Throne of Glass (Throne of Glass #0.1–0.5, 1–7)

by Sarah J. Maas

Aelin debated slamming the woman into the filthy, wet wall just to remind her who, exactly, the King’s Champion was,

There were perhaps only three feet between them now—three feet and months and months of missing and hating him. Months of crawling out of that abyss he’d shoved her into.

It took considerable effort to keep from shaking the captain to demand how he could have been so reckless and stupid and taken so long to act.

Because he’s actually the worst.

She clenched her fingers into fists to keep from slamming his head into the side of a brick building.

Do it! I support you.

“You’re still the same assassin who walked away. You came back only when it was useful for you.”

The way I would have pushed his wheelchair off a cliff.

It truly had been horror and revulsion that she’d seen on his face that day she revealed her Fae form in the other world—the day she’d cleaved the earth and called down fire to save him, to save Fleetfoot. Yes, there would always need to be checks against any sort of power, but … Monster. She wished he’d struck her instead. “So Dorian is allowed to have magic. You can come to terms with his power, and yet my power is an abomination to you?”

Of course only magic wheelers are monsters. Only Aelin.

Monster. And yet … For her friends, for her family, she would gladly be a monster. For Rowan, for Dorian, for Nehemia, she would debase and degrade and ruin herself. She knew they would have done the same for her.

But she was her own champion now. And she would not add another name of her beloved dead to her flesh.

Abraxos sucked in a great breath, tucked his wings in tight, and fell off the side of the post. He liked to do that—just tumble off as though he’d been struck dead. Her wyvern, it seemed, had a wicked sense of humor.

He is my favorite ever

Behind, Asterin whooped, and Manon turned to watch her Second fling her arms out and lean back in her saddle until she was lying flat on her mount’s spine, her golden hair unbound and streaming. Such wild ecstasy—there was always a fierce, untamed joy when Asterin flew.

Oh Asterin so free and wild. Manon doesn’t deserve you…..yet.

Lysandra held her gaze. “Archer’s dead.” “Because I gutted him,” Aelin said sweetly.

Oops hahaha

And just because, Manon pulled back and sucked Elide’s blood off her iron nail.

She’s literally so hot

“And more than any of us, Asterin has never for a second forgotten what your grandmother is capable of.”

went too long without demanding retribution. I have no interest in forgiveness.”

“We’re such refined, genteel ladies.” “Please,” Lysandra said, waving a manicured hand, “you and I are nothing but wild beasts wearing human skins. Don’t even try to deny it.”

The wrath Chaol found in Aelin’s eyes was world-ending. “You bring my court into this, Chaol,” Aelin said with lethal softness, “and I don’t care what you were to me, or what you have done to help me. You betray them, you hurt them, and I don’t care how long it takes, or how far you go: I’ll burn you and your gods-damned kingdom to ash. Then you’ll learn just how much of a monster I can be.”

Stupid asshole

“And since the Royal Theater was shut down by His Imperial Majesty, I trust we both agree that what was done to those musicians was a crime as unforgivable as the massacres of the slaves in Endovier and Calaculla.”

“When you shatter the chains of this world and forge the next, remember that art is as vital as food to a kingdom. Without it, a kingdom is nothing, and will be forgotten by time. I have amassed enough money in my miserable life to not need any more—so you will understand me clearly when I say that wherever you set your throne, no matter how long it takes, I will come to you, and I will bring music and dancing.”

Heart eyes

was the heir of fire. She was fire, and light, and ash, and embers. She was Aelin Fireheart, and she bowed for no one and nothing, save the crown that was hers by blood and survival and triumph.

I’d bow to Aelin

Behind them, across the hall, the dancers shattered their roses on the floor, and Aedion grinned at his queen as the entire world went to hell.

Rowan had taught her a few new tricks. She was a whirling cloud of death, a queen of shadows, and these men were already carrion.

She gazed into those eyes, at the mouth she’d once kissed, at the friend she’d once cared for so deeply, and begged, “Just one sign, Dorian.”

“I don’t know why I was ever nervous you would start bowing and scraping.” Light and understanding danced in Lysandra’s eyes. “Where would the fun be in that?”

