She clutches the closest thing to a crown she has left. She walks with Cal on her arm, her elbow hooked in his. Like Julian, his new appearance suits him. No cape, no crown, no riot of medals or insignia. Just the black uniform, the circle pin, and a red square on his collar to mark him as an officer. His black hair is close-cropped again, in the military style he likes best, and he must have shaved this morning. I can see a fresh cut on his neck, peeking out just over his collar. It's barely scabbed over, still spotted with silver blood. There are dark circles around his eyes. He's exhausted, overworked, and, like Julian, somehow looks happy. I feel the jealous, impulsive urge to ask why. He isn't looking at me. And he didn't say a word.
Victoria Aveyard, Broken Throne
