Several ministers shifted uncomfortably, guilt etched across their faces. Many had inherited their positions through family connections rather than through any rit of their own. They knew the king’s words cut deep, and they had no defense.
"If you’re so sure of my incapacity to lead," Oberon said, his tone a dark challenge, "you are free to challenge for the throne."
As his words echoed in the chamber, the temperature in the room began to plumt. Frost ford on the walls, and the air grew so cold that the breath of the gathered lords misted in the air.
Oberon might be old but his mastery over ice magic was legendary, and today he was reminding them just how powerful he was. The only one rumored to rival him in power was Aldric —and only because Aldric wielded both ice and shadow magic.
"Do you have anything else to say?" Oberon asked, his voice cutting through the cold.
Silence fell over the room. No one dared to speak, not after the king’s display of power.
"If you are still interested in withholding lands," Oberon said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I suggest you take it up with the future Dark Fae King. I’m sure that will be an enlightening conversation. Have a pleasant day."
With that, Oberon turned and stord out of the hall, his cape trailing behind him while the ministers and lords watched him leave with stunned expressions.
For years, they had believed Oberon to be a king easily manipulated by Queen Maeve’s influence. But today, they had seen the truth. Oberon was no puppet, and his patience had run out. The ga had changed, and none of them had seen it coming.
King Oberon strode into his chambers after the tense council eting with anger. Two servants were already waiting for him, their heads bowed, ready to assist him in undressing from his formal royal attire.
Lennox, his trusted aide and longti confidant, stood by the hearth, his presence as reliable as ever. His sharp eyes took in Oberon’s expression, reading the tension in his king’s posture as the servants moved forward to relieve him of his cape and crown.
Oberon, without a word, raised his arms, allowing the servants to remove the heavy, fur-lined mantle from his broad shoulders. The familiar routine grounded him, giving him a brief mont to transition from the weight of his crown to the simple reality of being just a Fae again. Albeit a man with more power than anyone in Astaria.
Once freed of the outer layers of his regalia, Oberon spoke, his voice low and tired, "Where is Aldric?"
Lennox moved closer, his tone casual yet respectful as he answered, "Your son is on a date, Your Majesty. With Islinda." A small grin crossed his lips as he added, "On top of their new friend and ride, Straggler."
Oberon paused, the servants now carefully unbuckling his heavy armor and slipping it away, piece by piece. His brow lifted slightly, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
A date.
His son, Aldric, riding through the skies on the back of a massive Ka’er with his mate, Islinda. The image was absurd, yet heartwarming in its simplicity.
To think, his terror of a son, the cunning strategist, finally fell for a woman. It was a miracle on its own. For Aldric to have fallen in love. In one way, Oberon thought this was the gods rcy towards Aldric - giving him a mate.
A chuckle rumbled in Oberon’s chest, and his smile grew, if only for a brief mont. "A date," he mused softly, shaking his head. "Of course."
But as quickly as the smile had co, it faded. The light in his eyes dimd, and a wave of sadness swept over him, so palpable that Lennox noticed the change imdiately.
Oberon’s hands fell to his sides, his fingers curling slightly as if reaching for sothing long gone. The servants, oblivious to the shift in their king’s mood, continued their work, but Lennox remained still, waiting.
A flicker of sothing old and painful passed over Oberon’s features, and his voice dropped to a near whisper as he said, "Nova would have loved to see this."
The ntion of her na brought with it a silence so profound that even the servants stilled for a mont.
Oberon’s beloved wife, Nova, might be gone but her absence haunted him still, a shadow that clung to the edges of every joy, every mont of peace. She would have been thrilled to see Aldric grown, out on a date, laughing and living the life they had once dread for their children.
"If things had been different," Oberon continued, his voice thick with emotion, "we could have watched them grow together. Maybe we would’ve gone on double dates, we, then Aldric and Islinda, . We could have teased them, laughed about it... Nova would have made sure of that."
A smile ghosted across his lips at the thought, but it was a hollow one, filled with the ache of loss. He could picture her clearly, Nova, with her radiant smile and her infectious joy, her spirit so full of life. She would have found delight in every small victory, in every step their children took toward adulthood. And now she was gone, her laughter silenced, her warmth forever out of reach.
Oberon stood there, now dressed in simple tunics and trousers, his royal armor and responsibilities stripped away, leaving him a Fae with nothing but his grief. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the sorrow quickly morphing into anger, a slow-burning rage that had simred inside him for too long.
For centuries, he had grieved Nova silently. He had borne the agony of her loss alone, hiding his pain beneath the weight of his duties as king. He had sacrificed everything for the peace and progress of Astaria, for the kingdom that he had worked so hard to protect. He had let his heartache fester, swallowed by the needs of a nation that demanded his strength. But no more.
He would protect Aldric from their wicked claws if that was the last thing he did. At least when he died, he would face Nova with his head held high.
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