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the golden-haired, melancholy warrior,
Gavriel, or the utterly terrifying Lorcan.
Thank Silba for that, at least.
Aelin left the door open, though their two
court members remained seated. Bored,
almost.
“Well, now,” was all the queen said as she
stepped into the hall.
Chaol’s father looked over the warrior-
prince at her side. Then he turned his head
toward Chaol and said, “I assume they met in
Wendlyn. After you sent her there.”
Yrene tensed at the taunting in the man’s
voice. Bastard. Horrible bastard.
Aelin clicked her tongue. “Yes, yes, let’s
get all that out of the way. Though I don’t
think your son really regrets it, does he?”
Aelin’s eyes shifted to Yrene, and Yrene tried
not to flinch under that turquoise-and-gold
stare. Different from the fire she’d beheld that