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being curled into ghost-leopard form by the
brazier, and had awoken before dawn simply
because sleeping had become futile.
And because of the meeting that was
moments away from taking place.
She strode toward Darrow’s large war tent,
Ansel of Briarcliff at her side, the two of them
bundled against the cold. Mercifully, the
frigid morning kept any conversation between
them to a minimum. No point in talking when
the very air chilled your teeth to the point of
aching.
The silver-haired Fae royals entered just
before them, Prince Endymion giving her—
giving Aelin—a bow of the head.
His cousin’s wife. That’s what he believed
her to be. In addition to being queen.
Endymion had never scented Aelin, wouldn’t
know that the strange shifter’s scent was all
wrong.