Page 79 of Shackled By Shadows

Ash doesn’t answer. He only casts me another half-hearted smile that does nothing to reassure me. I follow him, silently, until we are back in the clearing in front of the cabin.

The moment we arrive, I stop dead in my tracks and turn to face him, crossing my arms. “Okay, now will you tell me—what the fuck is going on?”

Ash lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” he starts carefully. “We don’t know anything for sure yet, but . . . Oberon is in a delicate situation.”

A delicate situation? My stomach twists. I know what that means. Know how carefully Oberon has positioned himself, how he has to shift between two versions of himself depending on who is watching.

I really don’t like where this conversation is heading. “Ash,” I press, my patience wearing thin. “The suspense is killing me. Just spit it out already.”

Ash lets out another long sigh, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the weight of whatever he is about to say. “There are rumors going around,” he finally admits, his voice lacking its usual playfulness. “Towns are being terrorized, threatened by the king. Fae are being killed or worse.”

I frown, suspicion creeping into my expression. “That’s nothing new. The king’s been doing that for a century.”

Ash hesitates, his jaw tightening. He isn’t meeting my eyes now, which only makes the knot in my stomach tighten. “The rumors,” he continues carefully, “are saying that the Prince is the one leading the charge on these missions.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. I feel my pulse hammer against my ribs, the words sinking in like ice spreading through my veins.

The Prince . . .? Oberon.

I swallow hard, shaking my head slightly, as if that will dislodge the accusation from my mind. “That doesn’t make any sense.” My voice is firm, but doubt curls around the edges of my words.

Ash watches me closely, gauging my reaction. “I’m just telling you what’s being said.”

“No,” I say, more forcefully this time. “He wouldn’t do that. Oberon’s spent years trying to undo the damage his father has caused. He hates the king’s rule, he wouldn’t just . . . start leading raids in his name.”

Ash lets out a slow breath. “I want to believe that too, Lyra. But people are scared. And when people are scared, they don’t care what’s true or not. They care about what they see.” He pauses, his next words careful. “And what they see is Oberon riding at the front of these attacks. With his shadows.”

My stomach drops.

His shadows. The very things that bind him, that obey his will, also betray the parts of himself he tries to suppress. If his shadows are there, then he is involved, at least in some capacity. Whether he is being forced, whether there is another reason, I don’t know. But to the outside world, it doesn’t matter.

“Trust in me, Lyra, no matter what you hear.” Oberon’s words to me before he left the mountain clans race through my mind.

I feel like the ground beneath me is shifting, like I am standing on the edge of something dangerous and uncertain. “I need more than just rumors, Ash,” I say, voice low. “Have you seen proof?”

He hesitates again, and that hesitation is enough to make my blood run cold. “Not exactly,” he admits.

Ash’s words lingered in the air between us. My mind races, trying to piece together something, anything, that can explain this. I want to believe it is just a rumor, that people have twisted the truth into something more sinister than reality. But Oberon’s shadows? That is harder to ignore.

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. “So what do we do? Just sit here and wait?”

Ash shrugs, leaning back against a nearby tree. “Not much else to do. Oberon’s supposed to be back in a couple of days, and I don’t think chasing ghosts will get us anywhere. Either he explains himself, or we find another way to get answers.”

I hate that. Hate the waiting. Hate the uncertainty. But more than anything, I hate the gnawing feeling in my gut that tells me I might not like what I hear when he does return.

Chapter thirty-four

Fractured

The next two days crawl by, each hour stretching endlessly as I try to busy myself with training, sparring, walking aimlessly through the stronghold, but nothing settles the unease twisting inside me.

Sleep becomes a distant luxury. Every time I close my eyes, my mind conjures images I don’t want to see: villages burning, Oberon standing amidst the wreckage, his shadows writhing at his feet like living nightmares.

By the time word spreads that Oberon has returned, I am already on edge, tension coiled so tightly in my body that I think I might snap. I hear the murmurs first, whispers of his arrival, of the heavy presence that follows him into the stronghold. The way some of the Fae avoid looking directly at him, how the room seems colder in his wake.

I find him in his chambers, standing near the window with his back turned to me. His broad shoulders are rigid, his head tilted slightly, as if he senses my presence before I even speak.

I swallow hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Oberon.”