Page 28 of Touch of Oblivion (Woven in Time #1)

Wren

T he core of the Summer Court breathes around us, golden light filtering through a canopy of trees that seem to sway with no wind at all. Heat hums low in my bones, not unpleasant, just ever-present. Thick vines spill down from natural archways, heavy with fruit and blooms.

Children dart between the large, sprawling roots, laughter trailing behind each of them.

I didn’t expect comfort from a fae court, yet that’s all I feel here.

The Duchess walks beside me in silence, hands clasped behind her back as each of her steps stirs new flowers to bloom in her wake. She’s quiet, but it doesn’t feel empty, just like continued reverence.

Then I see him.

Sylvin crouches in the center of a mossy clearing, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a faint smudge of something green at the edge of his collar.

He doesn’t notice us at first with his attention fixed on a small fae girl who I guess is no older than six.

Her dark auburn hair is twisted into two uneven braids that swing as she frowns down at the ground.

She stands with her feet braced and her jaw set, arms out like she’s trying to force the world to bend.

Sylvin murmurs something I can’t hear, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.

The girl exhales sharply and a flicker of energy pulses from her chest.

It bursts across the ground in a bloom of rust-red light, twisting the grass beneath her feet into curling brown vines and red-tinged leaves that carry a scent of spice. Not green and floral like Spring. Not warm and golden like Summer.

The power recoils almost as fast as it appeared, snapping back into her skin, and she lets out a frustrated huff. Sylvin only chuckles, reaching forward to gently ruffle one of her braids before whispering something that makes her grin widen, proud even in the face of her failure.

My brows pull together as I watch them, curious about her power and his ease in this court.

“She’s not of the Summer Court, is she?” I ask gently, careful not to make it sound like judgment–merely curiosity .

The Duchess’s voice is quiet beside me. “No. She was born here in Summer, but her magic claimed her for Autumn.”

I glance at the Duchess, startled at how that is possible, but she doesn’t look at me. Her eyes are still on Sylvin and the girl.

“Fae magic doesn’t pass through blood, not in the way you’re thinking.” she adds softly. “We’re not always born into our true court. The earth watches and listens to each new soul, and when our power begins to stir, it provides the magic of the court we will build a life in as adults.”

The girl runs off toward a cluster of others who accept her into their ring of dancing with ease.

“How do they learn about their magic, if it’s not of their born court?” I inquire.

She hums for a moment. “We must be selfless as parents and allow them to attend school in their future court when they hit adolescence, which is when their full strength is revealed. They return to us only for two months throughout the year.”

An ache stirs in my chest at the thought of families being separated, and a question rises within me: Do I have parents somewhere, missing me?

The Duchess breathes in sharply before letting it out. “My son was born in this court, but his soul always belonged to Winter. ”

My gaze snaps back to Sylvin, who stands now, brushing moss from his knees.

She watches him with a kind of tenderness that makes my heart stir.

As if she’s remembering who he was before becoming High King.

I watch her emotions flicker across her face, from sadness, to pride, but there is always an undercurrent of deep love.

I feel the truth settle into place before I can speak it aloud.

They’re family.

Sylvin looks up then, and his eyes find mine first.

That familiar tug pulls between us–quiet, steady, inevitable.

Then he turns to the Duchess, a rare softness ghosting across his features as he crosses the space to us and bows his head in a slow, formal gesture.

“Duchess,” he says.

She only laughs, low and delighted, and pulls him straight into her arms.

“My boy,” she breathes out, voice thick with tenderness. “How I’ve missed you.”

The embrace doesn’t last long, but it lingers when Sylvin lowers his head to rest on her shoulder for just a second. Long enough to see the child within him letting his guard down while in the arms of his mother.

I’ve seen him brutal and commanding, smirking through strategy, cloaked in elegance and coldness alike. But this…this is different .

There’s no crown on his head here. No throne behind his back. Just a son in the embrace of a mother who never stopped missing him.

And for the first time, I understand him.

He didn’t just fight to protect the Winter Court last night.

He didn’t choose that harbor massacre for power alone.

He chose it because if he let the humans think the fae soft, they would want to strike the other courts.

A court where the woman who raised him–who still watches him like he’s her whole heart–would be fighting without him.

I exhale slowly, the truth settling heavy and warm behind my ribs.

He isn’t just a king. He’s a son. A protector of his family.

The Duchess steps back, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress as she glances between the two of us. That same warmth lingers in her eyes, but there’s a more calculating look stirring now.

“I think,” she says gently, “the two of you need to have a conversation.”

Sylvin arches a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s about to inject a usual quip, but he doesn’t. Instead, he nods once and when he turns to me, his gaze is quieter than I’ve ever seen it. Almost…bracing.

“Shall we?” he murmurs, extending a hand toward a path .

I follow him through the curve of the clearing, past flowering trees and into a grove where the light is dappled and the sounds of the court begin to fade behind us.

The air grows cooler here, filtered through shade and silence, the grass soft beneath our feet.

It feels like a pocket tucked away from the rest of the court, and an image strikes me of him as a child, coming here for quiet reflection.

