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him, and then to Orynth,” Aedion said,
making to continue to Kyllian’s tent.
“Immediately.”
She stepped in his path. “I can go, tell him
this army needs time to rest.”
“Is this some attempt to reenter my good
graces?” He was too tired, too weary, to
bother beating around the truth.
Her emerald eyes went as cold as the
winter night around them. “I don’t give a
damn about your good graces. I care about
this army being worn down with unnecessary
movements.”
“How do you even know what was said in
the tent?” He knew the answer as soon as he’d
voiced the question. She’d been in some
small, unnoticed form. Precisely why so many
kingdoms and courts had hunted down and
killed any shifters. Unparalleled spies and
assassins.