Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

Hellas damn him, he’d had to resort to giving his cut-up shirt to Whitethorn and Gavriel to hand to her for her cycle. He’d threatened to skin them alive if they’d said it was his, and Elide, with her human sense of smell, hadn’t scented him on the fabric.

IT WAS HIM?!? AHHH

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

Lorcan didn’t want to consider if Whitethorn would soon need to add a tattoo to the other side of his face.

But it wasn’t the slightly older features that knocked the breath from him. It was the hand on her rounded belly. She stared toward him, hair still flowing. Behind her, four small figures emerged. Rowan fell to his knees.

The tallest: a girl with golden hair and pine-green eyes, solemn-faced and as proud as her mother. The boy beside her, nearly her height, smiled at him, warm and bright, his Ashryver eyes near-glowing beneath his cap of silver hair. The boy next to him, silver-haired and green-eyed, might as well have been Rowan’s twin. And the smallest girl, clinging to her mother’s legs … A fine-boned, silver-haired child, little more than a babe, her blue eyes harking back to a lineage he did not know.

Children. His children. Thei...

Lady Yrene Westfall, formerly Yrene Towers,

AHHH

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.

PREGNANT AHHH

He might as well have been a character in one of the books he’d lent Aelin last fall.

Bahahaha

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

It took all of Chaol’s restraint to keep from sweeping Yrene into his arms and kissing her.

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

And behind them, Aelin continued as well. So Rowan followed her, as he would follow her until his last breath, and beyond it.

Not an illusion. He had come for her. Rowan. Rowan Whitethorn. Now Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, her husband and king-consort. Her mate. She mouthed his name. He had come for her. Rowan.

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

“Two months, three days, and seven hours.” Her mouth tightened, either at the length of time, or the fact that he’d counted every single one of those hours apart.

But Aelin’s gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene’s finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned. “No longer Yrene Towers,” Chaol said softly, “but Yrene Westfall.”

Being in a female form wasn’t entirely what Dorian had expected.

LMAO THIS IS SO FUNNY

A few subtle pats between his legs had told him enough about the changes there.

HELP BAHAHA

He’d thought he’d known everything about the female body. How to make a woman purr with pleasure. He was half-tempted to find a tent and learn firsthand what certain things felt like.

Dorian is so unhinged lmao

Gods, he loved her.

Aelin awoke to the scent of pine and snow, and knew she was home.

it really wouldn’t be a bad idea to unfasten his pants right there, or that his hand, discreetly and lazily rubbing that damned spot between her thighs, should be inside her.

that's CRAZY

“Just needed to rest.” Aelin jerked her chin at Rowan. “He requires frequent naps in his old age.”

Lmao

The king I wish to be is the opposite of what you are. He gave Maeve a smile. And there is only one witch who will be my queen.

“Please. I am begging you. I am begging you, Lysandra, to go.” Her chin lifted. “You are not asking our other allies to run.” “Because I am not in love with our other allies.”

Where Dorian was, what he was doing—she didn’t let herself think about. If only because doing so would send her flying southward again, all the way to Morath.

She had never had a brother, or a father. She hadn’t yet decided which one she would like Aedion to be.

Aww omg

Her Second, her cousin, her friend, smiled, eyes bright as stars. “Live, Manon.” Manon blinked. Asterin smiled wider, kissed Manon’s brow, and whispered again, “Live.”

I’m broken

As she and the Thirteen Yielded completely, and blew themselves and the witch tower to smithereens.

For hours, Manon knelt on the battlefield, Abraxos at her side. As if she might stay with them, her Thirteen, for a little while longer.

Chaol didn’t hide his tears, the shaking that overtook him as he collided with Dorian and embraced his king.

Yrene’s smile turned softer—deeper, and she laid a hand on her abdomen. “Then you shall be pleased to hear that you’ll soon be an uncle.” Dorian whirled to him. Chaol nodded, unable to find the words to convey what flooded his heart.

can’t bear it, Aelin. I can’t.” She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I wanted that thousand years with you,” she said softly. “I wanted to have children with you. I wanted to go into the Afterworld together.”

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

My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid.

She had lied. His Fireheart had lied. And he would now watch her die.

“And when this war is over, however it may end, I will still be here, with you. Whether in this life or the next, Aedion.”

So Aedion leaned in, and kissed Lysandra, kissed the woman who should have been his wife, his mate, one last time. “I love you.”

He stopped hearing the battle. Stopped seeing the fighting around him, above him. Stopped seeing everything but the fallen warrior, who gazed toward the darkening sky with sightless eyes. His tattooed throat ripped out. His sword still gripped in his hand. Gavriel. His father.

So she whispered it to herself, one last time. The story. Her story. Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom …

Her name was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius. And she would not be afraid.

“Go save the world, Yrene,” he whispered, and kissed her brow.

“How,” Maeve asked again. “How did you not break?” “Because I am not afraid,” Aelin said.

No, Aelin only looked at her people, smiling broadly and freely, as she entered Orynth, and they began to cheer, welcoming her home at long last.

She went still. “Who?” Manon’s throat bobbed. “All.” All of the Thirteen. All those fierce, brilliant witches. Gone.

“Live, Elide,” was all the witch said to her before striding out of the hall once more. “Live.”

Shining brighter than the snow outside, Aelin lifted her chin and began her final walk home.

I, Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, swear upon my immortal soul to guard, to nurture, and to honor Terrasen from this day until my very last.