Chapter Text
Prince Rowan Whitethorn couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed flying so much. Soaring over the peaks and valleys of the Staghorn mountains, weaving through the dense branches of the Oakwald forest, he’d barely had to touch the well of his magic. Where he was used to harnessing the winds to fly faster and farther, he instead was able to ride the harsh gusts that had picked up immediately upon reaching Terrasen’s impressive port. Picked up immediately as if the land itself had welcomed him personally, an almost familiar presence beneath his wings.
His companions had complained bitterly about the wind and the cold that came with it. They had arrived on Terrasen’s shores with the first hints of summer and had been assured by the captain that had ferried them across the North Sea that Terrasen was positively balmy this time of year. A lovely time to visit, he’d said.
While the cold had not bothered him quite as much as it had the rest of his party, he wasn’t quite sure that the captain had the same understanding of the word balmy as he did. Indeed, two of his companions had aired a steady stream of grievances as they’d trekked through the Oakwald forest camping on cold beds of pine needles, avoiding soggy meadows. They were already one week into their journey towards the great city of Orynth and even now, flying above the fir trees, Rowan was keeping a shield of hard air around their camp to shelter against the frigid “summer” rains.
He had yet to glimpse the city itself, but they were making good time, likely only two days out. He knew that if he had another twenty minutes or so, he might get close enough to see it on the horizon, but it wasn’t needed. For now, he was just to scout the land ahead to determine the best path forward. He had already let himself fly a little longer than was necessary, needing to feel the chill of the skies, needing distance to calm the frustration roaring through his veins.
He had been traveling with his group for nearly two months now, and most of them were not people that he had particularly liked even before the weeks of forced companionship had worn on him. At the top of his list–or perhaps the bottom, was Fenrys Moonbeam. Once a bloodsworn warrior to the late Queen Maeve, Fenrys had managed to retain his position in the monarch’s inner circle when Rowan’s cousin Sellene had taken the throne. Maeve had died without producing any heirs, so the crown had fallen to the Whitethorn house. In order to ease the transition between houses, Sellene had allowed Maeve’s favoured warriors to remain, though she’d made it clear she wouldn’t be offering anyone the blood oath. This meant that despite Rowan’s blood relation to the queen, despite his status as a prince, and despite the fact that his magic and strength were unmatched in the Fae realm, Fenrys Moonbeam outranked him. A fact that the idiot would not let Rowan forget.
It wasn’t that Rowan hated Fenrys himself. He was honourable enough, but the things he said. It was as though the male couldn’t even get through a single pleasant conversation without adding in some sort of taunt or grotesque innuendo. And Rowan didn’t consider himself to be someone with delicate sensibilities. Fenrys was just that obnoxious.
It perhaps did not help that many of Fenry’s jabs were alluding to Rowan’s past with another of their companions.
Remelle.
He understood why Sellene had sent her, he really did. Remelle’s magic gave her a rare mastery over language. Regardless of how familiar she was with a region’s languages, accents, and dialects, she could pick them up almost immediately. A valuable asset for anyone wanting to navigate international affairs like they were. But Remelle herself, well, she left a lot to be desired.
Over a hundred years ago, Rowan had had a moment of weakness. Perhaps it had been boredom, or perhaps he had finally let his family’s taunts about his perpetual singleness get to him. Whatever the reason, he had taken Remelle to his bed and then had spent the last hundred years trying to forget it.
It would have been easy had she not been persistently chasing him ever since. She was beautiful, of course, which was part of why he had given in at the time, but she was not the sort of female he could come to love.
Remelle was cruel, impatient and possessive. Her worst quality was perhaps her hatred of the demi-Fae, which had only gotten worse since Sellene had lifted many of Maeve’s discriminatory laws after taking the throne.
Rowan had been making his disdain for her obvious for decades but she had not once seemed discouraged. He didn’t know whether she was truly that oblivious or if she simply enjoyed the challenge, but since they’d left Doranelle that disdain had done nothing to stop her from inviting him to go on private walks or running her hand down his arm whenever she pleased.