He pauses beneath a tree with silver bark and smooth, curling roots, one hand brushing the low-hanging branches aside for me as I step through.

When we’re both settled on the ground, the quiet stretches, each of us waiting for the other.

He breaks the silence first, vulnerability steeping in the slight catch of his voice as he speaks. “You’re…not one of us, are you?”

There’s no arrogance or judgment in it, just the faintest edge of personal disappointment, as if he already knows the answer but hoped he was wrong.

I don’t answer right away as I take a deep breath and stare at the ground.

A part of me wants to lie to ease the weight of his dashed hopes, but I can't pretend to be anything I’m not.

“No,” I say quietly, glancing over at him. “I don’t belong with the Seasonal Courts.”

He stares at some fixed point beyond the trees.

“I didn’t want it to be true,” he says after a moment. “Even when I suspected you weren’t after your admission of changing fate.”

His mouth twists, but it’s not quite a smile, more of a grimace.

“I told myself maybe the courts were changing. That maybe you were the first of something new. That you could still…belong with us.”

The silence stretches again, but this time it’s heavier with his unspoken words.

With me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

At that, he turns to face me fully and shakes his head.

“Don’t be,” he says. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

A faint breeze stirs the branches overhead.

“I think I wanted it to be true too,” I admit. “Not because I felt like I was fae, but because it would’ve made everything simpler. It would’ve meant this place was more than just a detour in my quest to find myself.”

Sylvin’s gaze sharpens. “It meant something, even if it wasn’t what either of us thought.”

I nod slowly, but it doesn’t ease the knot forming low in my chest.

“I am grateful for the answers I found,” I murmur, “but I wish there had been more happiness in my visit to these lands. ”

My voice catches at the end, not quite a crack, but close. Close enough that I know he hears it.

He drags a hand through his tousled hair, and when he looks at me again, there’s an open sadness gleaming in his eyes. It steals my breath for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he takes my hand in his tenderly. “That your time in my court brought you so much strife. Especially because of my decision.”

His thumb brushes across the top of my hand as he continues. “To be honest, I’d do it again, if it meant protecting my people. But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret what it cost you.”

My breath catches at his admission and the crack that had formed in my heart this morning begins to slowly mend.

I wanted that acknowledgement this morning. I wanted him to see and understand how much it hurt me, even if it was what was right for his people. Two things can be true at once.

“You changed fate to save lives,” he says softly. “And somehow, the result still broke your heart.”

I breathe in slowly, trying to steady the ache curling through me.

“I wouldn’t change what I did either,” I say. “Saving the lands and your people felt right. I just wish there was a path to peace with the humans and the magical factions.”

His eyes search mine, and I know he wants to say something. To fix it, but he can’t. The lines have been clearly drawn, and the kings have shown me over and over that there is no going back.

“I never wanted to be the reason your heart hurt,” he says at last. “But I know I am, and I’m sorry for that.”

I glance at him, and for the first time, I see all the cracks in his mask. The carefully wielded charm. The aloofness. The deliberate smirks and distractions. They’re all still there, but dulled now in favor of his heart shining through.

“I understand why you did it,” I say gently. “I do. I respect that you’ll always protect your people. Maybe if I were fae, I’d have done the same…”

His throat bobs with a swallow.

“But knowing why doesn’t make it hurt any less,” he finishes for me.

We sit in the quiet divide formed between us, and I flip my hand over to thread my fingers through his. I give it a squeeze and nod.

“Thank you for letting me into your world and giving me the chance to see you ,” I breathe out, smiling softly. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the other kings what a softie you are deep down.”

Then he lets out a slow breath and lifts his chin, a flicker of that familiar drama returning to his features like a mask being pulled back into place.

“Well,” he says, voice a little too light, “I suppose this means your next stop is blood, brooding, and a lack of five course meals?”

Despite myself, I huff a quiet laugh. “You mean Riven?”

His answering smirk serves as a balm to my jagged emotions. I didn’t realize how much I needed this side of him again.

“I haven’t visited the nest in ages. Can’t wait to stir up a little chaos.”

A quiet breath escapes me–half a laugh, half a sigh–as the tension between us eases just enough to let the warmth settle again. The silence that follows isn’t heavy, no longer burdened by grief, confusion, or the aching feeling of unresolved conflict.

We just exist, understanding each other with a depth I never expected to find when I stepped through the first portal.

Maybe I didn’t find the answers I expected here, but I’m still grateful, because I found the answer I needed to move forward in my journey.

I don’t have to force myself into the shape of a faction that was never mine. I don’t have to keep trying to make my power look like theirs. I belong to the earth, not to a court, not to a kingdom, and that truth–however vague–frees something in me that felt caged in my search.

Finally, I don’t feel like I’m failing at being someone. I am simply becoming .

The thought steadies me as I glance back at Sylvin, already picturing the chaos he’ll bring with him to the nest. I can almost picture the look on Riven’s face when he finds the smug fae king standing beside me.

The image draws a slow smile to my lips.

I don’t know what I’ll find in the vampire lands. I don’t know what part of myself I’ll see reflected in their shadows, but at least I can walk into their world without the weight of trying to fit inside it.

I’m not theirs, and I don’t need to be.