“I would do anything you asked of me,” he repeated quietly.
“Anything…”
“…but letting you go.”
27
PORTRAITS OF A RULER
The words lingered long after he said them…
‘I would do anything you asked of me…anything but letting you go.’
It carried more weight than the shattered marble behind us, more finality than the echo of stone splitting at his will. He had destroyed half his hallway without hesitation, had carried me through the wreckage as though I were something fragile and irreplaceable. And yet the one thing I wanted, he refused to grant me.
The simple question…why?
Why would I matter enough to him that he would seemingly do anything for me, including destroying parts of his home?Do anything but let me go?
Perhaps it wasn’t such a simple question after all. But one way or another, I was going to get my answers. At least this was what I told myself. Although, it did little to comfort me or to calm the uncertainty I felt pressing in from all sides. I just wished I knew what his end game was here, so that I could prepare myself for it. So that I could steel myself against whatever was beginning to grow inside me.
The way he handled me with such care and comfort, anyone would think I was something precious to him and not the mortal burden who had infiltrated his club. It was maddening, as I had no clue why. And one look at the man who still carried me in his arms told me I wasn’t about to get my answers any time soon.
As he continued down the corridor with me held securely against him, his arm firm at my back, the weight of it all once again pressed quietly into my chest. The air was clearer here, the destruction left behind us, but the question would not loosen its hold on me.
“You know, you can put me down now,” I said quietly after long, silent minutes had passed.
His mouth curved faintly at one corner, and with my face barely inches from his, it became impossible not to see how dangerously handsome he was.
“I could,” he agreed, but then added,
“But I won’t.”
I decided to give up after that, knowing that if he wanted to carry me, then he would. As clearly, Oblivion was the type of captor that wanted to keep me close. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I knew he felt it when his gaze lowered slowly to me. However, my own drifted further down the corridor, and that was when I noticed it.
Not just the hallway but the alcoves beyond. Every single plinth was empty. Every decorative shadow replaced with rubble and pale fragments that were now scattered across dark stone.
Which meant that he had not stopped at what I could see, but he had gone so far as to erase every statue in his home.
“Oblivion…”I breathed his name again, and his body tensed against me. As if he was hearing it whispered from my lips for the first time and it meant something to him. Something profound and definite.
But then his gaze followed mine briefly before returning to my face, untroubled by the scale of what he had done.
“They were stone…You are not,”he said evenly, and I swallowed hard, not knowing what to say to that.
So, I remained silent as the corridor widened and opened into a small entrance hall. Positioned directly ahead, stood a tall, decorative wooden door. One that was carved with a battle scene that had been etched into the wood in intricate relief. Demonic figures suspended in a frozen clash of power and defiance. Blades were arced through the air, with wings flared wide. Some of which were whole and radiant, and others that were fractured and splintered, caught mid-fall.
Yet at the center stood one figure unmoved, amid the chaos. His wings weren’t spread out in the attack like most, but instead folded tightly behind him. Even in carved stillness, there was a commanding authority to him, the kind that did not need to prove itself. A long sword held in one hand, as if he faced half the army alone. I couldn’t help but question who the warrior was and if the man who held me now was the answer.
Oblivion’s steps slowed as we approached the door, and only then did he lower me carefully to my feet. His hands remained at my waist a moment longer than necessary, steadying me, before he withdrew. Then he turned toward the door, as though what lay beyond it belonged to him in a way nothing else did.
However, before he could open the door, I reached out as my reflexes kicked in. I placed my hand on his forearm to get his attention. He paused with his hand on the ornate metal handle before he cast his eyes down at where I freely touched him. Then, before I could chicken out, I spoke.
“Thank you.” The words came easily as I played back how he had treated me with such care.
His gaze then lifted to mine, and I noticed the way the light caught along the sharp line of his cheekbone, softening it. The way the warm glow brightened the blue in his eyes.
“You need not thank me,” he replied, his voice steady as always.
