The highest commander of the King of Hybern. She’d slaughtered human armies centuries ago, had murdered her slaves rather than free them. And she’d captured all of Prythian in a matter of days. Then I looked to the black rock throne beside her, and my arms buckled beneath me. He was still wearing that golden mask, still wearing his warrior’s clothes, that baldric—even though there were no knives sheathed along it, not a single weapon anywhere on him. His eyes didn’t widen; his mouth didn’t tighten. No claws, no fangs. He just stared at me, unfeeling—unmoved. Unimpressed.
