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“I don’t quite comprehend why you’d force someone to bow when the purpose of the gesture is to display allegiance and respect.”
Princes are not supposed to be handsome! They’re sniveling, stupid, repulsive creatures! This one … this … How unfair of him to be royal and beautiful.
“Your father ordered that I was to be kept alive for as long as possible—to endure the misery that Endovier gives in abundance.”
The leaves dangled like jewels—tiny droplets of ruby, pearl, topaz, amethyst, emerald, and garnet; and a carpet of such riches coated the forest floor around them.
Libraries were full of ideas—perhaps the most dangerous and powerful of all weapons.
She hated corsets. She hated the king. She hated glass castles.
Swordplay was like dancing—certain steps must be followed or else it would fall apart.
Actually, I believe the title our esteemed friends in the empire now like to use is ‘fire-breathing bitch-queen.’ ”
“I’ll be at my old apartment, should you decide to take your head out of your ass. Good night.”
She 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.
She was a whirling cloud of death, a queen of shadows, and these men were already carrion.
She had likely just made the biggest mistake of her life, but … it was strange. Strange, that feeling of belonging.
“When you shift, will your hawk form be plucked, then?” His nostrils flared, and she clamped her lips together to keep from laughing.
“Hello, princeling,”
“We do not look back, Chaol. It helps no one and nothing to look back. We can only go on.”
He should have savored every second with his friend. He’d never realized how precious the calm moments were.
Aelin leaned against the closet doorway, clad in a nightgown of gold. Metallic gold—as he’d requested.
“You and I have always relished damning the odds.”
She said softly, “You make me want to live, Rowan. Not survive; not exist. Live.”
Then she smiled with every last shred of courage, of desperation, of hope for the glimmer of that glorious future. “Let’s go rattle the stars.”
They joined hands. So the world ended. And the next one began.
“Let’s have an adventure, Nesryn Faliq.”
And as they passed by the domed Royal Theater, there was music—beautiful, exquisite music—playing within.
