Page 102 of Royal Captive
A hand grabbed my wrist and squeezed, jerking me out of my existential crisis. She nodded at me, her hand warm against the cold settling in my bones.
Eve.
With me against all odds—believing in me and championing me when no one else had.
Magick swelled in my chest, pushing down on my lungs and squeezing my throat until my breaths came in short, frantic bursts.
A second hand grabbed my other wrist, cool but confident. Some of the pressure in my chest eased, the magick siphoned just enough that I could think.
Feyanna.
“You are its master. The moment you believe yourself to be overcome, you are. Control it.”
I let out a shaky breath, and for the first time in my life, decided I was in control.
Thirty-Two
EVE
Feyanna changed the instant Ellis struggled with his magick.
I’d seen what it could do. I’d witnessed firsthand the terror and devastation. I couldn’t help but worry for just an instant. My worry took a back seat to Feyanna’s sudden shift in demeanor.
Her expression froze and shifted, flickering through different emotions so quickly that it was hard to catalog and acknowledge. She’d annoyed me all day as she’d stumbled through the woods, sniffing and making more noise than an entire regiment.
But when Ellis’s grip on his magick wavered, the frightened fae girl melted away to reveal a hard face set in stone as she grabbed Ellis’s other hand.
I don’t know what she did or said, but Ellis’s eyes closed.
He opened them.
And he controlled his magick.
Feyanna’s confident exterior shrank away as she shot me a nervous glance.
My eyes narrowed at her, not trusting what I’d just seen.
She was hiding something.
Flames flew from Ellis’s fingers and into the ring I’d built, catching the dry tinder and small twigs swiftly. Hurriedly I dropped his wrist and snatched at the bigger logs and tossed them on. In no time at all, we had a happy little fire.
It was still raining, but it had lessened to a dreary, drizzling mist.
Ellis slumped down against a tree with his hands flat on the ground. It was as though he were trying to push them into the dirt.
Grabbing two of the plucked chickens, I put out my hand. “Knife.”
He raised a dark eyebrow at me.
I raised one back. “I know you snatched one from her dead body before we left the city. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
Feyanna made a small huffing sound of amusement. As always, I ignored her.
“Here.” He placed it hilt first in my hand, the wood smooth and soft from years of work. This was a knife used by working hands and working people.
A brief pang ached in my heart for the kind healer who’d helped me.
“Thanks.” I gripped the knife and glanced down at the chickens, trying desperately to remember exactly what I’d seen the cook do back at my manor. It had to be easy. We ate chicken all the time!
