Page 115 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

It’s written right there…plain as day.

The author of this diary…

Her father is the…

I stuff the diary into my satchel and jump off the bed. I sling the strap over my shoulder and race to the door.

My heart pounds in my chest, keeping time with my hurried steps as I fly down the halls and stairs. I don’t slow until I’m inside the quiet library, the large doors clicking shut behind me.

I fist my shaking hands at my sides and force air into and out of my lungs as I take in the plethora of books.

The diary in my possession didn’t belong to a random Fae royal. She was the princess. Her father was the king.

Could he be Marek?

Impossible.

The kind, gentle male the author describes in her diary couldn’t be the current Fae ruler, the one who darkens the world with violence and shadow.

No, this is someone else.

I don’t know enough about Fae politics or history to even guess who he could be. Thank the Gods Virendrell has a library.

I scan the leather spines I pass, searching for a hint—a word or a symbol—that indicates it could be what I’m looking for.

Nothing stands out. No title in the common tongue or Fae language gives me what I need.

I grip the satchel’s strap. My knuckles turn white.

Why would my mother leave a Fae princess’s diary with Juniper? Did my mother know the princess?

Did Juniper?

My head aches from the thoughts pounding against my skull.

A woman with a loose brown braid glides past. I bite the inside of my cheek, preparing an excuse for why I’m in here, but she doesn’t look at me. Her attention is elsewhere.

Should I ask her for help, or will she question why I want to learn more about Fae royalty?

Will she tell someone?

“Elara?”

I jump and whirl around.

My lips part, but I snap my mouth closed.

“Mayor Augustus.” I dip my head at the leader of Virendrell, my gaze dropping to the dark sandals poking out from underneath his flowy pants as I try to calm my racing heart.

A second set of sandals steps into view.

I look up and find Anders smiling at me. “Good afternoon, Elara.”

“G-good afternoon.” I force a polite smile.

“What a coincidence to run into you,” Augustus says. “I was just asking Anders how your conversation went the other day.”

I frown. “Our conversation?”