Lightning gleamed on the blade, a flicker of quicksilver. For Wesley. For Sam. For Aelin. And for herself. For the child she’d been, for the seventeen-year-old on her Bidding night, for the woman she’d become, her heart in shreds, her invisible wound still bleeding. It was so very easy to sit up and slice the knife across Arobynn’s throat.
Man. I so wanted him to be tortured. For Aelin to finally one up him and show up with the ring on and just fucking surprise the shit out of him. But.. I’m so fucking glad he’s dead.
