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Just him.
Just us.
As our shadows fall in front of him, his head picks up.
And he smiles.
“It’s about time. I’ve been wondering when you wouldn’t just see me, but see me.”
Nine frowns. Not me. I know what he means. I know what he’s saying. The day he gave me back Carolina’s note, he said it was because I see him. And I did. I saw a grimy old man, begging with an almost empty coffee cup in front of him, and that was about it.
I can’t see through glamour. There was one time that I thought I could and, thinking back, I wouldn't be surprised if that was just a glitch or my overactive imagination. Or maybe, like when Gillespie showed off his ears, Rys finally lost control over how he wanted me to see him.
Right now, I wish I could see what the homeless man really looks like because, well, he certainly isn’t any kind of king. But those eyes…
As green as grass. Wide. Knowing.
This is Oberon. I don’t know how I can tell, but I can.
“Please. I need your help.”
“Why would I help you? I’ve done more than enough already. I gave you everything you needed. Helped you. In Acorn Falls with the rogue halfling. Here. That’s much more than you should expect, and much kinder than I’ve ever been. I might have fallen from grace, child. I haven’t forgotten who I was.”
“Who are you?”
He smiles again.
“I could… I could pay you. I don’t have much left, but whatever I have, it’s yours. Just hear me out. It’s not even a favor. It’s a bargain. I have something you want.”
He leans back, resting his head against the brick of the wall behind him. “I’ve been trapped in this world for close to two centuries. Adapt and survive. A king lives for revenge. A king requires wealth. Don’t be fooled by my glamour, Shadow. I have more riches than I could ever need.”
Nine goes eerily still. “You know who she is.”
He nods. “As I know of you, Ninetroir.”
His name. This guy knows Nine’s true name.
“No human would dare use that name unless they were desperate. Only a fool would claim to be the missing Summer King when face to face with a Cursed One.”
Oberon laughs. It’s low, yet sweet, almost lyrical.
It’s a laugh that belongs to a fae.
“A Cursed One with a weakness.”
“My kind of fae has always drawn strength from the shadows. My Shadow just so happens to be Riley. A mate doesn’t always have to be a weakness.”
Oberon nods, conceding the point. “Agree to disagree. Just hope that your consort doesn’t turn on you and send you to your death. Brinkburn isn’t worth what any female offers.”
Brinkburn. So he really did get sent there.
“Like you said. Agree to disagree.” Nine gestures at Oberon. “You survived.”
“I did.”
“It’s supposed to be impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” I mutter.
