Page 93 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

“You’re Mountain Fae,” I breathe.

“By blood,” he confirms with a nod. “But not by culture. I didn’t undergo the Rite.”

I chew the inside of my cheek. Every instinct warns me not to expose how little I know, but my thirst for information outweighs my uncertainty. It always does.

“What’s the Rite?”

Silverware clinks softly against porcelain. Conversation hums around us, oblivious, as Anders studies me, assessing.

“The Rite is a coming-of-age ritual all Mountain Fae partake in,” he says at last. “But my family migrated here before I was old enough to participate.”

My thoughts drift to the fur-clad, broad-shouldered Fae I encountered in Port City. Their blond hair, blue eyes, and pointed ears are the only similarities Anders shares with them. The male beside me is lean and toned. If he stood, I imagine he’d be tall.

Does the Rite forge ordinary boys into the towering, muscular males I encountered?

“Do you regret it?” I ask. “Missing out on the Rite?”

“No.” Anders’s grin appears genuine. “My magic is much more suited for a place like Virendrell.”

“What sort of magic?”

A choked cough sounds across the table.

A woman wearing a pale-green gown cinched over one shoulder sputters into a linen napkin, eyes wide as she glances between me and Anders.

Anders clears this throat. “It is considered…impolite to inquire about someone’s magic.”

My face flushes. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not offended.”

I offer a shaky smile and relax just a little. Until raucous laughter at the end of the table catches my attention.

The deep, smoky timbre of the Shadow Prince's amusement shoots awareness through my entire body.

The rope wrapped around my soul grows taut as the woman beside Rian plays with the shining bands on his forearm.

He doesn’t move away.

Rather, he places a strong hand over hers, keeping her touch there.

Pain stabs my chest.

“That is Lady Iris.”

I tear my eyes off Rian and the woman batting her ridiculously long lashes. “I’m sorry?”

Anders tips his head toward Rian. “Lady Iris. The beauty beside your friend. She is the mayor’s daughter.”

“Oh.” Against my better judgment, I look at the pair once more.

The woman, Iris, grins at something Rian says. Her sultry eyes bore into his handsome face. Anders is right; she’s a beauty.

I hate that…

Why do I hate that?

“Iris is the next candidate to take over her father’s role as Virendrell’s mayor.”