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When we reach a door at the end of the hall, Oberon opens it, stepping aside to let me in.

This room is nothing like the small, dingy one above the tavern I’d stayed in before. It is massive, luxurious even. The bed in the center is the largest I’ve ever seen, with black blankets and pillows stacked high. There is a couch on one side, and a seating area with a fireplace on the other, not to mention a private bathing chamber tucked away behind an arched door. The space is so grand it feels like something out of a dream, a stark contrast to the cold, hollow rooms I am used to.

I glance at Oberon, disbelief and confusion rushing through me. “This whole room is for me?” I ask, my voice a little higher than I mean it to be.

Oberon gives a light chuckle, his usual guarded expression softening just a little. “No, this is my room.”

My heart skips a beat, and I freeze.

“What do you think you’re doing, taking me to your room?” I demand, heat flooding my body. My pulse quickens, and I try to steady myself, but the surprise, confusion, and something else, something I can’t quite place, rush to the surface.

Oberon doesn’t seem fazed, though his lips curl into that infuriating, devil-may-care smile I am getting to know too well. “Relax, Lyra,” he says, his voice smooth. “I won’t try any funny business. Unless you ask, of course.” His words are laced with a teasing tone that makes my face flush even more. Before I can muster a response, he continues, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I open my mouth, then snap it closed again. “This giant fortress,” I start, my irritation rising, “and they don’t have an extra bedroom for me?”

Oberon raises an eyebrow, the smallest flicker of challenge in his gaze, but he brushes off my tone as if it doesn’t faze him in the slightest. “They do.” He answers simply. “There are plenty of available rooms. actually,” he says, walking over to a nearby table.

He grabs two cups and pours us each a glass of wine. “But they’re several floors away.”

I cross my arms, refusing to let him off the hook that easily. “So, what? You decided I should sleep in your room?”

He glances back over his shoulder, the teasing glint still in his eyes. “With your nightmares, I wanted you closer. I meant what I said. You don’t have to face this alone.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. I can feel the weight of them, the suggestion in his voice, but it isn’t what he says. It’s how he says it. There is something unspoken behind it, a quiet care that feels oddly comforting . . . and dangerous at the same time.

“I don’t need you,” I snap, trying to push the vulnerability that creeps into my chest away. “I can manage just fine on my own.”

Oberon’s eyes soften, but the teasing smile never leaves his lips. He takes a step closer, handing me a glass of wine. “I’m sure you can,” he says quietly, the playful edge to his voice still present. “It’s not about whether you need me or not. It’s knowing I’m here regardless.”

I take the glass, my fingers brushing his briefly, and the contact sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.

His gaze lingers for a moment before he breaks the silence. “I’ll take the couch. You can have the bed, as I said.”

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms, and eye the massive bed once again. “You want me to sleep in your bed—alone?” Disbelief and defiance line my tone.

Oberon’s smirk deepens, his eyes darkening with that familiar teasing glint. He takes a deliberate step closer, his voice low and teasing. “Well, if you get lonely . . .” He leaves the suggestion hanging in the air between us, charged with unspoken possibilities, making my heart skip a beat.

Before I can say anything else, he adds, “If you’d rather sleep alone, I’ll just draw you a bath while you finish your wine.” He shrugs, already setting his own glass down and moving toward the chambers. “There are fresh clothes waiting for you in the bathing chamber.” His eyes flick to the door that leads to the bathing area, his tone smooth and casual, but his words are clearly an offer meant to draw me in.

I can’t quite tell if he is serious or just messing with me, but either way, I can’t shake the heat in my chest as I process the weight of his suggestion. The tension between us is palpable, lingering in the air like a challenge I’m not sure I want to accept or can avoid.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” he adds, his voice a little quieter now, though the sly grin still lingers at the edges of his lips.

I swallow hard, trying to steady myself, and glance at the door he has pointed to. For a moment, I don’t say anything, just stare at him, wondering whether I should be irritated or intrigued. Maybe both.

The night winds down as I lie in this massive bed, clean and dressed. The only sound is the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth as I focus on the ceiling above, my mind buzzing from the day’s events: the rebellion, the secrets, the tension in every word Oberon said, and the weight of the conversation we shared. I am too restless to sleep, but too exhausted to do much else.

Oberon settles on the couch, just as he promised, and for a while, I hear his slow, even breathing, a reminder that he is close. Despite the distance, my thoughts keep drifting back to him, the way he looks at me, the things he says, the way his presence is never quite so distant, even when he isn’t physically near.

But eventually, exhaustion catches up with me, and I drift into an uneasy sleep.

The nightmares come quickly. Dark shadows, flashes of forgotten memories, voices that call my name, pulling me into a vortex of fear and confusion, as if my past is chasing me down, relentless and cruel, never letting me escape.

I wake with a gasp, my heart racing, my breath shallow as I sit upright in bed, drenched in sweat. The room feels suffocating, the darkness closing in around me, and for a moment, I think I am back there, back in that place.

Then, I feel a presence, a warmth behind me. Before I can process it, arms are around me, strong and steady, pulling me back into the safety of a chest. I freeze, my breath still too quick, before realization washes over me. “Oberon,” I whisper hoarsely.

He says nothing at first, just holds me tighter, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, a calm contrast to the panic I still feel coursing through me. He doesn’t ask what happens, doesn’t try to make me speak. He just holds me, his hand brushing my hair back, his body heat sinking into me, grounding me. “You’re alright,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got you.”