Dorian had nothing to say to him. Hated
that this man was here, at the end and
beginning.
Yet his father looked to Aelin. “Let me do
this. Let me finish this.”
“What?” The word snapped from Dorian.
“You were not chosen,” Aelin said, though
the coldness in her voice faltered.
“Nameless is my price,” the king said.
Aelin went still.
“Nameless is my price,” his father
repeated. The warning of an ancient witch, the
damning words written on the back of the
Amulet of Orynth. “For the bastard-born mark
you bear, you are Nameless, yet am I not so as
well?” He glanced between them, his eyes
wide. “What is my name?”
“This is ridiculous,” Dorian said through
his teeth. “Your name is—”
But where there should have been a name,
lily
(lily)
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