Page 121 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

“Of course not,” he mutters, flipping through the pages once more.

An undeniable urge to rip the diary from his hands pulses through me.

I resist. Barely.

Several tense seconds later, Anders clears his throat and slowly extends his arm, holding out the book.

I watch him warily before snatching the book from his hand and clutching it and the history tome close to my chest.

His stare doesn’t waver. It’s not unkind, but it is suspicious. And…intrigued.

I shouldn’t say anything.

I should escape this encounter and find one of the Shadow Fae.

But my thirst for knowledge—for answers about the mysterious diary my mother left behind—compels me to ask, “Who is Calla Luminara?”

Anders purses his lips then exhales. “The last Fae princess.”

I swallow at the confirmation of my suspicion, but it’s his next words that rock me to my core.

“And she was the rightful queen of Fae before her uncle usurped her throne.”

I blink, remembering the diary entry describing how unnerved the author, Calla, felt in her uncle’s presence.

“Who was her uncle?”

“Marek.” Anders spits the name like a curse.

I suck in a breath.

King Marek…the indomitable Shadow King… He stole the throne.

“H-how did Marek get away with it?”

Rian said Fae value females. Eranthia is not like Verdanthia. Fae females can lead. They can rule. So how did King Marek manage to steal the throne from his niece?

“Because Calla did something most Fae considered abominable.”

My stomach twists into knots. “What was it?”

He frowns. “She got married.”

I blink. “That doesn’t seem so⁠—”

“You don’t understand.” His blond hair sways as he jerks his head, the lines on his face deepening. “Princess Calla dishonored tradition. She spat on the grave of every ruler who came before her.”

His tone drips with sorrow but is noticeably absent of ire. It’s almost as if he, himself, doesn’t believe his words. More that they are rehearsed. Memorized.

“I don’t understand,” I admit in a low voice. “Who did she marry?”

He drags in a deep breath. “It’s not who that matters. But rather, what.”

Ice crawls down my spine. “What did she marry?”

A heartbeat passes. His jaw tightens. His gaze flickers, just once.

Then he clips out, “A human.”