Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

And sometimes, he spoke along the bond between them, sending his soul on the wind to wherever she was held captive, entombed. I will find you.

A princess who was to live for a thousand years. Longer. That had been her gift. It was now her curse.

There was nothing kind in the prince’s face. Nothing warm. Only cold-blooded predator. Hell-bent on finding the queen who held his heart.

She would never let go of it—the rage. Even when she sank into that burning sea within her, even when she sang to the darkness and flame, the rage guided her.

Where is Aelin? Where is my wife?

For it would take an army to keep Whitethorn from reaching his mate.

Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, consort, husband, and mate of the Queen of Terrasen, knew he was dreaming.

The family he might have, the future he might have. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

And tell him thank you—for walking that dark path with me back to the light. It had been his honor. From the very beginning, it had been his honor, the greatest of his immortal life. An immortal life they would share together—somehow. He’d allow no other alternative. Rowan silently swore it to the stars. He could have sworn the Lord of the North flickered in response.

Had said she might walk around the palace naked if she wished. What she wore or didn’t wear wouldn’t bother him in the least.

She didn’t tell the Healer on High that she wasn’t entirely sure how much longer she’d be a help—not yet. Hadn’t whispered a word of that doubt to anyone, even Chaol. Yrene’s hand drifted across her abdomen and lingered.

And supposed that whatever bond lay between them was also proof he had little fear of pain or death. A good trait for a witch, yes. But in a mortal? It would likely wind up getting him killed.

“Aedion.” He’d know that voice if he were blind.

“It was real, Aedion,” she said. “All of it. I don’t care if you believe me or not. But it was real for me.”

It is the strength of this that matters. No matter where you are, no matter how far, this will lead you home.

You do not yield. Then she was gone, like dew under the morning sun. But the words lingered. Blossomed within Aelin, bright as a kindled ember. You do not yield.

I was not supposed to love you.

“You think too much, young king.” “Better than too little,” he muttered.

Defending his queen.

“Her worth is greater than any crown.”

They’d walked this dark path together back to the light. He would not let the road end here.

“For love,” the Crochan said, and Manon nearly rolled her eyes. “These beasts, despite their dark master, are capable of love.”

Gods above, she was beautiful. He wondered when it would stop feeling like a betrayal to think so.

those levels when you are angry, when your friends are threatened. But you are not cold, not at heart.

“You do care. You know it, too. It’s what makes you so damn scared of all this.”

This wasn’t just a breaking of her body. But a breaking of her—of the fire she’d come to love. To destroy the part of her that sang.

Rowan turned from his mate. The rage in Rowan’s eyes could devour the world. And that rage was about to extract the sort of vengeance only a mated male could command.