The Turan in the center of the group wore a circlet across his forehead. The band wasn’t inlaid with jewels or gems. It was a twist of metal threads, woven together to form a line of silver. His brown hair was shorter than any of the others’, the soft waves pushed away from his face, the ends curling slightly at his nape. The sides of his crown disappeared beneath the strands at his ears. A small scar cut through one of his eyebrows. His eyes were the color of moss on a stormy day. The shade nearly swallowed the green starbursts in his irises. Prince Zavier was handsome. Stunning, really, with
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