But he wished she had killed him. He hated her for not killing him.

Liar. Aelin was and had always been a gods-damned liar. She was as much an oath-breaker as he was. Worse.

God Chaol nobody could ever make me like you. Even if it was to save my life. Dorian wasted his life on saving you. Choke on a dick.

“It was worth it,” he said, his smile fading. “You were worth it. All these years, all the waiting. You’re worth it.” He’d known the moment she had looked up at him as she stood before his execution block, defiant and wicked and wild.

“Whatever you had to do to survive, whatever you did from spite or rage or selfishness … I don’t give a damn. You’re here—and you’re perfect. You always were, and you always will be.” She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear that.

Exactly

Maybe he was a fool, but he couldn’t in good conscience say no. If only because Aedion would have slaughtered him for it.

The only people you respect are men. He would be a MAGA person.

The crowd cheered, and Aelin flung out her arms, turning in a slow circle, Death triumphant.

Death triumphant sounds familiar…..

What checks would there be against her? Against Aedion, and that Fae Prince of hers, and all the warriors like them? A new world, yes. But a world in which the ordinary human voice would be nothing more than a whisper.

You would only care about humans when magic people are being slaughtered.

“Their deaths equate to their behavior in life,”

can choose, witchling. Blue or red.” “What?” “Does your blood run blue or red? You decide. If it runs blue, it turns out I have jurisdiction over you. Little shits like Vernon can’t do as they will to my kind—not without my permission. If your blood runs red … Well, I don’t particularly care about humans, and seeing what Vernon does with you might be entertaining.”

“Blue,” she whispered. “My blood runs blue.”

Rowan was the most powerful full-blooded Fae male alive. And his scent was all over her. Yet she had no gods-damned idea.

Aelin hissed, “Need I remind you, Captain, that you went to Endovier and did not blink at the slaves, at the mass graves? Need I remind you that I was starved and chained, and you let Duke Perrington force me to the ground at Dorian’s feet while you did nothing? And now you have the nerve to accuse me of not caring, when many of the people in this city have profited off the blood and misery of the very people you ignored?”

Aedion gave him a wolf’s grin. “And you won’t be, if you speak to her that way again.”

At least he couldn’t hate himself any more than he already did.

male’s scent hit him—unwashed, but with a hint of pine and snow. And then he smelled Aelin on the stranger, the scent complex and layered, woven into the male himself.

Aelin was laughing as she cried, and the male was just holding her, his hooded head buried in her neck. As if he were breathing her in. “Who is that?” Nesryn asked. Aedion smiled. “Rowan.”

Everything—she wanted to tell him everything. She gripped him harder, savoring the corded muscle of his forearms, the eternal strength of him. He brushed back a loose strand of her hair, his callused fingers scraping against her cheek in the lightest caress. The gentleness of it made her choke on another sob.

would all be fine, even if it went to hell, so long as he was here with her.

“Take off your hood,” he said with a soft growl, his eyes fixed on her mouth. She crossed her arms. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine, Prince.”

Though it was a face she’d memorized, a face that had haunted her dreams these past few weeks … it was new, somehow. And he just looked at her, as if he were thinking the same thing.

“You made my eyes water for the entire damn journey to Mistward.”

“You’ve become a tyrant, Princess,” he said.

He ran a scarred finger down the golden spine of the dragon. “You’re not that girl anymore,” he said softly. “Someday, I want to see you wear this.”

“Yes, but—” He sighed. “You met his father. A few weeks ago. Gavriel.”

“Does she answer to you, General?” A dangerous, quiet question. Aedion knew that when males like Rowan spoke softly, it usually meant violence and death were on their way.

“I dare because it is my blood to give away; I dare because you did not exist for me then. Even if neither of you had taken it yet, I would still give it to him because he is my carranam, and he has earned my unquestioning loyalty!”

Aedion swore at her, a filthy, foul curse that he immediately regretted. Rowan lunged for him, knocking back his chair hard enough to flip it over, but Aelin threw out a hand. The prince stood down.