Holy gods, when she’d looked at him, he’d almost fallen to his knees. Queen, and lover, and friend—and more. He hadn’t cared that they had an audience. He had needed to touch her, to reassure himself that she was all right, to feel the woman who could do such great and terrible things and still look at him with that beckoning, vibrant life in her eyes. You make me want to live, Rowan. He wondered if Elide Lochan had somehow made Lorcan want to do the same.
