Page 54 of Tethered In Blood

His expression settled into that familiar deadpan stare. “You’re one to talk.”

A breathless chuckle escaped me, easing the tension in my chest. “I suppose so.”

Without another word, Oberon leaned forward again, reclaiming the reins. His hands brushed against mine, his calloused fingers grazing my knuckles as he flicked them, guiding Neryth into the woods. His movements seemed effortless, and his composure remained unshaken.

I was captivated by the way he wielded those knives as if they belonged in his hands. The blades fanned between his knuckles with effortless precision, not a man holding a weapon but a man extending his fingers.

The knights didn’t carry ranged weapons, did they?

And the trap… he hadn’t hesitated or second-guessed. He knew what to look for. Drills and honor-bound battles didn’t teach that awareness. Did they?

I turned enough to glance back at his uniform. The dark fabric blended with the night, shifting alongside the flickering shadows. Such armor was unlike any knight’s armor I had ever seen—too flexible, too subtle, designed for movement rather than defense. It allowed him to vanish into the darkness as if it were a part of him.

It wasn’t the armor he wore while escorting me to the infirmary on my first night at the castle. That armor had been ornate, designed to intimidate—obsidian plates, pauldrons etched with gilded vines, and a helmet crowned with horns that made him appear more beast than man. It had been a performance, a deception of power, as if the elaborate design allowed him to look the part well enough to distract.

But now, the gilded façade had vanished. There was no unnecessary weight. Practicality drove every piece, designed for function rather than spectacle. This armor’s purpose wasn’t visibility but survival—moving low and making the first strike.

It didn’t resemble a knight’s gear but that of a hunter.

And his horse. The damned creature was massive.Did knights ride such beasts?Warhorses demonstrated strength, yet Neryth surpassed that. He embodied a being crafted for endurance, speed, and battle. He carried Oberon as if the weight of armor and weapons were negligible. As though his training had gone far beyond mere battlefield charges.

A low rumble echoed in the distance, pulling me from my thoughts. I lifted my gaze to the sky. Thick clouds obscured most of the stars, a heavy curtain blocking the moon’s glow. The sky had been clear earlier.

Oberon must have sensed my shift in tension. “Great. As if tonight weren’t miserable enough,” he muttered.

Though I agreed, someone had to keep up morale. “I think the night has been rather… exciting.” Oberon groaned as if I had spoiled his evening. I held back a grin. “Do you think we’ll reach Vaelwick before it rains?”

A pause long enough for me to know he was considering something. “I doubt it. There are several abandoned buildings in the area. We can stop at one until the storm passes.”

I frowned.Abandoned buildings?The density of the trees concealed the path ahead. How did he know that? I turned in the saddle to peer back at him again, narrowing my eyes. “And how do you know that?”

His focus remained ahead, but his jaw tightened. “I know things.”

“Oh, how reassuring, Sinclaire. That clears up everything,” I scoffed.

This time, he glanced at me, allowing me to catch the scowl in his now onyx eyes before he looked away. “I scouted the area once. A long time ago.”

I gazed at him, unimpressed. That might have meant anything coming from him.

When? Why? With whom?

I wanted to press further, to dissect the vagueness of his answer, but exhaustion weighed more heavily on me than curiosity. Investigating would have to wait until my head no longer ached and I wasn’t drenched in sweat from yet another near-death experience.

Tilting my head, I studied him with a smirk. “Do you have any other emotions, or is being grumpy your entire personality?”

Oberon expelled air through his nose, burdened by a deep sense of impatience. “Do you ever let people think in peace?”

I gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting your deep, brooding reflection? Perhaps you’re having an existential crisis?”

His grip tightened on the reins. “Just keep your eyes ahead, Herbalist.” With a huff, I shifted my focus to watch the darkened road stretch endlessly before us. The strain between us had settled into the familiar rhythm we fell into when the silence made me wary: me needling him with questions and him gritting his teeth through it.

17

Oberon

THOUGHSMALLANDresilient,the abandoned building withstood the passage of time and encroaching decay. Unlike most forgotten places I’ve seen, it still held an air of defiance; its frame refused to bow to ruin. The warped slats of the walls allowed the wind to slip through in ghostly whispers, scattering brittle leaves across the frozen dirt.

My boots landed with a heavy thump, the weight of the moment pressing down on my shoulders. There was no rot, no prominent weak spots, and, more importantly, no traps. A few moths clung to the splintered beams, their wings fluttering against the icy draft like dying embers.

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