The Queen Who Adopted A Goblin [new] Guide

He was not the sort of thing one found in a palace garden. He was the size of a spanel’s hound and the shape of a knot: narrow shoulders, long fingers, ears like folded leaves. His skin looked as though light had failed to finish its work on him — gray, flecked with the green of moss. He was crouched among the basil, one hand cupped around a broken robin’s wing, humming a sound that was more a count than a lullaby. When Maerwynn stepped into the coppice, the goblin looked up as if he had been expecting drought or winter — something resolute and long coming. Instead he found her.

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