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features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.
“Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle,
and now a blood-sworn member of my court.”
As if that weren’t a shock enough, Aelin
winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled.
“We’re still in the adjustment period,” she
loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled.
Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn’t met the
male this spring in Rifthold, but he’d heard all
about him. That he’d been Maeve’s most
trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce
warrior. That he’d wanted to kill Aelin, hated
Aelin. How this had come about, why she was
not in Terrasen with her army ... “You, too,
have a tale to tell,” Chaol said.
“Indeed I do.” Aelin’s eyes guttered, and
Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad—
something terrible had occurred. Chaol
scanned Aelin for any hint of it.
He stopped when he noticed the