Chapter 18
Attention slams into me from every direction, brushing my skin like invisible fingers—caressing my cheeks, throat, and the pale flesh above my chest. I’ve never felt so exposed, not even in a torn nightgown, cowered in the corner of a cell, bloody from Fief’s interrogation.
I resist the urge to tug the borrowed gown’s loose fabric higher, though it would make no difference. The soft, blue silken layers drape over me in teasing folds, held together only by the subtle hooks attached to the corset the maid, Thea, had yanked tight until I struggled to take a full breath.
I keep my eyes forward, not meeting any curious stares, and strain to pick up pieces of the quiet conversations around me.
The size of the mayor’s dining room rivals the town meeting hall in Verdanthia, long rather than wide, large enough to accommodate the oversized table stretching nearly from one end to the other.
An immense painting dominates the wall across from my seat. White ships drift on the crystal-blue ocean while a sunset burns along the horizon, washing the sky in warm strokes of pink and red.
“Lovely, isn’t it?”
My eyes dart left. A blond man with blue eyes smiles at me pleasantly.
“Excuse me?”
“The painting.” He nods toward the seascape. “It’s one of my favorite pieces in the palace.”
Oh.
“Yes. It’s…very nice.”
Rather than taking the hint of my lackluster response and leaving me be, the man smiles wider.
He looks ready to speak again, but the woman at his side slips a delicate hand around his arm. She gives me a brief, curious glance—one that vanishes the moment he turns toward her.
I release a quiet breath, wishing I could melt into my chair. Unfortunately, this cursed corset has my spine locked ramrod straight.
“You are a mistress of words,” a familiar voice murmurs near my ear.
I narrow my gaze on the instigating Fae beside me. “Shut up.”
Darius chuckles, eyes gleaming as they flick from my face to the nearly untouched plate in front of me. “Is the carp not to your liking?”
I grip the fork in my hand and glance at the plates of those seated closest to me. Everyone else has managed to eat at least half of the main course, but I couldn’t stomach more than a bite.
“I’m just full.”
Dinner began with a chowder soup, followed by a berry salad made with fresh fruit that exploded with delicious flavors over my tongue. Either course alone would have been more than enough to satisfy my hunger. But moderation doesn’t seem to be valued in Virendrell.
The cod is now the fourth plate to be placed in front of me. I’ve never seen so much food in my life, let alone eaten so much. I’m one bite away from being sick on the mayor’s white linen.
“Ah.” Understanding softens Darius’s voice. The teasing light fades from his expression. “I remember my first dinner like this. I wasn’t hungry for days.”
He sets his fork down and leans back.
I follow his lead and place my fork on top of the smoked fish.
Not five seconds later, a servant appears between us.
“Excuse me, my lord. My lady.” He retrieves our plates and backs away quickly.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
The man dips his chin, then carries the dishes to an obscure door tucked into the wall behind my chair.
Darius picks up his water glass. His astlerium cuff peeks out from between the stacked bracelets covering half of his forearm. The pieces of jewelry are thicker and broader versions of the five thin bands Thea slipped around my own wrists.
Each of the Shadow Fae wears the bracelets.
I assume they’re meant to disguise the manacles that limit their power.
Darius’s loose, sleeveless tunic mirrors my gown in style and elegance.
Only, instead of accentuating breasts, the thin fabric clings to his broad shoulders and muscular torso.
I’ve already caught more than one woman stealing admiring glances at the male by my side.
Darius takes a sip of his drink, then smirks. “Like what you see, love?”
I huff a quiet laugh and shake my head.
Before I can stop myself, my gaze slides to the far end of the table.
To Rian.
Why Darius and I were separated from the rest of our party, I don’t know. Just as I don’t know what lie the mayor and his wife spun to earn the approving smiles and admiring looks now directed at Rian, Silas, and Draven.
The three Fae eat and drink with the guests seated at the table placed perpendicular to the long one where the rest of us sit. Augustus and Helen occupy the center. Jason and his bride sit to their left. The Fae are on their right with Virendrellians interspersed between them.
