Page 176 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

Ugh.

Unwanted images ambush me. Rian shirtless. Running through the maze with predatory skill and grace. Of him kissing Iris’s hand.

I grit my teeth and sidestep a maid carrying a basket filled with linens. She does a double take before hurrying away like I have the plague.

I dismiss the unusual reaction and refocus on the problem at hand.

Asking Rian for help is a mistake.

Silas is knowledgeable. Surely he’ll be able to help me follow through with Hali’s request. Especially knowing she’s Jaxon’s sister…

Thank the Gods Jaxon isn’t here.

As even-tempered as the Fae is, something tells me he wouldn’t be so calm were he to learn what’s happening in Virendrell. What’s due to happen to Hali...

Servants flood the halls and courtyard I pass, transforming the palace into a spectacle.

Crystal lights sparkle overhead. Satin ribbons spill from doorways. Flowers burst from gilded vases.

Everything looks wonderful, a deceptively perfect mask that hides the ugliness transpiring behind closed doors.

Magic trickles into my fingertips. I urge it to remain dormant—to continue to rest.

As an outsider, I draw enough attention.

If my true heritage is discovered—if Augustus and Helen learn the truth of the diluted Light Fae blood that flows through my veins, they will trap me in Virendrell. Just like Hali and every other skilled magic wielder in their population.

Rian wouldn’t let that happen.

I scoff.

The Shadow Prince is too busy playing whatever political game he’s set in motion.

I can’t rely on him.

I won’t.

By the time I make it back to my room, Thea is already inside, arranging cosmetics and hair accessories on the vanity.

“There you are, my lady.” She smiles. “We must prepare you for the evening.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to refuse, but then I think of Hali. She needs me.

I sit on the chair in front of the mirror without uttering a word.

Thea is talkative while she works, gushing about the finery expected at tonight’s event, speculating about the favor the winner of the betrothal contest will request from the mayor.

With every word, my anxiety grows.

Thea’s behavior is a stark contrast to the nervous woman who warned me not to let my guard down just last night.

“Mayor Augustus and Lady Helen arranged for the majority of servants to attend tonight’s feast,” Thea says, beaming at me through the looking glass’s reflection.

“How magnanimous,” I mutter.

“Isn’t it?” She pins a coiled strand at the crown of my head, allowing the end of the curl to hang down and brush the back of my neck. “This wedding is such a happy occasion for all of Virendrell.”

I bite my tongue.