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His wife. Gods above. He was over five hundred years old—and this … this girl, young woman, she-devil, whatever she was, had just bluffed and lied her way into a job. A sword-thrower indeed.
"If it's make believe, why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?"
nothing waiting for an escaped slave girl, but a shallow grave.
If this is foreshadowing I'm gonna scream
The act alone left a hole in his chest.
He misses his wife :(
my Fireheart
“If you do not fight in this war, Gavriel, then you doom your son to die.”
Aelin Galathynius, her hands laced behind her head, grinned at them all and said, “I like this office far better than your other one, Rolfe.”
The males shifted as Aelin Galathynius indeed strode into the room, clad in a dark green tunic of equal wear and dirt, her golden hair unbound, her turquoise-and-gold eyes laughing as she strode past a slack-jawed Rolfe and perched on the arm of Aelin’s chair.
I KNOW Lysandra and Aelin were kicking their feet and giggling while planning this
“The world,” Aelin said, “will be saved and remade by the dreamers, Rolfe.”
Shoutout Night Court Inner Circle!!!
He nodded, swallowing hard. Too soon—she wouldn’t want a man’s touch for a long time. Maybe forever. And he’d be damned if he pushed her into it before she wanted to. And gods above, if Lysandra ever looked at any man with interest like that … he’d be glad for her. Glad she was choosing for herself, even if it wasn’t him she picked—
