Aelion stared at her, unsettled by her laughter.
This was not something he laughed about.
It was the wound that had carved itself into his soul long before he could remember. He was the bastard son of an aristocrat who had abandoned him... and the son of the man who had killed his mother.
What was there to laugh about?
Yet there was no mockery in Aveline's laughter. No pity either.
Only warmth.
"What is so wrong with being you?" Aveline asked, her laughter softening into a smile that reached her eyes. "You're a talented lightning-bender. You're handsome. You have a good heart and a brilliant mind. I don't like how you always think of yourself through the circumstances of your birth."
Aelion fell silent. Even the hand that had risen to brush back his long hair froze midway.
"I am sorry about your mother," Aveline continued gently. "But... if she hadn't fallen in love... you wouldn't be here."
She smiled.
"And then I wouldn't have met you."
Her voice grew quieter.
