Althea paced the length of her solar, the heavy rug doing little to muffle her restless steps. The day's reports lay ignored on her desk. The stranger's words—Lucian's words—echoed in her head on a loop.
Silver hair. Violet eyes. She believed protecting people was the only thing that gave power any meaning.
He'd known details. Not just vague guesses. The portrait in her vault… she'd only looked at it a handful of times in her life. A woman with stunning silver hair and eyes that seemed to look right through the canvas. No name was on it. She'd found it as a child, hidden in a secret compartment of her late father's old desk. She'd never told a soul.
And this man knew.
Was he a spy who'd somehow uncovered her deepest secret? A trickster using some form of mind-reading magic? Or… was he telling the truth?
