Page 56 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

“I’ll stay.”

All heads, except Rian’s, turn to Jaxon.

The friendly Fae stands next to a dinghy, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the prince’s back.

A ripple of darkness rolls down Rian’s legs. “No.”

Jaxon scowls. “This is the best option, and you know it.”

The shadows coil around Rian’s ankles before slithering along the deck. I have the distinct impression they’re ready to wrap around Jaxon and throw him into a dinghy.

“I need all of you in Virendrell,” Rian says.

“I’ve already told you, I will be nothing but a hindrance,” Jaxon counters, determination carved into every line of his face. “I will remain here as insurance for the sailors and stay far away while you negotiate with Virendrell for help. Then, when you come back, we can continue on our way to the Sea Fae.”

The writhing shadows along the wood deck reveal just how much Rian does not like that idea.

The captain’s legs kick out. His face mottles red.

I can’t take it anymore.

“Rian.”

Sharp eyes snap to mine. The intensity of his attention sends sparks all over my skin.

The pull returns—strong and insistent—the same one that nearly claimed me before the Pelagor struck.

It claws at my ribs, tugs low and relentless, urging me toward the Shadow Prince no matter how I brace myself. I grit my teeth and hold my ground. The sensation surges, tests, waits for me to falter.

I don’t.

Whatever waits on the other side of surrender, I can’t afford to find out. Not yet.

I shove down the tumultuous emotions and say, “Stop.”

Telling a Fae what to do is a risk.

Telling a Fae prince what to do is madness, especially one who is rumored to have enslaved every working man along the border this side of the Veil, dragging them into the Fae lands to serve his uncle.

But the shadows on my arms tell me that Rian won’t hurt me.

Rian holds my stare for one second that seems to last a minute. Then rough coughs and garbled chokes fill the air. The captain falls onto his hands and knees with a loud thud.

I don’t have time to consider checking on him before Rian is there, shouldering past Draven and Darius, filling my space.

I retreat a single step and immediately curse myself. Weakness is a luxury I can’t afford.

I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and meet his gaze.

Rian’s eyes churn, molten and bright, like smelted metal in Ferria’s forge. Though, melted astlerium is more stable than the fury coiled inside the male looming over me.

I brace for a reprimand—the reminder of my place. For his anger to fall like a blade.

It never happens.

Shadows slide along Rian’s arms, smoke-thin tendrils drifting toward me as if drawn by instinct alone. They hover, trembling, close enough to touch.

The space between us tightens, charged, brittle, like the air before lightning strikes.