Unsurprisingly, Remelle had complained about the weather conditions more than anyone else. And though he wouldn’t admit it, sometimes when he was particularly annoyed with her, he would use his magic to make sure the winds that hit her were a bit more frigid than what hit the rest of them. Only his cousin Enda seemed to notice, as he shared Rowan’s affinity for wind and ice, though he never commented on the bullying.
Enda was a force of calm and civility. He was born and bred for court politics, the way Rowan was for battlefields. While he was not the highest-ranking member of their party, Enda was the unofficial leader of the mission–and was Rowan’s closest friend. He was the one who would ultimately charm Terrasen’s officials into a more steady truce. He would undo Maeve’s mess with compliments, trade agreements, and acts of good faith.
Because that’s what they were here to do. They needed to win over the royalty of Terrasen before a fumbled truce could lead to war. Most of the time, Doranelle didn’t bother making nice. They were too powerful. Even without Maeve leading the realm, Doranelle was still home to thousands of powerful Fae warriors, many of which had been trained by Rowan himself.
But Terrasen was different. Yes, the kingdom had the largest Fae population outside of Doranelle, but that wasn’t what made them dangerous. It was the young demi-Fae heir prowling within their borders that had the world on edge.
Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.
Rowan had heard of her long before Sellene had briefed him on this mission. For two decades, rumours of her power had spread across oceans and continents, striking fear into the hearts of rulers and commoners alike.
Aelin of the Wildfire.
Supposedly, she had been gifted with fire magic the likes of which had not been seen for over a thousand years. A power that could raise cities and burn entire kingdoms to ash on a whim. She was a weapon that could erase enemies from existence, and perhaps if she could be bothered, conquer a continent or two. And if the rumours about her wicked temper and cunning were true, then it was only a matter of time.
Which was why Rowan had been asked to join this expedition. He had not volunteered, nor was he pleased to be asked, but it had been a necessity. If Aelin was as powerful as the rumours claimed, if their peace efforts did not get the results they needed, he was expected to contain the Heir of Fire. He wasn’t even sure that he could contain Aelin Galathynius and her magic, but there was no other option. So he had packed his things and endured the company of Fenrys and Remelle if only to protect his people. Though he intended to do everything in his power to avoid that confrontation, a fight that destructive.
A chill ran down his spine at the thought. If he and Aelin were to come to blows...well, he had to hope it wouldn’t come to that.
He shook himself from his thoughts and harnessed the winds, making a sharp turn back towards the camp. He had seen enough. The path to Orynth was clear. Now all there was to do was pray that they would still be safe once they passed the city walls.
________
Rowan dove towards the edge of the camp, passing through his own shields and made to land. Before he hit the ground, he shifted in mid-air, trading his hawk form for his Fae body. He immediately missed the solitude of the skies, but they had things to do, and the longer they lingered, the longer he would have to continue sleeping in the vicinity of Remelle.
When he had left, his companions had still been sleeping, the fast-paced travel weighing heavily on them. But now as the sky turned from black to light grey, the group was huddled around a small fire in the centre of the camp. Cooking breakfast if the smell was any indication.
As if the male could sense his discontent, Fenrys turned from his spot next to Remelle, fixed his dark eyes on Rowan, and gave him a mocking smile. His long golden curls, tan skin, and elegant clothes were somehow still pristine despite the weeks of travel. He didn’t know when Fenrys found the time to preen, but he managed. Rowan had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.
“So, did you see it? The city?”
“No, not yet. But we’re close. Two more days at most,” Rowan replied in the cold flat voice that he reserved for the annoying male in front of him. He nodded towards the rocky outcrop at the edge of the camp. “We can continue to take this path through the rocks. It’s clear.”
