Page 9 of Touch of Oblivion (Woven in Time #1)

Wren

T he scrape of chairs against stone signals the end of the meeting. No words are spoken as the council begins to file out one by one, until they all disappear into the castle’s dark corridors.

Neither Azyric or I have moved, and I have to fight the urge to fidget under the weight of the tense silence we’re wrapped in.

I sit rigidly in the chair he demanded for me, attempting to absorb everything that just transpired.

The authority in his voice.

The warning in his shadows.

The weight of his protection that wraps around me, providing a warmth to my body that my coat isn’t capable of. It swept through me in a cascade from the top of my head to my toes.

He didn't have to do that, yet he did.

I let out a soft sigh, because part of me wishes he hadn’t…it only confuses me further. There are already more unknowns in my life than certainties. I don’t need another to add to that list.

What is clear after that meeting is that I’m not a lost member of this faction. Surely one of the council members would have recognized me, if so. Or if I had shadows to manipulate, my powers would have responded to theirs, I feel like.

Was that Azyric’s plan in bringing me along? A silent test?

When I glance at him now, his features have already returned to something colder and more distant.

Like the wraith wrapped in shadows who stood watching the treeline of the forest where I first met him.

Distant and unreachable. As if whatever protective notion he displayed during that meeting never happened at all.

Still, I feel compelled to speak.

“Thank you,” I say quietly as I twist my upper body to look at him fully.

His silver gaze remains locked on the far wall, unreadable.

“I was fulfilling my role,” he replies before I see his throat bob with a swallow. “The other kings would have used it against me tomorrow if I hadn’t.”

The chill in his voice doesn’t sting, but it makes my gratitude feel awkward. It leaves it sitting out in the air, acknowledged and unwanted.

I feel…foolish. The feeling is heavy as the word comes to me.

I draw my bottom lip between my teeth and bite down on it, barely holding back a retort. Seconds later, that sliver of restraint fades away as he continues to ignore me, as if I suddenly don’t exist.

I let out a soft huff of indignation and rise to my feet.

I know I didn’t conjure that warmth in my body. He put it there, and I’m not going to let us both pretend that he didn’t.

“If you didn’t want me within your home, you shouldn’t have told the others to let my decision stand,” I begin before folding my arms across my chest. “And if you truly don’t trust me and are keeping me close for that reason, why did you treat me like an honored guest just now?”

His lips thin as I watch the rise and fall of his broad chest.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you,” he snaps with a slight raise of his chin.

Not only did he lie–he did it badly too. With the kind of arrogance that assumes no one will call him on it.

Has no one ever called him out before? Or does he wrap himself up so tightly in his title and the protection of it that no one dares to see these glimpses of him within?

I can’t help the way my lips pull up at the corners just as my body begins to shake with a soft laugh. Unfortunately for him, I’m not one of his council members.

His narrowed gaze whips to me, a scowl consuming his face. It only makes my shoulders and chest shake harder with my laughter.

He’s not angry that I called him out, he’s angry that I see through his words.

I may not know my origin, but perhaps it’s allowed me to be more observant in trying to find the little details in everything around me.

I don’t think I’m an expert on all things Azyric–or anything at all, for that matter–but from that short meeting, it’s clear he isn’t their king out of their love and support for him. I don’t see him surrounded by anyone who cares to know his truth.

I saw a challenge in many of their gazes and in the words of the one who actually had the gall to speak their mind during that meeting.

In return, I saw the silent undercurrent in Azyric’s body language and his tone that told them they were welcome to defy him. I actually think he wants them to, to allow him to drop his political armor for a moment.

A tint of red runs along his cheeks now, extending to the tips of his ears as he silently keeps his glare trained on my face.

“I didn’t believe your explanation of your shadows seeing me as a threat and I don’t believe this one either,” I admit, shrugging my shoulders as my laughter fades away.

“You didn’t stick up for me out of your sense of duty.

Words carry the weight of emotions, or the lack thereof, if you care enough to truly listen. ”

My head tilts to the side as his lips part slightly. I watch his dark lashes flutter as he blinks repeatedly, seemingly at a loss for words.

“I listened, Azyric.”

