Page 108 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

Pain spears through my chest.

I clutch at the ache, only to realize the agony isn’t physical.

It’s my magic.

My power twists inside me, sharp and alive. It hisses, a whisper in the back of my mind that isn’t entirely my own.

A haunting realization dawns, chilling me to the bone.

My power doesn’t want me to leave Rian.

The ache in my chest morphs into satisfaction.

Oh, Gods…

I stare after Rian, horror blooming slow and deep.

If my power has already allied itself to the Shadow Prince…

What chance do I have of ever escaping him?

21

The perfume-and-cologne-filled air bristles with anticipation, restless, adding to the chaos of my inner turmoil when I fail to come up with a plan to outrun the powerful connection linking me to the Shadow Prince.

I sip from the crystal flute in my hands, given to me by one of the servants weaving through the balcony, passing drinks to those watching the competition occurring below.

The sand pit from yesterday is gone. Four Virendrellians are spaced evenly throughout the pristine courtyard, standing in front of blocks of ice, stone, wood, and metal. It’s a sculpture contest of some sort. The competitors wield their elements, chiseling and bending the raw materials into elaborate, lovely designs under the bright, warm sun.

Sweat dampens the togas of each Virendrellian as they manipulate their power with incredible precision and control. The woman who wields earth slashes an arm across her body, and the slab of wood splits down the middle.

Amazing.

My power billows.

I rest a hand over my chest and tap my fingertips against my sternum. I’m sore and tired from training with Draven yesterday, but my magic is refreshed. Rejuvenated. As if days without the presence of shadows have allowed me peace so it can replenish quicker—as if the very air in Virendrell is healing.

The earth wielder splits the wood slabs apart once more. The pieces hover in the air, bending and groaning, assembling into what looks to be a…birdcage?

Impressive.

The display barely registers beyond that.

My attention drifts inward instead—pulled back to the human prince, the one described so diligently in the Fae female’s diary. Her entries blur into vivid recollections of love and yearning.

The Fae female and the human prince are courting. Though the pages read less like a personal diary and more like the forbidden romance novels Ferria smuggled from Hammond on our sixteenth birthday—the same books that first exposed me to the mechanics that occur between a man and a woman in the bedroom.

The Fae’s devotion burns from the pages, warming my soul, bringing attention to the emptiness lingering in my own since I cut Lev out of my life. An emptiness my traitorous heart continues to try and fill with a certain Shadow Prince.

An awed chorus flows over the crowd. A water wielder puts the final touches on a block of ice, revealing an oversized, detailed carving of a beautiful lily.

“Clever choice.” A man slides up to stand next to me at the railing, occupying the large gap between me and the nearest onlooker.

Despite their curious glances and lingering stares, no one in Virendrell seems to want to stand near me today.

Except this guy.

I take in the man’s strong profile, startled to realize I recognize him. He’s the fire wielder. The one who won the contest yesterday.