Page 131 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

My magic bristles, and my gaze drops to the ground where Draven’s sword lies. A smear of blood mars the middle of the blade, as if it was caught mid-swing.

Rian’s fingers flex. “What happened, Elara? What’s wrong?”

Everything.

Warmth travels through my chest, into my shoulder, and brushes against his injured palm.

He sucks in a quiet breath as my power heals his hand without my instruction. Its agitation abates the moment the last inch of skin seals.

“Thank you.” Rian’s words brush my forehead.

I stare at the base of his neck. “It wasn’t me.”

Ever since the Fae entered my life, my magic seems to have developed a mind of its own. It reacted to them in strange, unexplainable ways.

Now, I suppose I know why…

Rian’s throat bobs. “Elara? Why would you step in front of a blade?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“And you had to risk your beautiful head to do so?”

I continue to stare at his tan throat, imagining the familiar tendrils of darkness weaving around his neck, rolling over his shoulders, emanating strength and power.

Power that originates from a curse laid by the Fae princess. No, queen.

When I don’t say anything, Rian slides his hands off my shoulders.

He turns and clips out, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Draven grunts. “Take your time.”

I drag my gaze to the surly Fae, barely noticing the tightness around his mouth and the crease between his brows.

Rian touches my elbow. A flash of white appears in the corner of my eye.

A handkerchief.

I don’t reach for it.

Rian huffs and the pristine fabric stains red as he runs it over my shoulder and bicep, cleaning away his blood.

Finished, he tucks the handkerchief back into his trouser pocket and leads me through the palace by my elbow.

I don’t resist. Numbness still dominates my body, though the places where Rian’s fingers press against my skin spark.

We walk down unfamiliar halls with drab gray walls. No portraits. No carpet runners.

It isn’t until we pass one of the finely dressed maids that I realize we are in the servants’ passageway. The woman tucks her chin and hurries past without a word.

Amused laughter and happy chatter flow through the wall to my right. I assume it’s the main corridor.

We climb worn stone stairs. Rian’s grip tightens when I stumble. His penetrating stare bores into the side of my face.

I keep my attention forward as we ascend one stair after another, and the heavy numbness weighing down my thoughts and emotions begins to lift.

In its place, red-hot betrayal and hurt percolate.