Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

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

Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom …

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.

All he had was an unmarked grave for a healer no one would remember, a broken empire, and a shattered castle.

Dorian 💔

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.

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.

You do not yield.

He had killed his way across the world; he had gone to war and back more times than he cared to remember. And despite it all, despite the rage and despair and ice he’d wrapped around his heart, he’d still found Aelin. Every horizon he’d gazed toward, unable and unwilling to rest during those centuries, every mountain and ocean he’d seen and wondered what lay beyond … It had been her. It had been Aelin, the silent call of the mating bond driving him, even when he could not feel it.

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

“You should have gone to Terrasen. It needs you.” “I need you more.” He didn’t balk from the stark honesty roughening his voice. “And Terrasen will need you, too. Not Lysandra masquerading as you, but you.”

Because Manon with conviction in her heart, with utter fearlessness in her eyes, was wholly unstoppable.

“What was stolen has been restored; what was lost has come home again. I hail thee, Manon Crochan, Queen of Witches.”

Death had been her curse and her gift and her friend for these long, long years. She was happy to greet it again under the golden morning sun.

Gavriel said quietly, “I shall endeavor to be worthy of my son.”

And there is only one witch who will be my queen.

Rowan kissed her. “I love you,” he whispered onto her mouth. “Come back to me.”

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.

!!!!!

But his partner. His mate.

MATE

And before them all, sword raised to the sky as that horn blew one last time, the ruby in the blade’s pommel smoldering like a small sun … Before them all, riding on the Lord of the North, was Aelin.

“Then we shall shut them,” Gavriel said, and smiled grimly. “Together.” The word was more of a question, subtle and sorrowful. Together. As father and son. As the two warriors they were. Gavriel—his father. He had come. And looking at those tawny eyes, Aedion knew it was not for Aelin, or for Terrasen, that his father had done it. “Together,” Aedion rasped.

My heatt

Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. “I am a god.” She unleashed herself upon them.

“Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen.”