Page 59 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

If I dared open my eyes, I’d scan the horizon and see Darius and Draven’s dinghy not so far away. A map would be laid out over the bench in front of Silas, along with a bronze compass he’s using to navigate the unmarked sea. And I’d have to fight the urge to admire Rian’s enticing physique as he rows.

Inhaling a deep breath, I push down the bile crawling up my throat and focus on trying to relax my churning gut.

“I’m not meant for manual labor.” Silas’s voice penetrates the sound of the oars slicing through the water.

“Use your shadows if your delicate hands can’t handle a little rowing,” Rian returns with a lilt of amusement.

Inwardly, I snort. Silas may be the leanest of the Shadow Fae, but he’s anything but delicate. He’s as much a Fae predator as the rest of them.

Silas huffs. “Some of us can’t wield our magic so effortlessly, Your Highness.”

“If you practiced your magic as much as you studied your books, you wouldn’t be saying that. And we wouldn’t have been forced to muck out the royal stalls for months when we were children.”

“Are you still angry about that? You were the one who challenged the lieutenant’s scribe to a duel with me.”

“Yes, and it was a duel you should have won.”

“I’m not the one who stole the lieutenant's prized mare for a horse race against Darius,” Silas counters.

“No, but your inability to keep quiet is the only reason we were caught.”

“That’s a lie!”

Sunlight peeks through the clouds, shining on my eyelids. I wince and tuck my face into the crook of my arm.

Rian and Silas continue to speak, their voices an oddly soothing rhythm compared to the churning sea rocking my body.

I don’t know when or how, but I fall asleep.

I dream of the Forbidden Forest.

Of Juniper’s cottage.

Of the hidden alcove under her floorboard where she kept the Fae text that now sits under my bench.

My childhood home comes into sharp focus, and I turn to my adoptive mother and voice the questions I wished I’d asked before being forced from my town.

How did you know my birth parents?

Why did they possess contraband Fae texts?

Was their magic like mine…or Ferria’s?

Juniper cups my face.

Her touch is solid. Too real.

“You will have your answers,” she says softly. “But not from me.”

A chill snakes down my spine.

“Then from whom?”

Her smile falters.

The cottage flickers.

A protest forms on my lips, but a splash of seawater hits me in my face, yanking me out of my vivid dream.