I don’t know what I expected from him in return–an apology, maybe, or another wall being furiously thrown up–but I get neither. Just the sound of a woman’s voice, smooth and amused, slipping through the doorway.

“Your Majesty,” she drawls lightly, “I came as soon as I heard you’d taken in a stray.”

Azyric breaks our battle of wills first by looking toward her, only then do I glance over.

A figure fills the doorway and instantly I see the familiarity to Azyric in her facial structure.

She must be kin of some sort. Her hair is as dark as the ink in his tattoos and cascades down her front.

Pale skin marked with faint freckles stretches across sharp cheekbones.

Silver eyes, identical to Azyric’s, assess the room with a flicker of amusement and nothing at all like fear.

Azyric exhales through his nose, not returning the undercurrent of humor. “Did you find someone to tend to her for the duration of her stay?”

“I am someone,” she says simply, stepping into the room with feline grace. “You’ll have to settle for me.”

I blink at her, unsure how to react. She doesn’t look at me with suspicion, pity, or fascination. Just...curiosity as her gaze travels over me. As if I’m something she’s never seen before.

Azyric’s tone deepens slightly. “Can I trust you to follow the instructions I gave, Ilyria?”

She smirks and lifts a finger for each instruction as she rattles them off.

“Quiet service, no questions, modest clothing, drawn bath.” She drops her hand to cross her arms against her chest. “Honestly, I’m shocked you remembered a woman needs all of that on your own.

You’ve been so stuck in your own world.”

“I’m not certain you’re capable of the quiet part,” he mutters, but I detect a shred of warmth in the jab.

She winks at me, then retorts. “Luckily, you’re not in charge of me, oh great one. I was born two minutes before you, remember? Respect your elders.”

He ignores her and turns back to me, his gaze cool once more. “I have other matters to attend to, Wren. I can’t have you following me around like a lost lamb, so my sister will take over from here. ”

The words land harder than they should. I lift my chin, not letting the sting show.

“Funny,” I say, voice low but clear, “you didn’t seem to mind when I chose you to follow out of the four kings.”

The answering pause is brief, but it crackles in the air between us.

His sister snorts and cuts in smoothly. “You can go, brother. She’s with me now. We will see you at dinner.” She crosses the room and offers me her arm with the kind of ease that makes it impossible to refuse. “Shall we?”

My head nods in answer and we walk silently out of the room. I don’t bother looking back at Azyric, but I feel the weight of his stare on my back. It sends a chill down my spine.

My chest rises with a deep breath as I shake all of that from my mind. I’m here for any answers I can get about this world and my role in it. I can’t let him distract me from that. Perhaps his sister will be more loose-lipped around me with information.

We step out into the corridor, retracing the path Azyric and I took not long ago.

Only now, instead of the quiet threat of a wraith king beside me, it’s his sister, gliding through it like the castle bends around her presence.

The difference is immense. Every person we pass seems drawn to her, like they can’t help but let their gaze linger on her.

There’s a reverence there, whereas it seemed everyone averted their gazes from Azyric at all costs.

I can’t help but wonder what caused such a staunch divide in the wraith community's opinion of the twins.

A few attendants pass, eyes widening as they catch sight of me beside her. Their stares linger longer than necessary and hushed whispers follow in our wake.

The feeling of scrutiny and loneliness that I had to overcome in the council room is a moment I never want to experience again. I fight the urge to stare back at these wraiths and show my defiance.

I lift my chin higher and take a calming breath.

Why should I care about the thoughts of people I don’t know and will likely never see again?

As we round the corner to head into the private area of the king’s wing, a voice cuts through the relative silence.

“Looks like our king finally found a whore to crown.”

I freeze as her words roll through my mind and their meaning becomes clear.

Ilyria turns on her heel before I can remind myself once again that I shouldn’t care what these people think.

She doesn’t raise her voice, but she doesn’t need to.

A cold, sharp tone that eerily reminds me of her brother comes through in her words.

“I suggest you keep yourself busy with duties you’re actually qualified for, Danira.

” I watch her silver gaze pin a small brunette to the spot, her lips sealed shut now.

“Deciding who is worthy of being queen doesn’t fall to the woman delegated to scrubbing stones. ”

Silence crashes into the hall. The woman goes red and ducks her head, scuttling away like a scolded child.