Page 160 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

Rian laces their fingers together with a sly, sexy smile that fractures something inside me.

I try—Gods know, I try—but no amount of logic can suppress the surge of raw agony that drags me under as I watch them together.

I clamp my lips closed and call on the self-control I spent a lifetime honing, forcing it into every trembling inch of me.

I don’t know what game Rian is playing, what he’s doing with Iris, but the fact that he can do so right in front of me…after what’s happened between us… It hurts.

Too much.

And I won’t stand by and watch.

I turn my back to the prince, resolve settling in where foolish infatuation once lived.

Thank Velmira, I didn't suffer it for long.

A new path sits before me.

Or, should I say, my original path.

The marks on my arms thrash in protest, and my own magic titters with displeasure.

I ignore them both.

I will cure Darius and escape Rian’s reach before he has the chance to ensnare me in his powerful orbit again.

Fae instinct be damned.

29

Determination carries me through the rest of the torturous evening.

While we dine at Augustus’s country estate, I smile, talk, and laugh along with Leto and the other guests who, for once, deign to speak to me.

I compliment the food—rich, spiced, plated with deliberate excess—though I barely taste it.

When Anders asks about my research into my continent’s history, I tell him I haven’t learned much yet, but that I look forward to meeting with him again so I might learn about Mountain Fae.

I do not miss the way his blue eyes flare and dart to Rian.

Rather than wonder at the reaction, I turn to Hali and ask about her earth magic.

Anyone watching would believe I’m enjoying myself. That I’m content. Happy, even.

But inside, I seethe and plot.

Power coils within me, tight and restless, a serpent poised to strike.

I keep it leashed through dinner, through the endless clatter of plates and hollow laughter, and through the long carriage ride back to the mayor’s palace, where Leto finally drifts into sleep, worn down by a night of smiling and meaningless pleasantries. He could be a politician.

In the carriage, I sit in the moonlit dark, silent.

Every breath is measured, every thought disciplined, as I hold my power back. Because I know precisely when and where I intend to unleash it.

When we finally arrive at the palace, I step down from the carriage and murmur a goodnight to a drowsy Leto before it rattles away, carrying him home.

My sandals whisper against the stone as I climb the steps to the palace doors.

The marks along my arms tighten and stir beneath my flesh. They aren’t responding to the chill in the air, but to the storm I’m barely holding back.