Page 78 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

My pulse stutters at the sound of my home. Former home. I remain frozen, unsure whether to answer, when Silas speaks.

“It is.”

“Hm.” Augustus continues to study me, unblinking. “Interesting. Very interesting.”

Does he know about the coup?

Is he aware that the army has overtaken the Elders and now runs Verdanthia?

I count the days since I left.

It’s been less than a week.

Could word truly have traveled so far, so fast?

Above us, the cloud of shadow thickens, its hue darkening, a silent display of Rian’s displeasure.

Helen clears her throat.

“You arrive at an auspicious time, Prince Zylen,” she says, her eyes sharp. “Our son’s wedding celebration takes place at the end of this very week.”

The cloud above flickers.

“Congratulations.” Rian’s voice chills the air.

As if summoned, footsteps echo through the near-empty chamber. A young man steps into view. He’s tall and slender, and his features are unmistakably similar to Helen’s.

He comes to her side, resting a hand on her shoulder.

The man isn’t sculpted like the Fae males before me, but he’s attractive in the way everyone in Virendrell seems to be.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Helen replies. “We are very happy for our Jason and his beloved.”

She turns her head toward the young man, and the sharp tip of her ear catches the light.

I barely suppress my gasp.

Helen is Fae.

But…she looks human.

It dawns on me that I’ve never seen a female Fae before. The only Fae I’ve encountered are Shadow Fae or the massive brutes in Port City. For all I know, they’re the anomalies, and the rest of the Fae race could look as unassuming as the female in front of me.

“I’m sure you are,” Rian says. “And while we would love to eat and drink and make merry in honor of your son, my cadre and I must be on our way. What is your response to our request for aid?”

“Way to where?” Augustus asks, ignoring the question entirely.

Rian’s shadows curl.

“With all due respect,” he says, not sounding respectful in the slightest, “that is not your concern.”

“Unfortunately,” Augustus’s eyes flash, “the moment you stepped foot in my city, you made it my concern. I do not wish to incur the wrath of King Marek.”

“The king does not know where I am.”

Triumph glints in the mayor’s gaze. “Is that so?”

“It is,” he replies, darkness curling around the words. “And I trust not a whisper of my presence will leave these shores. Or else my shadows will go hunting.”