The prince dismounted. Alvarez. Night sky. He certainly moved like darkness. Dressed in leathers, ermine cloak trailing, he stalked through the soldiers like a wolf among men.
His gaze was hooded, hard to read. His blade was hidden in the folds of his cloak, ruby hilt thrust through his belt.
Morgan didn't understand the man. He was the kind of vicious that clawed its way from the gutter. Restrained, competent, powerful. Careful. Palaces and a life of pretty trinkets didn't breed this kind of predator. He took the luxury he was born into and wielded it carelessly, shrugging it off like a dusty cloak.
He looked nothing like his father, was nothing like his mother. If it weren't for the Rodan eyes, blue like chips of gemstones, one might be driven to question his parentage.