But it was his features that paralyzed her.
He possessed hair as black as absolute midnight, falling in loose, slightly messy waves around a face that was sharp, aristocratic, and hauntingly melancholic. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the moonlight.
And his eyes.
His eyes were not the violet of the Nachts, nor the green or blue of the South.
They were pitch black.
Seraphina froze.
In the entire Empire, she had never seen anyone with black hair and black eyes.
It was a genetic impossibility in this world. And it was the exact, specific coloring that she possessed.
The stranger wasn't looking at the gardens.
He was looking directly at her.
His black eyes were wide, filled with a sudden, overwhelming, heartbreaking mixture of shock, sorrow, and a desperate, fragile hope.
