Calixto and Yelena Aldenar.
The names alone were enough to make a lesser woman's knees buckle. In the fragmented, dusty archives of her previous life, Calixto Aldenar had been less of a man and more of a geographical landmark. The "Lion of the North." A war hero whose shoulders seemed broad enough to carry the literal weight of the mountain range he ruled. He was all iron-grey hair and a voice like grinding tectonic plates.
And then there was Yelena. Verona felt a familiar, cold prickle at the back of her neck just thinking of her. It had taken a lifetime for Verona to learn the truth about the former Duchess. That Yelena was a half-witch, half-beastwoman; a creature of blood and moonlight who had mastered the art of looking at Verona as if she were a particularly dull stain on an otherwise fine rug.
