Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass, #5)

by Sarah J. Maas

I have seen how little respect men have for anything they think they are entitled to.

Lorcan nodded. “A rougher life,” he said, “than I want for my wife.”

Against him, he could feel her racing heart—wild, despite the calm submission written over every line of her body.

silence—the power in who spoke first. The power in making someone wait.

Wished for time to just … stop so he might sort out all these fractured pieces of himself, put them into some kind of order, if not back together entirely.

There had to be something there, something worth her while.

The act alone left a hole in his chest.

she’d share this room with him. This bed.

There was something like pain—and regret—in Gavriel’s eyes. Of all of them, Gavriel had probably been his only friend.

She’d done it before; they all bore scars from it.

“Would you have told me what happened last night if I hadn’t been there?”

She wasn’t fine, not even close. But she wasn’t dead.

“Aren’t I? After all, I made you a promise two and a half years ago.

“And I missed you like hell.”

Aelin decided she didn’t particularly give a shit who was watching and rose up on her toes to brush her mouth against his.

“The world,” Aelin said, “will be saved and remade by the dreamers, Rolfe.”

There was not enough time, not enough time to do what she needed to, to fix things. But … small steps.

“That man has endured enough, Aedion. A little kindness wouldn’t kill you.”

We were children then. We are allowed to make mistakes, to figure out who we wish to be.

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—

“My whole life has been … not about what I want.

He didn’t resent her for it, not anymore, but … He had not realized he had asked for so little.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held. Or comforted. Or smiled at with any genuine love for who she was.

“How badly does it hurt every day?”

But she’d chosen Rowan. A prince with no crown, no army, no allies.

You two took the oath to each other with love in your hearts. You had no desire to own or rule him.”

truth of that word—love. That day … when Rowan had looked into her eyes as he drank her blood … she’d started to realize what it was.

there was no language to describe it … It was not mere friendship, but something born ...

Rowan laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know. We’ll make it count.”

Every day, every hour, every breath.” He kissed her softly and said onto her lips, “I would have fought for the rest of my life to find a way to return to you again.

“What I felt for you in Doranelle and what I feel for you now are the same. I just didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to act on it.”

Oh, gods—this. This was what drove her out of her mind—this fire between them. 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.

“Remind me again why I missed you.”

claimed her mouth again and kissed her deeply in the moonlight.

“You spoke from your heart. Perhaps it’s good he heard that.”

They had not come ten years ago. She wanted them to know she had not forgotten it.

His shackled arm slid around her waist to hold her to him. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Tell her flame and iron, together bound, merge into silver to learn what must be found. A mere step is all it shall take.” Then she looked away again.

and when only a hundred yards separated them, she veered left.

It was not the woman who looked at him, but the beast she’d become. As if she had given herself so fully to its instincts, that it had been the only way to survive.

“Because I am going to marry you,” he promised her. “One day. I am going to marry you. I’ll be generous and let you pick when, even if it’s ten years from now. Or twenty. But one day, you are going to be my wife.”

And the Lion wondered if he himself would ever be mentioned in those whispered stories—if his son would ever allow the world to know who had sired him. Or even care.

“We’ll figure it out.”

But she said, “Perhaps you’re just the only one arrogant and insane enough to love me

You do not face this alone; you do not decide that you are unlovable

And now this time, this third time … She was not afraid.

“I love you. I am in love with you, Rowan. I have been for a while. And I know there are limits to what you can give me, and I know you might need time—”

“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.

“You are mine.”