Usually though, especially in these wretched meetings, the duke’s attention was fixed upon the beautiful, raven-haired woman who was never far from his side, as though tethered to him by an invisible chain. It was to her that Manon now looked while the duke pointed out the areas on the map he wanted Ironteeth scouts to survey. Kaltain—that was her name. She never said anything, never looked at anyone. A dark collar was clasped around her moon-white throat, a collar that made Manon keep her distance.
If Kaltain has a collar, she must have magic. What’s her purpose? If she’s survived all this time with a collar, then maybe Dorian has a chance of making it out alive. He’s far more powerful than she is.
