"Khm!"
Multiple coughs erupted from behind the pair. Several of Quinlan's women cleared their throats in pointed unison, a chorus of disapproval rehearsed through months of exposure to this exact behavior.
But no one coughed louder than Sylvaris Vaelorith.
The Vaelorith matriarch stood three steps behind her daughter. Pale skin, flawless, carrying the luminous quality of moonlight given form. Silver-white hair fell straight to her waist. Her eyes, the color of a winter lake, were wide open.
She looked like she had seen a ghost.
No.
Worse.
A promiscuous daughter.
"Seraphiel Vaelorith!" Sylvaris stomped.
"Mom." Seraphiel's voice shifted instantly, turning warm and concerned. Completely fake, too. "The clan needs you back home, isn't that correct?"
Sylvaris blinked.
