Lysandra didn’t fake the gratitude that tightened her throat as she bowed to the allies her queen had gathered. A tall, dark-haired young man entered the tent, his gray eyes darting around the gathered company. They widened when they beheld her—Aelin. Widened, then glanced to Aedion as if to confirm. He marked the golden hair, the Ashryver eyes, and paled. “What is it, Nox,” Darrow growled. The messenger straightened, and hurried to the lord’s side, murmuring something in his ear. “Send him in,” was Darrow’s only answer. Nox stalked out, graceful despite his height, and a shorter, pale-skinned
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