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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.

Chapter Text

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, future Queen of Terrasen, was more tired than she cared to admit. She had once again been awoken by soft morning light streaming through the grand stained glass windows of the Library of Orynth, and she was grumpy. Really grumpy.

Curled up on a dark leather bench between the stacks, she raised a hand to the kink in her neck that had formed throughout the night, kneading the sore muscles. She let out a groan as her fingers worked, willing another uncomfortable night away. 

She had spent the last two months regularly sleeping in the library, only taking the occasional break to sleep in her own bed when her body demanded it. Two months since her last willing magic teacher had fled. Two months of desperate research, combing the stacks for any and every little detail she could learn about her magic.

And more importantly, how to control it. 

She couldn’t do it during the day. Aelin had courtly responsibilities after all. And after that last magic instructor had given up, had claimed she was too powerful and impossible to teach, her family had decided that instead of training her magic, they would suppress it.

It wasn’t done without love or consideration for her. They simply did not know how to help her. In fact, it seemed that nobody on the whole gods-damned continent knew how to help her. The depth of her magic was utterly unheard of and the only thing she could reliably do was shift back and forth between her human body and Fae body. But whenever she tried to wield her flames, whether under the guidance of an instructor or privately under the canopy of the Oakwald, something always went wrong. 

When she had been younger it had started with small fires here and there. In fact, she’d once set this very section of the library on fire. But now, at twenty-three years of age, her magic was no longer satisfied by setting a few rows of books ablaze. No, it wanted more, and so more it took.

Two months ago, she had accidentally set seven shops on fire in the city. She hadn’t even been upset or frustrated. Her magic had just erupted without reason, and only her mother’s significant water magic had been able to calm the inferno. Thankfully nobody had been hurt, but it had been a massive embarrassment for the royal family. The crown had spent an exorbitant amount of money compensating the shop owners and the families that lived in the apartments above, something her father reminded her of regularly. It was that incident that had been the last straw for her ex-instructor. 

After that, they’d decided– herself included–that they would take a different approach. Instead of coaxing and guiding the flames, they would douse them. It was the best any of them could do. 

But just because she had agreed to tame her magic, for now, didn’t mean she had given up. And so Aelin had begun her secret quest into the library–a place that had been a safe haven for her throughout her life. Every night she desperately searched for something, anything, that would help her. If her family knew what she did in the quiet hours of the night, they didn’t let on, not even Aedion, her cousin and dearest friend. 

Her only friend.

Her cousin was fiercely loyal, and though he lacked her magical abilities, he was as wild and spirited as she was. They were two sides of the same coin. So much so that people often thought they were twins. He certainly fought for her as if they were. He was even the one who had taught her to protect herself in everything from swordplay to hand-to-hand combat. 

It hadn’t been encouraged that she learn to fight, but it hadn’t been forbidden either. So every evening, after she had finished shadowing her father through his meetings and royal duties, Aelin would meet her cousin in the courtyard to train. She wasn’t as skilled as he was–he had five years of continuous training and at least seventy pounds of muscle on her after all, but she was good. Really good, if Aedion was to be believed.

Her stomach dropped a bit as she considered how much she had been lying to him recently. 

No, Aedion definitely didn’t know where she went at night. If he did, he likely would have scolded her by now and then joined her. She knew he would spend every night with her for the rest of his days if it would bring her safety and happiness. But the thought didn’t sit well. He deserved more than to be shackled by her magic. 

As did she. 

She shifted uncomfortably on her makeshift bed, and a book slipped from her lap, falling to the floor. She groaned in frustration. It had been useless. Just as every other book she had read these past two months had been useless. It wasn’t that the subject of magical control hadn’t been well-explored. It was that none of them addressed the sheer scale of her power. She was so different, so alien compared to what the historians studied that the books were utterly irrelevant.

In her frustration, she felt her magic rumble. 

It wanted out.

No, Aelin said simply, taking a sip from the small silver flask she kept tied to her waist. She emptied it and made a mental note to visit the healers for more later. 

She shook her head and rolled her shoulders in an attempt to dislodge the shakiness that had settled in her. She could do this. She could endure this, and her magic would not get out of control. Not today. 

Not today, because–shit. 

The Fae delegates. The ones that were arriving this morning. Shit.

Panic rose in her, and though her magic stayed quiet, she frantically started digging herself out of the mess of books she’d created, muttering curses as she went. She was supposed to be there to meet them, and nobody would have been able to wake her in the morning because nobody knew where she was .

Shit.

