DAEMON
'She belongs to us, Daemon NorthSteed. You know it, and the world will soon know it. And I will come to claim her soon. It will be in your best interest to reject the mate bond. If not, the harder you try to protect her, the harder she will fall.'
—The man on the Cultural Mask whom you've been so looking for.
PS: I am amazed you know about my existence, could it have been the handiwork of our Zina's enviable sight?
"Who is this man?" Marcus asked darkly, the harsh lines of his face causing the golden brown of his eyes to darken unnaturally. In the light of the night, it made his eyes seem more black than brown.
Clutched in his fingers was the letter that Daemon had acquired in his short voyage to the West. While his three Elder Brothers were at the NorthWestern Borders, still racking their heads on how best to penetrate into the White Monk's territory, Daemon had disguised himself and his wolf and successfully entered the Iron Coast.