Dorian was staring at his father: the man who had broken him, enslaved him. In a voice she had never heard, the king whispered, “My boy.” Dorian didn’t react. The king gazed up at his son, his eyes wide—bright—and said again, “My boy.” Then the king looked to where she was on her knees, gaping at him. “Have you come to save me at last, Aelin Galathynius?”
