Page 23 of Touch of Oblivion (Woven in Time #1)

Sylvin

T he halls of the castle are eerily quiet tonight.

Frost curls along the edges of each arched corridor in spiraling, deliberate patterns, glittering beneath the suspended orbs of light that hover near the ceiling like low stars.

The walls gleam in soft tones of blue and white, lacquered stone catching moonlight through the high, beveled windows.

The castle has never looked more regal, more precise.

So why does it all feel perfectly misaligned?

Wren walks beside me, her steps unhurried, her silence pressing heavier than it should. She holds her arms loosely across her midsection, fingers shifting against her bare arms as though warding off a chill she isn’t acknowledging.

I don't think she’s afraid–she never seems to be–but there’s a quiet unrest to her tonight.

She has always met discomfort with mettle made of steel and words of honesty, yet tonight she doesn’t even meet my gaze.

I glance at her again, more subtly this time. The light catches the edge of her cheek, painting the curve of her jaw and lips. She’s beautiful, but beneath that, she’s unsettled.

My magic is quiet, but not at rest. It skims beneath my skin, slow and coiled, as though waiting for a thread to tug it loose. I’ve always listened to my gut, and right now, I know something isn’t right…not just for Wren, but myself, as well.

Still, I say nothing, not wanting her to feel I’ve become too overbearing after having her in my court for mere minutes.

We round the final bend in the hall, and I slow my steps as we reach the set of dark-brown double doors carved from the local western hemlock.

The veined with silver from the ward I imbued come to life with my approach.

I extend a hand toward them, magic responding instinctively to my touch as the locks release with a muted hiss.

“I prepared these chambers for you the first night I returned to court after meeting you,” I say evenly, my voice lower than intended. “Something told me you’d find your way here…eventually.”

The doors ease open, revealing the room within.

The chamber is large, circular in shape, with a domed ceiling painted in enchanted starlight that shifts subtly with the real sky.

The bed is raised on a low platform, draped in layers of navy velvet and silver-threaded linens.

A balcony curves along one wall behind glass-paned doors, and from there, the snow-drenched mountain peaks loom.

She steps inside slowly, her gaze sweeping the space. Her shoulders remain tight and her fingers twitch at her sides, like she’s restless.

I stay in the doorway, watching her with a calm I do not feel.

This was meant to be a gesture of hospitality. Perhaps something more, though I’ve never admitted it aloud. I don’t decorate rooms for guests. I don’t have the patience or the inclination. But this room…this one I saw in my mind the night I returned from the wraith lands, with her in mind.

I expected to find satisfaction in finally bringing her here. Instead, I find unease.

She pauses just in front of the balcony doors, one hand lifting to rest lightly against the frost-glazed glass, and I speak before I can stop myself.

“You’re unusually quiet,” I say, tone careful. “Are you feeling well?”

She doesn’t answer, and for a split-second I can’t help but wonder if swaying her to come here was the wrong decision. This isn’t the version of her that draws me. The quiet strength that flashes in her narrowed gaze. The dry wit to her words when she disagrees with any of us.

Here in my castle, she seems like a ghost of that Wren.

Just as I turn to go, her voice stops me.

“Thank you, Sylvin.”

I glance back and find her watching me, her gaze less distant, like some small part of her wanted to be sure I heard that softness before I left.

I incline my head in answer, then step through the doorway, pulling it closed behind me.

The door clicks shut, sealing the space between us.

Despite that glimpse of softness, the weight of her silence follows me down the hall like a shadow I can’t shake.

The war room is waiting for me when I arrive, cast in low light and silence.

The doors part at my approach, pushed open by magic, and the moment I step through them, every man and woman around the table rises to their feet.

Their postures are sharp and respectful, lowering their heads as I pass by them.

Maps are scattered across the wide table in the center, glowing faintly with tracking enchantments that trace the faction's borders and all of the other kings’ movements–and Wren’s– in real time.

Not only did I have my general from the Spring Court create that building for our meeting, but I had them build a tracking spell into the ground beneath it, for all who stepped foot there.

