““Dresses?” He was standing so near that she could see the fine thread detail on his jacket, and smelled not perfume, but horses and iron. Dorian grinned. “What remarkable eyes you have! And how angry you are!” Coming within strangling distance of the Crown Prince of Adarlan, son of the man who sentenced her to a slow, miserable death, her self-control balanced on a fragile edge—dancing along a cliff.””
