“Gods.,” he said. “Look at that.” “What?” Maeve followed his gaze over to the garden stairs where her father was walking down with an incredibly well-dressed blonde young man. His face was long, his ears were tipped to a small point. She recognized him. He sat behind Lithandrian at their meeting. “Who is that?” Asked Maeve in amazement. He was Elven. Dressed in the finest cream satin formal wear. Abraxas nearly choked on his drink. “Amaranthine Maeve Sinclair. I have failed you.”