Distrust runs deeply between the magical factions, and they won’t believe me if I tell them I did it to track them for safety purposes.

Therefore, I’m in no rush to tell any of them about my little trick.

I cross the room with measured steps, every gaze tracking my approach, and take my place at the head of the table without acknowledging the weight of their attention. Only once I’ve settled my hands on the edge of the table, fingers splayed, do I nod. “At ease, generals.”

Chairs scrape quietly as they lower themselves into place again.

The cold hums through the floor, through my skin, through the magic curling low in my veins. I let it anchor me. I need clarity and focus now, but my thoughts keep drifting to the woman I left behind in the frost-lit hall, especially when I can see her pacing on the map.

Each of the four barons seated before me represents one of the seasonal courts–Winter, Spring, Summer, and Autumn.

They wear different colors beneath their cloaks and hold different scents in the air around them–sun-warmed citrus from Summer, dewy-moss from Spring, dry spice from Autumn–that signal their born courts .

But here, in my court, they move in sync as my generals.

They serve as conduits between me and the courts they belong to, and their loyalty is a thing I demand without apology.

My eyes track across them, settled in the respect I see shining in their eyes as they meet my gaze unflinchingly. They answer to the duke or duchess that presides over each court, who in turn, answer to me, the High King of all fae.

Each time a court changes hands–when a duke or duchess dies, or is deposed–the mantle of High King or High Queen is reevaluated.

I’ve held the title for over a century now, longer than many expected.

I was the youngest to ever claim the position, but the power within me is undeniable, and by fae law, the strongest must lead.

“Report,” I say, settling back slightly in the high-backed chair.

Baron Ravik of Autumn leans forward first, his amber eyes flicking toward the map as it shifts to display the western coast in motion. Ships still hover there, frozen mid-passage.

“The ice barriers held,” he says. “The humans didn’t anticipate our magical reach and the Winter fae have reinforced the layers every two hours.”

“Casualties?” I ask instinctively, though I already know the answer from general Grayson .

“None,” my own court baroness, Lysira, confirms. “They were stalled at sea, too far for archers or combustion weapons to reach us.”

The map pulses softly as it updates itself, yet nothing moves.

Good.

“They sent six ships,” murmurs Baron Elion of Spring, his tone dry. “Aggressive for a test incursion. Desperate, perhaps, to show the rest of the world they are capable of defeating a magical faction.”

“Or pure arrogance,” mutters Baroness Cirelle of Summer, flicking her golden braid back over one shoulder.

A beat passes in the silence before I speak again.

“Do any of you sense…interference right now?”

They glance at one another.

“Magical interference?” Elion clarifies.

I incline my head. “A glamour, perhaps. Subtle, but layered. I can’t place my finger on it, but it feels like we aren’t seeing all that we should.”

Lysira frowns. “I’ve felt no such thing, my king. Our barrier enchantments around our court remain undisturbed.”

Cirelle and Ravik both shake their heads.

Elion hesitates, then exhales. “Perhaps the nerves of hosting our new guest has unsettled you.”

It’s bold of him to say it out loud, as it practically announces that I have a weakness in her, but I respect his candor.

I lift one brow. “Perhaps.”

But I don’t believe that’s the source.

“We portaled back to our respective territories after the initial alert,” Ravik offers, his voice as composed as ever. “There were no incursions near the Autumn Court, though our only human border is from Canada, which as you know, remains the most peaceful of countries, for now.”

Cirelle nods. “The Summer Court remains undisturbed in California. Our sea routes are quiet, despite the humans occupying Alaska and Hawaii.”

Elion stretches slightly in his seat, his green-trimmed coat perfectly crisp despite the late hour. “Spring is calm as well.”

“Very well,” I say, voice as smooth as a blade sheathed in velvet. “Then this threat belongs to Winter to handle.”

A sharp knock raps against the chamber doors.

Lysira lifts one brow as if questioning if she should let them enter, but I’ve already turned and given the command. “Enter.”

The scout who steps inside is dusted with frost, his breath still visible in the air from whatever portal he came through. He bows low, respectfully, but not without urgency .

