Snow started after him. Fey were notoriously mysterious, the only thing anyone could agree upon was that you were better off as far away from them as possible. She had no idea who this Oberon was, but judging by his title and the way Darion said his name, she had the awful feeling that not knowing might be deadly.
But Darion was still stalking deeper into the forest without any signs of stopping or speaking. Even more unfortunately, all the questions swirling around her head were not the kind that she could ask. "What does the king of the fae have on you?" "Why does the king of the fae have something on you?" "How do you even bind a fae?" and "Could you tell me more about this monarch you clearly hate and his role?" were the kind of questions that got you glares and evasions when you weren't talking to a fae who looked approximately three seconds from stabbing something. She was pretty sure she had never stumbled upon a sorer subject in her entire life – including every interaction she had ever had with her stepmother all rolled up into one.
She followed him through the forest for many long minutes trying desperately to think of a question that would get her more information without getting stabbed, until she realized that Darion didn't bring it up for no reason. He was going to tell her more – or at least, something important. She just had to wait for him to be ready. It was strange, realizing that for once she didn't have to pry the information out, he would simply give it to her. It got much easier to wait. They continued to move through the woods for nearly twenty minutes, when suddenly the entered a small clearing in the trees, less than thirty paces across. The moon was now waning, and it lit the small glade with a silver wash. He stopped about ten paces into it, and looked up at the moon.
Snow realized that she had not really seen him before. Despite the brief moments she had glanced at him during the day, and the one brief conversation she had with him yesterday, she hadn't really looked. Or perhaps, there was simply more to see of him now, late at night, in the woods and under the moon. The power she felt at dinner she could now see – though she could not say exactly what she was seeing. Nonetheless she was sure, just as sure as she had been in the garden, watching plants brighten under Blidarmd's attention.
Snow stood behind him. Waiting patiently to begin.
"What has Whitaran told you about fae?" Darion's voice was quiet, but even and flat.
"He said," Snow eyed him warily, remembering Whitaran warning from last night, "That fae are beings of Ionad, that you are defined by where you are, and where things are around you."
"That is true." He paused. The wind ruffled the leaves around them. "Did he tell you what the most important where is?"
"No. I can't say that he did."
He turned to look at her. "Light, or dark. Day -" He stopped.
". . . or night." Snow finished quietly. "you were born at night."
Darion only looked at her, but that was answer enough. "You're Unseelie."
"UN-seelie." Darion snarled. "Without light. As if light were inherently better or desirable in some way." He looked furious.
Snow resisted the urge to apologize. No matter how bad she felt it wasn't her fault, and implying it was would be a bad idea. Instead, she offered, "That was what Navormal said."
Darion seemed to deflate. In mere moments, all the anger slipped away, leaving a wry bitterness. "And Navormal is an exemplar of his kind. What else would you expect?"
Snow had no reply.
"I think," Darion said quietly, "It is about time someone told you what it means to be fae."