When Vlad pulled back Liliette’s hood, her silver hair, braided to one side, tumbled free. She was completely unharmed—not a single strand out of place. Her forehead, smooth and pale as milk, remained unblemished, and the handkerchief covering her face showed no sign of creasing.
At that moment, Liliette grasped his sleeve. Even a thin switch could sting and leave welts, but a rock flying like a bullet? It should have shattered the bones in his hand. Worry surged through her, but she couldn’t bring herself to demand an answer.
Suddenly, he turned toward the mine, eyes sharpening like a predator sensing danger.
“Van Galahad! Form ranks!” he commanded. “Reorganize yourselves and protect the lady!”