On cue, the woman seated beside Rian laughs at something the Shadow Prince says.
She’s beautiful. Half of her auburn hair is piled high on her head. The remaining curls fall over her exposed shoulders, making me wish I had objected when Thea suggested I pin all of my blonde strands up. She claimed it would accentuate my lovely neck. I would’ve rather concealed it.
The chandelier’s candlelight catches the woman’s smile as she leans closer to Rian.
What could he possibly have said to earn that reaction? Rian isn’t funny.
A muffled voice rises near me, but I don’t look away. I can’t.
The woman’s hand comes to rest on Rian’s forearm, near his bracelets.
The markings on my arms bristle.
A throat clears.
I tear my gaze away and meet the expectant look of the blond man beside me.
“I apologize.” I swallow. “Did you say something?”
His expression remains open, pleasant. “I asked how you are enjoying Virendrell, Miss…?”
“Elara.” My pulse spikes, but I tell myself to relax.
There is no harm in revealing my true name. No one knows me here.
“And you are?” I prompt.
“Anders.” He leans back slightly and offers his hand across the small space between us.
I tilt my head and place my fingers in his palm, then suck in a sharp breath when he bends and presses a kiss to my knuckles.
His gaze drifts over my forearm.
I freeze.
Curses.
Did Rian remember to glamour the markings?
“Your bracelets are lovely,” Anders says.
Relief loosens my muscles. “Thank you.”
“No betrothal circlet, I see.” His eyes flick toward Darius.
A quick glance reveals that the Fae is engaged in conversation with the elegant brunette at his other side.
I tug my hand. Anders releases it easily.
“No,” I confirm as I study his ears, searching for a sign if he’s Fae or human, but they’re concealed by his hair. “No betrothal circlet.”
I wonder if Lev keeps the one he commissioned for me, or if he’s smelted it yet.
“You should prepare yourself, then,” he says. “A woman as…unique as you will draw the attention of many suitors this week.”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
His gaze drifts over my hair and face. “Not many women here look like you.”
The comment only deepens my confusion. There are dozens of women seated here, human and Fae alike, their beauty effortless and varied. I have no idea what he could mean.
Rather than pretend otherwise, I confess, “I don’t understand.”
“Hm.” His blue eyes search mine. “You don’t, do you?”
I shake my head once.
He glances around the table before leaning closer, lowering his voice. “What do you notice about those around us?”
“They’re Fae and human.” What else is there to notice?
“Ah. It appears so.” His mouth quirks. “But what if I told you not a single mortal at this table is fully human?”
I blink. “I would assume you were lying.”
“I’m not.” Then, after a beat, he adds, “Look again. What else do you notice?”
Unease curls low in my stomach as I tear my attention from his strange stare and study the guests nearby.
Everyone wears the same style of tunic or gown in shades of blue, green, and purple. The bride and groom alone are dressed in white.
Bracelets cover every wrist. Some are thick, some thin. Some are ornate, others plain. Yet no necklaces gleam at throats. No earrings hang from ears. The men wear their hair loose. The women’s strands are woven into elaborate braids, twists, and curls.
Discretely, I scan each person, cataloging different features. It isn’t until I’ve reached the sixth head of brown hair that it hits me.
It can’t be…
My gaze bounces from one head to another. Other than the Shadow Fae and Anders, there isn’t a single head of hair that isn’t some shade of brown. Some are light. Some dark. Some reddish. Some golden.
But all brown.
My pulse quickens as I turn back to the only blond male in the room. I suspect it’s no coincidence that he happens to be sitting beside me.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“The Mountains.”
“Which mountains?”
“The Mountains.” His brows lift with meaning I don’t immediately grasp.
Then the memory slams into place.
Port City.
My eyes flick to the side of Anders’s head. He casually tucks his hair behind his ear.
His pointed ear.
“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.”