Page 100 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

Forget the Fae.

Their actions don’t matter. I need to focus on my goal to heal Darius so I can return to Ferria. And if Anders can help, I’d be a fool not to accept.

“Thank you. I’d love to join you in the library.”

A charming grin pulls on his lips. “Wonderful. Shall we?”

He extends his arm.

After a brief pause, I slip my hand around his elbow.

Strands of his long blond hair tickle my bare arm. Today’s lavender toga gown is lighter and more revealing than my usual dresses, but at least this one has straps over both shoulders.

The skirts flare around my legs with each step.

Anders leads me to the stairwell, and we descend to the first floor. The crowd continues to disperse, chatting amicably. Everywhere I look, beautiful faces smile and laugh. There’s no hostility here. No hunger. No anger. No dissatisfaction.

A group of children hurry past in a blur of color, walking in a single-file line. A pair of maids rushes after them. Or perhaps they’re nannies. Their parents must be busy enjoying the celebrations.

Everyone’s happiness is unsettling. It doesn’t feel natural.

But what do I expect? I grew up around suffering. I barely escaped it myself.

I don’t know what peace feels like. What it turns people into.

And that’s…depressing.

A broad hall extends off the courtyard, leading deeper into the interior of the palace. Anders tips his head to several men and women we pass, pretending not to notice their glances at my hand resting on his arm and their ensuing fervent whispers.

I fight the urge to pull my arm to my side.

Portraits line the corridor. Rows of striking men and women stare back at me with painted confidence. Some wear togas like mine and Anders’s, while others are draped in lavish gowns or finely tailored tunics. Their chests are heavy with medallions that mark them as royalty or decorated generals.

And strangely enough, over half of them are blond. Just like the portrait that sits outside our guest room hall.

Questions swirl.

I peer at Anders.

Sensing my stare, he lowers his chin and meets my gaze. “Elara? Is everything all right?”

Not at all.

“I was just wondering…” I wince.

Gods… This is going to sound crazy.

“Yes?” he prompts, slowing us to a stop.

The hall is empty, but conversation from the celebration crowd floats through the air, not far away.

“Why is everyone in Virendrell a brunette?” I blurt, motioning to the portraits around us. “And yet so many people in these portraits are blond?”

“Oh.” He blinks, and I have the suspicion he expected me to say something else. “You really didn’t learn much in Astloria.”

The words aren’t an insult, but ignorance pains me all the same.

“I believe that’s the king’s goal,” I reply, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.