Isadora silenced the rest of the stares and the crowd, ensuring she kept her gaze ahead.
But her plan failed, for the moment her eyes landed on Kraven—standing at the high table, hands in his pocket, massive, with a presence that consumed the very air—she faltered.
Her lips parted, and her eyes drank the sight of him. He was dressed in a black frock coat, a white tunic beneath with a peak of his chest—marred with runic tattoos. Black leather pants and boots.
He was ravishing in his attire, simple but yet so majestic. His shaded silver hair was not braided so the strands fell on his forehead merging with his dark eyebrows.
Vanya had mentioned that Lord Raven and his commanders would not wear their braids today as an honor to the crowned warrior. She never thought the look would almost bring her to her knees.
