblance of safety for now, but I don’t owe him anything I’m not willing to give.

I wish he could see that I’m not withholding to be stubborn, but because I just want to feel like I have some semblance of control in a life that doesn’t even feel like it's mine right now.

A slow breath escapes him before he steps back and his shadows tighten around his body like a cloak.

“If you’re not on our side, Wren,” he murmurs, sending a chill down my spine with the ice encasing his words, “then you’re on theirs.”

And before I can speak, before I can say that’s not fair, or I’m trying –he’s swallowed by shadows and gone.

For a breath, I stand unmoving in the empty corridor before slipping inside the quiet of my room.

The fire burns low and the scent of warmed bread lingers.

The food waits untouched on the table, but I pass it by as I begin to pace, the soft fall of my footsteps the only sound in a chamber.

Back and forth I walk, fingers brushing across the carved edges of furniture and the worn tapestry beside the bed, as if contact with something solid might anchor the unsteady thoughts unraveling in my mind.

He wanted me to trust him and to stand by them.

A part of me wanted to.

As confused as I am by the threads and the scenes that played out, it’s overshadowed by these new feelings of connection simmering within me.

I saw something in Azyric tonight that wasn’t there before. Not just control or power or discipline, but care. For Ilyria. For me. He gave commands, yes–but beneath them I felt the echo of something quieter and reluctant, like a king trying not to betray the man buried beneath the crown.

Then there’s Ilyria, with her reckless grin and casual defiance…she’s carved out a place beside me so quickly it’s beginning to feel like I’ve always known her.

I want to stand beside them. I want to believe this is where I could cultivate a new life for myself, regardless of where I came from.

Yet something inside me curls in resistance, a deep, wordless thread of warning that pulses beneath my ribs. It’s not doubt in them, not entirely–but doubt in myself.

I don’t know enough about who I am or the world around me to make a decision to stay anywhere and pledge my allegiance to any side. Even if a part of me wants to.

I pause near the hearth, folding my arms against the faint tremble that begins settling in my limbs. The fire crackles quietly, casting flickers of warm light across the floorboards, but the warmth doesn’t reach the knot tightening at the base of my stomach.

Who was I before the world around me decided I didn’t matter unless I picked a side?

Eventually, I drift toward the wardrobe, hands unsteady as I fumble with the clasp of the borrowed dress.

The fabric pulls over my head in a slow, awkward movement, leaving the air cool against my bare arms. I choose one of the softer, large shirts Ilyria left for me–longer than the others and smelling faintly of a floral scent I can’t place.

I perch on the edge of the bed, letting the worn collar slip toward the curve of one shoulder as I pull a blanket onto my lap. The silence is heavier than before and I close my eyes.

I try to breathe in and out in an attempt to settle my erratic thoughts and the heavy weight of decisions that need to be made.

But my thoughts keep rising, unspooling one by one.

Azyric’s eyes catching mine across the dinner table.

The pulse of heat that moved through me when he raised his voice against his council– for me.

The way his shadows hovered like they didn’t know how to leave my side.

The memory of him tonight is sharper than it should be. He’s undeniably embedded in my mind.

My thoughts shift to the golden strands that bloomed from Ilyria’s chest, meant only for my eyes, it seems. I don’t know what would’ve happened if Azyric hadn’t pulled me back.

I don’t know what I did. Or if I did anything at all. Maybe I only witnessed something already written. Maybe I changed everything. Maybe I’m losing my mind and there’s nothing special about it at all .

I curl onto my side on the bed and face the wall, drawing the blanket up in an attempt to let my mind empty. The silence doesn’t recede. It grows closer until it practically breathes alongside me.

Still, my thoughts won’t let go. The scenes, the thread, the possibility of a future shaped not by war–but by a kiss, a spark, a decision.

A chill ghosts over the back of my neck.

I suddenly have the unmistakable sensation of being watched. It’s sharp and intrusive, like a breath being held just behind my ear, ready to blow along the shell of my skin.

Slowly, I turn toward the crackling hearth, eyes scanning the edges of the fire’s glow. The shadows gathered in the other corners are thick, still, too deep for the light to reach.

A shape peels away from the darkness, smooth and soundless, as if it had always been there.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

The deep voice is like silk brushing against my bare skin.

Riven.

My heart stutters, the air catching in my throat as I sit up quickly.

“Riven,” I whisper, exhaling a sharp breath as my pulse thumps wildly. “Do you always lurk in corners like that?”

His smile is small but unmissable–lazy, lethal, and a little amused. “Only when the person inside is worth watching.”

He steps out from the shadows, slow and deliberate, just far enough for the firelight to catch the sharp line of his jaw and the faint gleam of mischief tucked beneath all that polished control.

I don’t move. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to question my judgment,” he replies dryly, a flicker of that smirk returning. “But not long enough to regret it.”

His gaze holds mine, steady and unblinking, the red of his eyes glowing like embers plucked from the hearth itself. His chest barely rises with breath.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says to break the silence. “I…wasn’t expecting you to notice me so quickly.”

I remain where I am. Watching and waiting. “Why are you here?”

He tilts his head, the motion subtle as his eyes drag along my face and down to my exposed neck and shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep.”

A shiver rolls through my body, unbridled.

“That’s not an answer for why you are here .”

A ghost of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, more sin than sincerity. “It’s the only answer I have.”

He moves toward the chair across from the bed, letting his fingers brush along the carved edge of the backrest before taking the seat.

“I thought maybe walking the halls of my home would clear my head,” he murmurs. “It didn’t, and somehow I ended up here.”

His eyes drift toward the tray of food on the table before returning to me.

“You didn’t eat.”

My brow pinches. “Wasn’t hungry.”

Another beat of quiet stretches between us.

“The truth was that I was thinking about you,” he admits with a heavy sigh. “Which is why I now find myself states away from my own territory.”

That pulls a breath from me. The intensity that radiates from him whenever he looks at me or speaks about me should spark a bit of fear in me, but that isn’t what comes over me at all in this moment.

Just surprise, warm and sudden.

Perhaps a bit of intrigue, as well.

“You thought about me?” I ask softly.

He lifts one shoulder in a slow shrug. “Briefly…in passing.”

I narrow my gaze slightly, tilting my head. “And now that you’re here, what are you thinking about?”

His eyes don’t leave mine for a long moment. They’re steady and searching.

“Still figuring that out.”

I cross my arms, more to steady myself than to create distance.

“I suppose we can both stay awake together,” I murmur, lifting a brow. “For now.”

His smirk unfurls slowly, a lazy, dangerous thing that curves at the edges like smoke curling from a dying fire. It does something to my pulse I can’t quite rationalize.

“I didn’t realize you would be so accommodating. Perhaps I should have come earlier.”

I shrug, the motion casual, even though my heart rate is anything but. “Maybe I’ve always been this way, or maybe you bring it out of me.”

I don’t know why those are the words that spill from me. I didn’t sit and ponder what would be a safe response, unlike the pattern I had fallen into with Azyric.

For some reason, in Riven’s presence, all I’m focused on is the current moment.

At my words, his eyes narrow. Seconds later, the tips of his fangs protrude just barely.

“This is a dangerous game, little wren.”