“Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court.” As if that weren’t a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. “We’re still in the adjustment period,” she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled. Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn’t met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he’d heard all about him. That he’d been Maeve’s most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior. That he’d wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin. How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army … “You, too, have a tale to tell,” Chaol said.
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