The man stepped into the courtyard and approached Caelan.
Lilian instinctively took a few steps back.
Despite the years that had passed, he was still burly and broad-shouldered, built like a man shaped by the cold winds and harsh lands. His hair had begun to gray at the temples, but his presence remained imposing.
The scar he bore was what triggered Lilian's memory, though she could not fathom why his scar had reminded her of who he was. She knew… felt that it mattered, that there was more to it than a half-remembered image, yet the reason remained just beyond her reach.
Still, his presence alone made the fine hairs on her skin rise, not in unease, but in something far more hostile.
There was fear.
But beneath it, a sharp, unreasoned anger.
A resentment so deep and instinctive that it frightened her.
Why couldn't she remember?
