Aelion's silver hair fell past his shoulders, long and impossibly smooth, catching the filtered sunlight beneath the trees like strands of pale silk. Aveline frowned as she stared at it.
"I don't understand."
For a brief, absurd moment, she genuinely thought he meant his brothers hated him because of how beautiful his hair was. Frankly, she was a little envious of it herself.
Aelion's mouth tightened slightly, as though he already regretted beginning the explanation.
"In Greenvale," he said quietly, "bastards who are acknowledged by noble families are required to grow their hair long. They are forbidden from cutting it."
Aveline blinked.
"It is meant," he continued, "to remind everyone that no matter what surname they carry, they were not born legitimate."
The meaning settled over her slowly.
And when it did, disgust curled in her stomach.
So bastards had only two choices.
