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Borrowed time. Every moment of it had been borrowed time.
Her mother placed a phantom hand over Aelin’s heart. It is the strength of this that matters. No matter where you are, no matter how far, this will lead you home.
It is the strength of this that matters, Aelin.
You do not yield.
I am alive.
So he sent the words along it, with as much hope and fury and unrelenting love as he had felt from her. I will find you.
the song of his soul.
Be what you wish—a thing far easier said than done. Especially with the weight of a crown.
“You think too much, young king.” “Better than too little,” he muttered.
that hint of self-loathing that sometimes flickered across her face.
“Yet he held on for decades.” He held her stare.
Only with her would there be no judgment for what he’d done, who he’d failed, what he might still have to do.
Even if she’d lied to him about it, she’d been willing to accept this weight.
“You must be mistaken.” “Am I? Or do you not remember me at all?”
So here I am.” A sidelong glance at her, awe still on his face.
