More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Because for Terrasen, for Erilea, Elena would walk into the eternal darkness lurking across the valley to buy them all a chance.
King. King Dorian.
KING!! DORIAN!
“You are my Fireheart.”
“Hello, witchling.” Some ancient, predatory part of her awoke at the half smile. It sat up, cocking its ears toward him. Not a whiff of fear. Interesting. Manon purred back, “Hello, princeling.”
Impossible. No one could get through those shields. Not even Rowan-rutting-Whitethorn.
“I have known many kings in my life, Dorian Havilliard. And it was a rare man indeed who asked for help when he needed it, who would put aside pride.”
And Manon understood in that moment that there were forces greater than obedience, and discipline, and brutality. Understood that she had not been born soulless; she had not been born without a heart. For there were both, begging her not to swing that blade.
Then Manon Blackbeak whirled and brought Wind-Cleaver down upon her grandmother.
Even in the watery light, Dorian could perfectly see the woman sitting at Rolfe’s desk, her black clothes dirty, weapons gleaming, and her feet propped on the dark wooden surface. Aelin Galathynius, her hands laced behind her head, grinned at them all and said, “I like this office far better than your other one, Rolfe.”
MY queen
Lorcan said quietly, “Would you like me to kill him for you?”
🧎🏻♀️➡️
They could burn the entire world to ashes with it. He was hers and she was his, and they had found each other across centuries of bloodshed and loss, across oceans and kingdoms and war.
She was not a rebel princess, shattering enemy castles and killing kings. She was a force of nature. She was a calamity and a commander of immortal warriors of legend.
“I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”
“And you love me,” she said. Not a question. “To whatever end,” he breathed.
And he wondered if Aelin was somehow watching the archipelago, and the seas, and the skies, as if she might never see them again.
My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius … And I will not be afraid.
NO YOU WONT
He brushed away a stray tear with his thumb. “I made a promise to protect you. I will not break it, Elide.” She made to pull away, but he gripped her a little harder, keeping her eyes on him. “I will always find you,” he swore to her. Her throat bobbed. Lorcan whispered, “I promise.”
The Queen of Flame and Shadow, the Heir of Fire, Aelin of the Wildfire, Fireheart …
A wyvern. A wyvern with shimmering wings. And behind it, descending upon the Fae fleet with wicked delight, flew twelve others.
Rowan hissed, “Where is my wife?”
WHERE IS HIS WIFE
His Fireheart. His equal, his friend, his lover. His wife. His mate.
Fight her. I am coming for you. Even if it takes me a thousand years. I will find you, I will find you, I will find you.
Unleashing a cry that set the world trembling, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, Consort of the Queen of Terrasen, began the hunt to find his wife.
