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A hundred years she’d had with Asterin. She’d always thought they’d have a hundred more.
“To the very end, Abraxos,”
Lorcan had seen the worst and best in men for five hundred years. There was no such thing as a better world—no such thing as a happy end.
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.
“She was a bright star in centuries of darkness. I would have followed that star to the ends of the earth, if she had let me.
Do not mistake me for a human woman, princeling.” “I have no interest in human women,” he purred. “Too breakable.”
Tears rolled down her face, silent and unending as the wrath that now sculpted her features into a thing of mighty and terrible beauty.
“I made a promise to protect you. I will not break it, Elide.” She made to pull away, but he gripped her a little harder, keeping her eyes on him. “I will always find you,” he swore to her. Her throat bobbed. Lorcan whispered, “I promise.”
Abraxos let out another low whine. “You and me,” she promised him. “From now until the Darkness claims us.”
Everything had been taken from you—everything—and yet you still fought. You did not yield.
I will be with you. Until the very end, every step of the way, I will be with you.”
It is time that we became better than our foremothers.
We are all children of this land.”
Unleashing a cry that set the world trembling, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, Consort of the Queen of Terrasen, began the hunt to find his wife.
