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lovely girl gazing at the stars, and the stars who gazed back.
He’d met her once, in the days before her kingdom became a charnel house.
Of course, as fate would have it, her cousin wound up becoming Aedion Ashryver, his father’s prodigy general and the fiercest warrior in the north.
“Because I am lost,” she whispered onto the earth. “And I do not know the way.”
Aelin Fireheart,
Aelin of the Wildfire.
Her back.
Yet when he’d seen it, his heart had clean stopped—and for a moment, there had been an overwhelming silence in his mind.
There was a flutter of wings and a flash of light, and before she could roll over, he’d scooped her up, blanket and all.
“I knew. At first, I was afraid you’d mock me if I told you, and I would kill you for it. Then I didn’t want you to pity me. And more than any of that, I didn’t want you to think it was ever an excuse.”
He forgot Gavriel and Lorcan as he bolted for her—the gold and red and blue flames utterly hers, this heir of fire. Spying him at last, she smiled faintly. A queen’s smile.
They were carranam.
She was the heir of ash and fire, and she would bow to no one.
Lorcan unfurled the whip, the iron tip clinking against the stones, and drew back his arm. There was nothing merciful on his rugged face, no glimmer of feeling for the friend on his knees.
It was in the control—the power lay in controlling herself.
She understood now what her mother had meant when she had patted her heart that night she’d given her the amulet.
Rowan just stared and stared at her, and Celaena hardly heard the rest, the words Maeve spoke in the Old Language. But Rowan took out a dagger and spilled his own blood on the stones—whatever that meant. She had never heard of a blood oath being broken before, but had risked it regardless. Perhaps not in all the history of the world had one ever been broken honorably. His friends were wide-eyed and silent.
“And then I am going to rattle the stars.”
A white-tailed hawk still flew overhead, and it swooped low to brush its star-silvered wing against her cheek in farewell before it turned back with a sharp cry.
She lifted her face to the stars. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir of two mighty bloodlines, protector of a once-glorious people, and Queen of Terrasen. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius—and she would not be afraid.
She had told herself once that it wasn’t a weakness to need Rowan’s help, to want his help, and that perhaps there was a kind of strength in acknowledging that, but … He wasn’t a crutch, and she never wanted him to become one.
Rowan was the most powerful full-blooded Fae male alive. And his scent was all over her. Yet she had no gods-damned idea.
“But he chose fire.” Aelin went impossibly still.
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.”
“If memory serves, you smelled even worse when we first met. And I didn’t shove you into the nearest trough in Varese.” She glared. “Funny.” “You made my eyes water for the entire damn journey to Mistward.”
Gods, he took up the entire bathtub. She mutely handed him her favorite lavender-scented soap, which he sniffed at, sighed in resignation, and then began using.
She didn't hesitate to give him her lavender soap, but would never have given it to anyone else! If that's not a mating sign idk what is...
miss you,” she said. “Every day, I miss you. And I wonder what you would have made of all this. Made of me. I think—I think you would have been a wonderful king. I think they would have liked you more than me, actually.” Her throat tightened. “I never told you—how I felt. But I loved you, and I think a part of me might always love you. Maybe you were my mate, and I never knew it. Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering about that. Maybe I’ll see you again in the Afterworld, and then I’ll know for sure. But until then … until then I’ll miss you, and I’ll wish you were here.”
Her throat closed up even before he said, “Don’t do that. Don’t—touch me like that.”
understood that though she’d seen his eyes shine with hunger—hunger for her—it didn’t mean he wanted to act on it. Didn’t mean he might not hate himself for it. Oh, gods. What had she done?
The Fae Prince hoisted her up and set her on her feet. Neither of them immediately let go of the other. Chaol waited—waited for that twist and tug of jealousy, for the bile of it to sting him. But there was nothing. Only a flickering relief, perhaps, that … That Aelin had Rowan. He must be feeling truly sorry for himself,
To feel like he was part of their unit.
want to take my time with you—to learn … every inch of you. And this apartment has very, very thin walls. I don’t want to have an audience,” he added as he leaned down again, brushing his mouth over the cut at the base of her throat, “when I make you moan, Aelin.”
