Page 178 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

Anders wears a midnight-blue tunic, adorned with strands of brilliant silver down the length of the long sleeves. The pattern carries over to the sides of his matching trousers, all the way to his shining black shoes.

The style reminds me of those I’d find on the continent, but still unique enough that it fits in with the opulent fashion of Virendrell.

I press my lips together as we step into the corridor, waiting for one of the Shadow Fae to make an appearance.

“How was your day?” Anders asks.

“Uneventful,” I reply, forcing myself not to look back at the Fae’s doors that remain closed. “Yours?”

“Quite the opposite,” he remarks, an odd note to the words.

I don’t pry.

I have enough going on in my mind.

We descend the main stairwell, only passing a few finely dressed individuals on our way. The rest are servants, putting the finishing touches on the floral arrangements adorning the stair’s railing and adding leafy stems behind the framed portraits and landscapes hanging on the walls.

The palace decor has morphed into a garden. But rather than charmed, I find the fragrant scents and vivid colors overwhelming. Suffocating.

My lungs stretch as I inhale, but I cannot escape the stifling scent.

“Is everything all right?” Anders asks.

“Yes. I’m just tired.”

So, so tired.

We reach the bottom floor. Rather than lead me to the inner courtyard, Anders guides me in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?”

“The party hasn’t started yet, and you look like you could use a breath of fresh air.”

I don’t deny it, and I don’t protest as he leads me toward the back of the palace.

We reach a balcony that overlooks the cliffs and the sea below. It’s the same one where I found Rian and Draven sparring. Right before we⁠—

I cut off the thought and crumple it into a ball. I approach the white stone railing and imagine tossing the horrible memory into the waves crashing against the cliffs, desperate for it to stay there and leave me in peace.

I have to get over these feelings.

Anders props the balcony doors open before joining me, leaving two feet of space between us as he rests his elbows on the railing.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” He stares out at the water.

The moon’s choppy reflection stains the otherwise dark surface.

“It reminds me of the cliffs around Verdanthia,” I confess.

Though the mines and the knowledge of what happened in them always disrupted the serenity of that beautiful view.

And now this view is also tainted by the knowledge of a different leader’s depravity.

“I love the sea,” Anders sighs. “But I do miss the mountains.”

I watch him from the corner of my eye. “How old were you when you came to Virendrell?”

“Young, but not too young to forget the way sunlight made the snow glitter. Or how green and lush the trees and landscape looked in the spring.” His features slacken, lost in the comfort of a pleasant memory.