Lysandra’s moon-white face was calm, steady as she watched him, the face of a woman trained to listen to men, to never show surprise— He did not resent what she had been, what she portrayed now, only the monsters who had seen the beauty the child would grow into and taken her into that brothel. Aelin had told him what Arobynn had done to the man she’d loved. It was a miracle the shifter could smile at all.