She didn’t really care about the Fae delegates. Her mother had told her plenty of Maeve’s court, and from the sounds of it, they weren’t the kindest of folk. She had heard that the new queen had brought about positive change to the realm, but the kind of changes that Aelin looked for, the decency that she expected, took years. Perhaps even longer when it came to immortals.

If they wanted to improve their ways now, then fine, she would listen, but she wouldn’t pretend she was honoured to meet them either. Not until they fixed the rampant injustices against the demi-Fae at the very least. 

Aelin grabbed the one book that had seemed promising and set out at a sprint for her rooms. She couldn’t meet them like this. She was wearing her dress from yesterday, all wrinkled from sleep, and her hair. Gods, she at least wanted to brush it. She may not care about the Fae, but it mattered what they thought about her. She was to be a queen one day, and she needed to look like it. 

She knew from the activity and shocked faces of the castle staff that she had overslept. The castle was fully awake, and the introductions were likely going to start any minute now. She rounded corners, just barely avoiding collisions with decorative suits of armour and fancy vases on pedestals until she finally reached the staircase that led to the residential part of the castle. 

The staircase was beautiful, really. With endless white marble steps and beautifully woven tapestries of green on the walls surrounding it. She had always thought it was a grand piece of architecture, that its size was impressive. But she’d also never had to run up all of those stairs until today. By the time she had made it to the top and was bounding down the pale stone hallway to her suite of rooms, she was sweating.

Perfect. Just what I need. To be sweating the one time our guests will actually be able to smell it from a distance.  

She cursed some more as she crashed through the doors to her rooms. As she flew through her sitting room and into her bedroom, she caught a glimpse of the clock. Yes. She was definitely late.

She paused to assess the damage in the large, golden mirror that stood in the corner of her room. 

Not great, but workable. The gown was lost, but that she expected. Her hair, however... well, she would have to fix it. There was no avoiding the tangled mess of long honey blonde hair that now sat upon her head. And gods, did she look tired. She was pale, and there were smudges of purple under her eyes. But there was no time for cosmetics now. 

She rushed into her wardrobe and selected a gown almost at random. Usually, she could have spent hours selecting the perfect one, running her hands across the dozens of dresses that hung in her massive closet, considering the impression each one would make. But there was no time for weaponized clothing today.

The gown she had pulled was simple and green, with silver embroidery climbing up the bodice. It wasn’t quite as modest as it probably should be for a political event, but it was beautiful. And revealing enough that it always put people on unsure footing. The key benefit was that she could get it on herself without the assistance of one of her ladies in waiting. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue, but she was on her own right now, and she was already late.

Aelin pulled on her gown and started on her hair. She ran a brush through it once, grabbed her favourite green ribbon, and it was all she could do before she started running again, this time towards the throne room.

She braided her hair as she ran, a simple braid that started from the top of her head and then went down her back. It was probably uneven, but she fastened the braid with her ribbon anyways.

She was nearing the throne room now. Gods, walking in would be embarrassing. She knew how she must look, flustered and wild-eyed from the run. The whole meeting would pause, and all eyes would go to her, no matter how stealthily she could sneak in through the side door. She didn’t mind the attention, but she usually preferred it to come from a place of admiration. Or fear. Fear worked too. 

The door was coming up quickly. It wasn’t grand like the main entrance that welcomed guests. It was just a simple wooden door with a golden handle that would allow her to enter from the right side of the dais and easily find her place standing next to her parent’s thrones. It would still be an interruption but far less than if she burst through the main doors.

The guards on either side bowed their greetings to her as she slowed from her run. And though she could tell they were trying to hide it, their eyes were swimming with judgement. She shook off their glances. It didn’t matter what they thought of her right now.

Aelin took a steadying breath and ran her hands over her gown, straightening the fabric before doing the same to her hair. She once again rolled her shoulders, willing her body to relax and embrace her cold court persona. These Fae bastards better be worth it. 

“How do I look, gentlemen?” Her voice was smooth with a vicious edge. She raised a challenging eyebrow at the guards who were now gaping at her, seemingly having lost their ability to speak.

Good enough, she thought.

And when she knew there was nothing friendly or playful on her face, when she felt her fires rumbling, ready to quash the threat of a foreign court, she closed her hand around the golden handle and pushed through the door. 

Unfortunately, she hadn’t had time to refill her flask before doing so. 

________

Rowan Whitethorn was bored.

The four of them had been loitering outside the grand doors of Terrasen’s throne room, awaiting their audience with King Rhoe and his family for twenty minutes now. 

Orynth and its castle were beautiful, he had to admit. The city was all marble and white stone, covered with vines and flowers and all other manners of verdure. They had let the city grow wild in a way that was lush yet not messy. It was perfectly manicured, and while not as natural as Doranelle, it was the closest match he had ever experienced in his centuries of traveling the world. 