He sat down across the fire from Fenrys and Remelle, and Enda passed him a bowl of the hot porridge they had prepared. He murmured his thanks while avoiding Remelle’s piercing light blue eyes, refusing to be pinned under her glare. She, like Fenrys, prioritized beauty despite spending her nights on a forest floor, and her pale blonde hair was nearly as immaculate as Fenrys’s. Nearly.
They had barely spoken these past two days, since right around the time when he had decided that he no longer had the patience to deal with her. She had moped and glared ever since, but he couldn’t be bothered to change a thing.
“Excellent,” Enda said, interrupting his brooding. His cousin, unlike Remelle and Fenrys, looked worn out. His silver hair was cropped and unruly, his clothes travel-worn. He was somewhat a mirror of Rowan himself, though Enda’s eyes were a lighter shade of green than his own. “I think we’re all ready for a warm bed and clean clothes.”
“Oh, I’m not so concerned about the clothes,” Fenrys said with a wicked grin. “But I’m very interested in what Terrasen can offer when it comes to warm beds. I’m hoping the Heir of Fire will show me herself.”
Rowan let out a long-suffering groan. “You should get this out of your system now before we get to Orynth. I’ll be damned if Terrasen declares war on us because you prioritized bedding the princess over diplomacy.”
“You underestimate how effective my type of diplomacy can be,” Fenrys replied, earning a glare from Rowan. “Come on, Whitethorn. Aren’t you even a little bit interested in Aelin Galathynius? If rumours are to be believed, she is a stunning beauty. Well worth a little diplomacy .”
“I’m only interested in not being burned to a crisp.” A lie and he knew it. Rowan was interested in the princess. Perhaps not quite the way Fenrys was, but after hearing rumours for so many years, she was something new. And for an immortal, something new was a rare gift interrupting years of monotony. If he was being honest with himself, he was excited. Apprehensive, yes, but still excited. He wasn’t about to tell Fenrys that, though.
“Her beauty isn’t going to prevent a war,” Remelle said, her face tightening.
“No, perhaps not. Unless one of these two marries her,” Fenrys replied, jerking his chin towards Rowan and Enda. “An alliance with the Whitethorn family would certainly go a long way to securing peace.”
Enda just laughed. “Unfortunately, she is not my type, but Rowan, you’re welcome to try. It’s about time you settled down.”
He scowled at the words. His family had often teased him about how he had not yet married. It was good-humored teasing, but after three hundred years of the same jokes over and over...well, he found it irritable, to say the least. It was especially rich coming from Enda, who had also not married. The only reason their family spared him of the same teasing was that Enda had found his mate. It simply had not progressed into something more–yet.
Rowan had never understood how his cousin had managed such patience. To find your mate and not be with them. But whenever he had asked Enda about it, he had simply said that when you find your mate, the wait is worth it, no matter how long.
He couldn’t help his skepticism. He had never experienced anything like it. He had taken lovers in the past, one of which was trying to catch his eye right now, but he hadn’t truly cared for them. And he certainly had not found anyone who might be his mate. Not that it particularly bothered him. He was fine the way he was.
“Fenrys can have her,” he said finally, hoping to kill the conversation. “That is if she can stand to be around you.”
Fenrys only grinned at him, a wicked glint in his eye. Fenrys had always been known for his love of all things wild and beautiful. Until recently, he had not been able to fully indulge that love due to the blood oath that bound him to Queen Maeve. Yes, Fenrys bedded whatever females he could and lived a life of luxury, but if rumours were to be believed, it had all been under the shadow of his oath to Maeve. The things he’d heard...the things Maeve made Fenrys do behind closed doors…
The knot in his stomach was enough that he could no longer hold Fenrys’s gaze. It wasn’t surprising that he’d set his sights on Aelin of the Wildfire, and perhaps after everything, the fool deserved her. As long as he didn’t cause an international incident.
They finished their breakfasts in silence before dousing the fire and packing up their bedrolls.
Just two more days of traveling and enduring Fenrys’s comments. Two more days and he could enjoy having walls and a locked door between himself and Remelle.
Just two more days.