Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

She was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, and she was Queen of Terrasen.

“Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too.”

Dorian went on, “I should do it.” “No.” The word broke from Chaol—and Aelin. Her first word since this debate had begun. But it was Fenrys who asked Chaol, voice deadly soft, “You’d rather my queen die than your king?”

Rowan just stared and stared at his mate. His reason for breathing.

“No sweet farewells, Princess?” Rowan asked as she traced the mark with her foot. “They seem dramatic,” Aelin said. “Far too dramatic, even for me.” But Rowan halted her, the second symbol half-finished. Tipped back her chin. “Even when you’re … there,” he said, his pine-green eyes so bright under the moon. “I am with you.” He laid a hand on her heart. “Here. I am with you here.” She laid her own hand on his chest, and breathed his scent deep into her lungs, her heart. “As I am with you. Always.” Rowan kissed her. “I love you,” he whispered onto her mouth. “Come back to me.”

Rowan had hidden Wyrdmarks in her tattoo. Had inked Wyrdmarks all over it. “A map home,” Mala said, the image fading. “To him.”

She passed through a world of snowcapped mountains under shining stars. Passed over one of those mountains, where a winged male stood beside a heavily pregnant female, gazing at those very stars. Fae.

Her name was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius. And she would not be afraid.

Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. “I am a god.”

“Hello, princeling,” she breathed. A smile bloomed on his mouth. “Hello, witchling.”

“Darrow called me ‘Your Majesty,’ ” she said after a minute. Aedion slid his red-rimmed eyes to her. But a spark lit them—just a bit. “Should we be worried?” Aelin’s mouth curved. “I thought the same damn thing.”