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“You are my Fireheart.”
Even if this thing between them … even if he knew it was not mere lust, or even just love. This thing between them, the force of it, could devour the world.
“Aelin is my heart.
A hundred years she’d had with Asterin. She’d always thought they’d have a hundred more.
“They say she’s beautiful as sin—and colder than ice. They say she’s a tyrant, a coward, a whore. They say she’s gods-blessed—or gods-damned.
Dorian said smoothly, “You will find, Rolfe, that one does not deal with Celaena Sardothien. One survives her.”
“Allow me to introduce to you, Captain Rolfe, the incomparable, the beautiful, and the absolutely and all-around flawless Queen of Terrasen.”
“The world,” Aelin said, “will be saved and remade by the dreamers, Rolfe.”
We were children then. We are allowed to make mistakes, to figure out who we wish to be.
They could burn the entire world to ashes with it. He was hers and she was his, and they had found each other across centuries of bloodshed and loss, across oceans and kingdoms and war.
“I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”
She had never said such words—to anyone. Never let herself be that vulnerable, never felt this burning and unending thing, so consuming she might die from the force of it.
There were no words in his eyes; none in hers, either. Words did not do it justice. Not in any language, in any world.
“I see you. I see every part of you. And I am not afraid.”
“I’d walk into the burning heart of hell itself to find you.”
“I’ll always find a way back to you.”
