“I expect nothing,” Lord Ferngull replies lightly. “But I am offering.”
Then Oberon leans back slightly, though the tension in him doesn’t ease. “How did you come to be here?” he asks, changing the topic. No doubt wanting to be the one to gather information, not give it.
Lord Ferngull doesn’t seem bothered by the question. He settles more comfortably into his chair. “These were once my lands,” he says. “Long before the labyrinth sprouted and consumed them. My castle was… caught within its bounds. My people and I remained. Adapted. Survived.”
“And how exactly have you managed that?” Ashton asks, tone casual, but his eyes remain sharp.
“Carefully,” Lord Ferngull replies with a small chuckle. “The labyrinth is dangerous, yes, but not without its… patterns. Its resources. We’ve learned where to step. Where not to.”
Cassius leans forward slightly. “You speak as though it can be understood.”
“Not understood,” Lord Ferngull says. “Not fully. But… anticipated.”
“And the creatures?” Cassius presses.
“When necessary, we coexist,” Lord Ferngull replies smoothly. “Some are less hostile than others. Arrangements can be made.”
Oberon’s expression doesn’t shift. “You expect us to believe you’ve negotiated with whatever’s in this place?”
Lord Ferngull’s smile shifts, amused. “Believe what you wish. We are still here, are we not?”
A silence follows. Heavy. Measuring.
“I don’t recall ever hearing your name,” Oberon says after a moment, sharper now. “Lord Ferngull.”
Lord Ferngull lifts a brow. “Is that so?”
All eyes move to Sylvian.
He shifts slightly, uncomfortable under the attention. “There are many lords and courts on the lands of the earth fae,” he says. “More than anyone could reasonably keep track of. Especially those from… more distant regions.”
Lord Ferngull’s smile widens, just a touch too slow. “Exactly. I am but one among many. It’s no surprise I’ve escaped notice.” His gaze flicks back to Oberon. “Even from one as esteemed as yourself.”
Oberon’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing more.
“The storms here are fierce,” Lord Ferngull says, gesturing toward the windows where rain lashes violently against the glass. “They linger. Days at a time, sometimes longer.”
His gaze moves between us again, thoughtful now. Intent.
“You are welcome to remain here until it passes,” he adds. “And when you’re ready… I would be more than willing to help guide you further.”
There’s a pause. “It is the least I can do to see this curse finally broken.”
The words are smooth. Generous.
His gaze shifts again. To me. “You are not fae.”
“No,” I answer, tensing.
His eyes flick briefly to my dagger. “That blade… it carries power. Not loud, but distinct. Unusual.”
My fingers tighten slightly. “It was given to me.”
“I can see why,” he murmurs, his gaze lifting back to my face. “You wear it well.”
His attention lingers, not just on the blade now, but on me.
“A rare weapon,” he says, his tone almost thoughtful now. His gaze lingers on the blade before lifting back to me. “Which makes me curious how a human woman came to possess something like it.”
