Heir of Fire (Throne of Glass, #3)

by Sarah J. Maas

Gavriel, his tawny eyes carefully empty, and Lorcan, face stone-cold. And in their hands … At the sight of the iron-tipped whip each bore, Celaena forgot to breathe. Lorcan didn’t hesitate as he ripped Rowan’s jacket and tunic and shirt from him. “Until she answers me,” Maeve said, as if she had just ordered a cup of tea. Lorcan unfurled the whip, the iron tip clinking against the stones, and drew back his arm. There was nothing merciful on his rugged face, no glimmer of feeling for the friend on his knees. “Please,” Celaena whispered. There was a crack, and the world fragmented as Rowan bowed when the whip sliced into his back. He gritted his teeth, hissing, but did not cry out. “Please,” Celaena said. Gavriel sent his whip flying so fast Rowan had only a breath to recover. There was no remorse on Gavriel’s lovely face, no sign of the male she’d thanked weeks ago.

👸🏻 making ⚔️🛡️ whip 🦅