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Because Celaena was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir to the throne and rightful Queen of Terrasen.
“I wish you to become who you were born to be. To become queen.”
“Nice try,” she said. His canines gleamed as he smirked. “You’re learning.” “You get baited by me every now and then, too, you know.” He gave her a look that said, I let you bait me, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m not some mortal fool.
“I am Manon Blackbeak, heir to the Blackbeak Clan, and you are mine.
“I gave you that name because he is the Great Beast, the serpent who wrapped the world in his coils, and who will devour it at the very end when the Three-Faced Goddess bids him to. You are Abraxos,” she repeated, “and you are mine.”
“Oh, you’d better run now.”
Fireheart—why do you cry? “Because I am lost,” she whispered onto the earth. “And I do not know the way.”
“Please tell me you brought food,” Luca said again. “Is that why you came? Rowan promised you snacks?” “I’m a growing boy.”
“Makes no difference to me whether your ears are pointy or round, or what your teeth look like. But,” he added, looking at Rowan, “I can’t deny I’m glad to see you got in a few punches this time.”
“Who did that to you?”
There was a flutter of wings and a flash of light, and before she could roll over, he’d scooped her up, blanket and all. If she’d had any energy, she might have objected. But he carried her up the two flights of stairs, down the hall, and then— A roaring fire, warm sheets, and a soft mattress. And a heavy quilt that was tucked in with surprising gentleness. The fire dimmed on a phantom wind, and then the mattress shifted. In the flickering dark, he said roughly, “You’re staying with me from now on.”
She slid an arm across the bed to grasp his hand. She knew that if she wanted to, she could strike him a wound so deep it would fracture him. “I knew. At first, I was afraid you’d mock me if I told you, and I would kill you for it. Then I didn’t want you to pity me. And more than any of that, I didn’t want you to think it was ever an excuse.” “Like a good soldier,”
Oh, he was definitely fussing, and though it warmed her miserable heart, it was becoming rather irritating.
“I don’t think my kitty-cat friend would know what to do with you—nor would any of the others. It would likely end in bloodshed.” She kept grinning, and he crossed his arms. “They would likely have very little interest in you, as you’ll be old and decrepit soon enough and thus not worth the effort it would take to win you.” She rolled her eyes. “Killjoy.”
I am Celaena Sardothien.” Rowan’s face was drawn, but she went on. “When they would let me out, so much of my mind had shut down in the darkness that the only thing I could remember was that my name was Celaena. Celaena Sardothien, arrogant and brave and skilled, Celaena who did not know fear or despair, Celaena who was a weapon honed by Death.” She ran a shaking hand through her hair. “I don’t usually let myself think about that part of Endovier,” she admitted. “After I got out, there were nights when I would wake up and think I was back in those cells, and I would have to light every candle
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“At least if you’re going to hell,” he said, the vibrations in his chest rumbling against her, “then we’ll be there together.” “I feel bad for the dark god already.”
“When I’m back to normal, can I assume you’re going to yell at me about almost burning out?” He let out a soft laugh but continued stroking her hair. “You have no idea.”
“First chocolates on my birthday, now an actual compliment?” His eyes narrowed, and they had yet another of their wordless conversations. The more you talk, the more I’m going to make you pay in a moment. She smiled slightly. Apologies, master. I am yours to instruct. Brat. He jerked his chin at her.
So she left Rowan in the hall. But it did not stop her from wishing she could keep him.
“You have experience—you are needed here. You are the only person who can give the demi-Fae a chance of surviving; you are trusted and respected. So I am staying. Because you are needed, and because I will follow you to whatever end.”
“I claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don’t care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend.”
“To whatever end?” He nodded, and she joined hands with him, blood to blood and soul to soul, his other arm coming around to grip her tightly. Their hands clasped between them, he whispered into her ear, “I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.”
“Behold my power, Maeve. Behold what I grapple with in the deep dark, what prowls under my skin.”
“Together, Fireheart,” he said, pushing back the sleeve of her tunic. “We’ll find a way together.” He looked up from her exposed wrist. “A court that will change the world,” he promised.
“Do you promise to serve in my court, Rowan Whitethorn, from now until the day you die?” She did not know the right words or the Old Language, but a blood oath wasn’t about pretty phrases. “I do. Until my last breath, and the world beyond. To whatever end.”
No longer would they be locked away in her heart. No longer would she be ashamed.
He looked at his friend, perhaps for the last time, and said what he had always known, from the moment they’d met, when he’d understood that the prince was his brother in soul. “I love you.”
She was starting to wonder, as they approached the docks at the end of the cobblestone street, if she had made a teensy mistake in binding him to her forever.
She lifted her face to the stars. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir of two mighty bloodlines, protector of a once-glorious people, and Queen of Terrasen. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius—and she would not be afraid.
