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his eyes.
But Prince Galan, who had kept silent and
watchful, a listener despite his frequent smiles
and bold fighting on both sea and land,
stepped forward. Looked right at Aelin, his
eyes—their eyes—glowing bright. “Poor
allies we would indeed make,” he said, his
Wendlynian accent rich and rolling, “if we
abandoned our friends when their choices
veered from ours. We promised our assistance
in this war. Wendlyn will not back from it.”
Darrow tensed. Not at the words, but at the
fact that they were directed at her. At Aelin.
Lysandra bowed her head, putting a hand
on her heart.
Prince Endymion lifted his chin. “I swore
an oath to my cousin, your consort,” he said,
and the other lords bristled. Since Aelin was
not queen, Rowan’s own title was still not
recognized by them. Only the other lords, it