"We are," Evadne murmured, gaze lingering on the snow-drenched courtyard. "But Lucien has never been an open book. You'd have to hold a knife to his throat to get answers out of him and even then, the bastard would probably enjoy it." A wistful smile ghosts over her lips. "You'd never guess what catches his interest. And the only way I ever knew something had truly captivated or disturbed him was when he destroyed it."
"Destroyed it?" I echo.
She nods. "When he first met Ilya, we were only a handful years. It was a brief revel in honour of conquering yet another city in Silvermoor, adding their landmarks to ours. He was fascinated by her hair. That rare, ember-red. So, naturally…" Her grin turns wicked. "He cut it all off while she slept."
My jaw drops.
