Page 80 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

The mayor exhales, the sound heavy with regret.

“Even if I wished to help you, Prince Zylen,” Augustus says, “doing so offers no benefit to my people. Only risk. There is a reason Shadow Fae are not permitted on our shores.”

“And yet,” Rian replies, “here we stand.”

His cloak lifts, stirred by an unseen current. Tension swells.

“We cannot allow you to roam freely through the city,” Helen cuts in, shaking her head. “The people would never accept it.”

“We’ve been glamoured since the moment we stepped onto your docks.”

My body reacts before my mind does: muscles locking and chest tightening.

What?

“The only thing your citizens saw,” Rian continues, unbothered by the shock rippling through the Virendrellians’ faces, “was a group of travelers under military escort. I allowed only you, your soldiers, and your son to see us as we truly are.”

Allowed.

The word settles between my ribs, heavy and inescapable.

If Rian can alter perception so completely…what else has he changed? Has he used it on me?

Augustus, Helen, and Jason recoil in unison.

Jason recovers first; perhaps he’s the impulsive one.

“That’s impossible.” The mayor’s son scoffs. “How could you⁠—”

“Because I am powerful,” Rian says.

My thoughts race back to our arrival in Virendrell. There were no screams. No panic. Only curiosity, edged with mistrust.

“Our identities remain secure,” Rian adds. “Anyone touched by my shadows has had their memory cleared. Isn’t that right, Draven?”

The surly Fae grunts once.

The mayor’s jaw clenches. His wife grips her son’s arm with her lips pressed in a hard line.

“But as a gesture of goodwill,” Rian continues, his tone polished, “we will agree to wear these.”

He motions in my direction, and Darius releases my arm.

My brows furrow as he steps forward and slips a pack from his shoulder. I hitch my own straps higher, fingers curling hard around the leather as he reaches inside his sack.

Metal glints. Then a sharp rattling echoes in my ears.

The room narrows.

No… It can’t be.

Darius lifts the cuffs from the sack, and my vision blurs for a split second before locking onto the dark, familiar shape dangling from the Fae’s fingers.

They are the manacles from the dungeon beneath the barracks in Verdanthia, the same ones that chained me to a wall.

Sweat beads along my hairline, and the floor tilts. My knees tremble. I force them straight, pain lancing through my joints as I anchor myself in place.

Those manacles held me captive and left me at the mercy of General Ironheart and his cronies.