Page 14 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

My steps falter. “Excuse me?”

“Do you have wax in your ears?” Narrowed eyes meet mine. “You will sleep in the prince’s tent. He insists.”

Indignation rises even as my heart begins to race. “I will do no such thing.”

“It’s that or you sleep outside.”

I think of the monsters—of the feline-like beast who tried to attack me in the stream.

I shake my head. I won’t be able to sleep exposed to the elements and creatures roaming the forest. But I won’t be able to sleep next to Rian, either.

I lift my chin. “I will not sleep next to a man I despise.”

“The prince is no man.” Draven rises to his full height, though I don’t get the sense he’s trying to intimidate me.

It’s more like his honor won’t allow him to remain seated while his precious prince is criticized.

He continues, “And don’t flatter yourself. The prince won’t be sleeping here tonight.”

I blink. “He won’t?”

“No.” He sits back down and stares at the fire. “He’s gone to find a more comfortable bed. And, I imagine, more amiable company.”

The shadows on my arm draw taut, tugging at my skin, as the proof that the pull I felt at the Late King’s Festival was one-sided twists my stomach.

I swallow back bile, resisting the urge to scratch the marks. “Good. One less asshole to deal with.”

Draven smirks. “Whatever you say, little healer. Now, do you want to eat?”

Begrudgingly, I place my damp towel over a tree branch, then walk over. I sit on the opposite side of the fire, turning my legs to the side and tucking my skirt under my thighs.

Draven ladles stew into a wooden bowl and hands it to me.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I eat mechanically, not tasting the flavor of the delicious-smelling stew.

Across the flames, Darius speaks to Draven, but I tune them out.

My gaze drifts to the dark forest, in the direction I last saw Rian. The trees stand silently, their shadows deep and ominous.

I tip my head back and stare at the stars spilling across the night sky, and I swear I can still feel his presence. The brush of his power. The phantom heat of his hands on my skin. The echo of his voice caressing my name.

Olyra, help me.

What if Rian is right?

What if I don’t hate him?

But if I don’t hate the Shadow Prince…what kind of traitor does that make me?

4

I blink once. Twice. My pulse drums in my ears as I search for evidence that the sight before me is a figment of my imagination.

But everything stays stubbornly, impossibly real.