“My king,” he says, voice clipped. “A new report from the northern watch.”

I nod for him to continue.

He straightens, expression tightening. “The ships remain frozen, as expected, but they’ve begun unloading from the ships. The humans are disembarking and…crossing the ice.”

The temperature in the room drops almost imperceptibly as my anger swirls.

“They’re moving on foot?” I ask quietly between clenched teeth.

“Yes, my king. Across the ice field and toward the beaches on our coast.”

The chamber stills, but it’s the quiet inside me that tightens first.

Across the ice.

Across my ice.

A decision that borders on madness.

They would’ve known it wasn’t just frozen water beneath them from our display of power, and yet they still choose to risk their lives to cross it.

I never thought humans entirely absent of brain cells, only that they have far less than the magical.

I stare down at the map as the inked silhouettes begin to shift across the pale illusion of the coast, small black marks inching forward on a frozen sea.

This is a suicide mission for them.

The realization settles sharply in my chest .

They don’t care if they die, as long as they make us bleed alongside them.

We showed them mercy, despite their attempt at an attack.

That ends now.

A cold pressure unfurls behind my sternum, so gradual I don’t notice until the frost creeps out again from beneath my boots.

The room is quiet, awaiting my orders.

I exhale slowly. “I see.”

The words are quiet, but they echo.

I rise in a single, fluid motion.

“Deploy no one,” I say, already moving from my seat. “I will handle this, once and for all.”

The portal opens before me with a breath of magic and a snap of cold.

I step through without hesitation, boots striking hard onto frost-laced stone. The air on the other side bites with heavy gusts of wind along the coast, carrying with it the scent of the sea.

The cliffs stretch before me, jagged and black beneath the moonlight, their edges rimmed with a sheen of enchanted ice. Below, the Pacific churns in slow, muffled waves beneath a frozen layer of water. Snow falls in quiet flurries, catching the light with every twist of the wind.

My guards are already stationed along the upper ledge, a silent line of silver and steel. They bow their heads as I pass.

I walk to the edge without pause and easily see them–dark shapes like ants moving sluggishly across the ice, advancing in clusters. Their ships wait behind them like frozen carcasses in the water. Six hulking shadows, glazed in frost, held tight in winter’s snare.

Fools.

I let the wind sharpen as I lift my hand, magic rising with it–not in a rush, but in a deliberate pull, a call to every elemental thread this land has ever known. The ice responds first, and I feel as every inch of the ice beneath their feet answers to me, eager to do my bidding.

They came here to bleed my people.

I’ll let them drown, instead.

My magic coils tighter in my chest and I let them come just a little farther from the safety of their ships. There will be no retreat.

The snow responds to my command next, kicking up into flurries that obscure their sight, just before I slowly curl my hand shut, calling for the ice to crack beneath them.

A sound like the world splitting open snaps through the night. The ice fractures beneath them in a sudden bloom of veins, wide and gleaming, spidering across the surface in a flash of silver-blue light.

Some try to run and others freeze, but it makes no difference, they’ll all meet the same fate. I just wanted to hear their screams of fear first.

With a single breath, I bring my hand down, willing the ice to melt into the lapping water beneath.

Sheets of frost retract beneath their boots, plunging them into the dark water below, only for me to lift my hand, palm up now, willing the same ice to form above them, sealing them into their final resting place.

Still, I am not finished.

I lift my other hand toward the ships that linger behind, looming silhouettes still locked in the frost.

Ice spears erupt from the depths, splitting hulls open with clean, devastating efficiency.

Metal shrieks under pressure as the vessels begin to tip, but I don’t allow them to simply sink.

The ice wraps around them, curling up and through every crevice.

Only then do I order it to pull them down into the depths of the ocean to rest alongside those on foot.

I watch the ships slowly disappear until water laps over the destruction in smooth, rippling waves.

As a scream echoes faintly across the expanse, I will the ice to lock them under.

I turn from the cliff without looking back.

“You shouldn’t have come for my people.”