Page 13

A knock.

I freeze, my body stiffening at the sound. Oberon never knocks. He just appears, shadows swirling around him before his form materializes.

Who can be knocking at this door?

Who even knows I’m here?

A cold panic grips my chest, and my heart races painfully in my throat. My mind screams at me to hide, to run, to do anything to protect myself. But the cabin is warded. I can’t escape, not even if I try. I have never thought to ask if anyone can get in.

The door creaks open, and I instinctively shrink back, unable to move fast enough to hide.

The male who now stands in the threshold is not as tall as Oberon, but he is just as physically imposing.

His pale blonde hair frames a sharp, unreadable face, his green eyes flecked with gold, bright yet piercing as they lock onto me with unnerving precision. He wears simple clothes: black leather pants and a dark green shirt, its buttons running up the front, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Unlike Oberon, he isn’t without his weapons. A sword rests across his back, its hilt just barely visible over his shoulder, and daggers line his waist, each one a silent promise of violence.

There is something about him, something lethal. His presence carries an unmistakable weight, a quiet, lingering threat that makes the air feel heavier.

I stand there, frozen, powerless to do anything but stare at him. Every instinct in my body screams for me to fight, to defend myself, but I am paralyzed by uncertainty.

Is he an ally of Oberon’s?

Or is he something worse?

He studies me for a moment, his gaze flicking over my face as though weighing me carefully.

Then, in a calm voice, he speaks. “Oberon sent me,” he says with a grin, as if that single sentence should clear up all the mystery. “He couldn’t be bothered to show up himself, so he asked me to lend a hand with your lesson today.”

My breath catches, my pulse hammering as my mind scrambles through every possible explanation. How many people know I am here? Why did Oberon send this stranger? What is he doing?

I take an instinctive step back, my body coiling tight, ready to bolt. If he is one of them, one of the king’s men, one of the ones who dragged me through the dark, bound my wrists, and pressed blades to my skin, then I am already too late.

Did Oberon send him, knowing exactly what would happen? Am I being dragged back? Is this all some twisted test?

I swallow hard, my fingers twitching at my sides. The male just stands there, too at ease, too casual. He doesn’t look like a threat, but neither did some of the others, not until they were.

I force my voice to work. “Who are you?” My words are steady, but I hate the way they feel, uncertain and unarmed.

His grin widens slightly, like he is enjoying this. “Name’s Ash.” He holds out a hand to me as if I am supposed to just take it, shake it, and pretend like we are meeting under different circumstances, like I’m not a prisoner, like he isn’t a stranger who could very well mean me harm.

I don’t move.

His hand lingers for a moment before he lets it drop, his smirk unfazed. “Not the trusting type, huh?”

“I—” My words catch in my throat.

The stranger, Ash, takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes never leaving mine, with a glint of mischief. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice smooth, almost teasing. “Today is your lucky day. I’m much more charming than Oberon.” He pauses for a moment, letting the stillness stretch just a bit too long. “Besides, Oberon trusts me. And if he trusts me, you’ve got to trust me too, right?” His smirk deepens.

Trust? I nearly laugh at the word.

That word has no meaning to me anymore. It means nothing coming from someone I barely know. Still, I don’t have the luxury of being picky. Oberon has made it clear that I have little choice in the matter. And this male, whatever his reasons for being here, is the only option I have right now.

I cross my arms, reluctant to let my guard down. “And what exactly does he expect you to teach me?”

The male’s eyes flicker for a brief moment, as if considering whether to answer honestly. “Just what Oberon would, I suppose,” he says with a grin, a light shrug plays at his shoulders.

“I’m here to help you with your magic.” His gaze slides over me for a beat before locking onto mine, the playfulness still hanging in the air.

“You’re making progress, from what I’ve heard,” he continues, his words now flowing with lazy confidence, “but let’s be real, you’ll need a lot more than just your basic parlor tricks if you want to stand a chance against whatever's headed your way.” He gives me a slow, almost pitying smile. “You’ve got no real control over your magic.” His wink is almost playful, but the weight behind his words is impossible to ignore.