>>Aelin
The drawing room was quiet when I entered—sunlight slanting in from the tall windows, casting patterned shadows across the marble floor. The scent of citrus and fresh linen hung in the air, and the gentle clinking of porcelain announced the only other presence in the room.
Killian was already there.
The second prince of the human kingdom sat with the kind of effortless grace that came naturally to him. Long-limbed and sharply dressed, he lounged in the velvet armchair as if it had been made for him—ankle crossed over knee, tea in hand, his posture a perfect picture of restrained royalty. The maids had brought out an array of delicate fruit tarts and sugared almonds, untouched save for one half-bitten peach pastry resting on the rim of his plate.
He looked up when he heard me approach, blue eyes meeting mine with that unreadable calm of his.
