Kieran stood on the London institute roof, watching the others disinterestedly. His gaze fell on you, and his eyes, one black, one bright silver, raked over you, all the fae arrogance there is in that once movement.

"You don't look like the other Blackthorns. Who might you be?" He asked. The Hunter held himself like a prince, likely because he was one. Mark Blackthorn had mentioned that he was one of the princes in the unseelie court.

His lips curl arrogantly as he studied you.