Even the doors before him were intricately carved with trees and vines and stags, perhaps telling the story of the Lord of the North if he cared to study it. 

But all of this was lost on him right now. He was too tired and too fed up to care. He wasn’t really even needed for these discussions and introductions. Enda would do all the talking. He could easily slip to his rooms, and nobody would truly miss him. Rowan probably even would have tested that theory had he not been waiting for the people hidden in the throne room to give him rooms. The servants had taken their bags but had not offered any details on where they’d be staying. They’d simply been instructed to wait here until the king was ready to see them. For now, he was at their mercy.

Remelle looked as miserable as he was. No rooms meant no bathing or changing or freshening up of any sort. She was shifting on her feet in discomfort, probably horrified to be meeting royalty in her traveling clothes rather than a fine gown. At least her misery brought him some satisfaction.

It’s the little things, he thought to himself, containing a smile.

Fenrys, on the other hand, was practically bouncing off the walls. He made no effort to contain his excitement, no attempt whatsoever to keep the shit-eating grin from his face. Rowan rolled his eyes, letting loose a deep sigh before turning to Enda, the only other sane member of their group.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are we meant to be waiting this long?”

Enda returned his gaze, offering a hesitant smile. “No, we should have been in there by now, but they’re probably just running late. I’m sure it won’t be much longer.”

Running late. The royalty of Terrasen, the family of the legendary Firebringer, was running late.

Perhaps he could slip off into the city. He could find Enda on his own when he returned. It would certainly make for a more entertaining day than whatever court politics awaited him behind that door. But then he heard what he presumed to be servants rustling and a deep male sigh, followed by the words, Send them in.

No escaping then. 

The doors were pulled open by two guards. Two guards that took one look at him and recoiled. He could scent their fear, but the extra sense wasn’t needed. Their faces said enough. 

He was used to the fear. Even in Doranelle, the other Fae recognized that he was different. More, somehow. He had expected the citizens of Terrasen to be somewhat accustomed to the pointed ears and heavy presence of magic; they had their own Fae population after all. But Orynth so far had been similar to any other mortal city he had visited in the past. It bothered him before, and as much as he tried to ignore it, it still bothered him now. 

The guards had finished opening the doors, and now stood on either side, a healthy distance away from the Fae that passed through. Enda and Fenrys took the lead, and he followed closely behind, regrettably, with Remelle at his side. 

The throne room was glorious. He wasn’t one for finery, but they had outdone themselves. The chamber was long, with high vaulted ceilings painted with frescos of trees, stags, and all sorts of magical creatures. There were massive tracery windows behind the dais made up of geometric planes that looked out onto the city and mountains beyond, making the room airy despite its formality. 

The floor was white, polished marble, save for an immaculate deep green carpet, embroidered with silver vines, that led down the centre of the room to the dais. 

And the dais...it was powerful. Simple, but a sure reminder that Terrasen was one of the world’s mightiest kingdoms and had been for generations. There were just three steps of solid marble housing two large, golden thrones, one for King Rhoe and another for Queen Evalin. The thrones were intricate, again made up from the shapes of vines and branches.

He now rested his gaze on the owners of those thrones. King Rhoe was a steady man with long brown hair and a well-groomed beard. His dark eyes were intelligent but kind, and he wore robes of green for Terrasen presumably. The queen, at his side, was vibrant and had an easy presence that exuded warmth. Her hair was long and golden, and though he still had a distance to walk, he could see clearly with his Fae eyesight that she had those turquoise Ashryer eyes and wore a gown to match. They made an attractive couple, even with mortality wearing on them.

On either side of the thrones were a variety of guards and courtiers. Most were human, a few were pure Fae, and many were demi-Fae. He’d been told that Terrasen had a large fae population but to be here, to see them so integrated... He didn’t have the words. It was something he could have only dreamt about happening in Doranelle. But somehow, Terrasen had figured it out. He prayed Remelle didn’t say anything stupid.

 Despite his awe at seeing how harmoniously humans and Fae lived in Terrasen, only one of those people jumped out at him. On the right-hand side stood a large blonde male. At a glance, he seemed human, but his scent suggested a Fae lineage. He was heavily armed, and to Rowan’s surprise, looked a lot like Evalin. He hadn’t heard of a Galathynius son.

“Aedion Ashryver. Aelin’s cousin,” Remelle whispered to him, noting his confused expression, silently enough that nobody outside their party would hear. 

Of course. Sellene and Enda had briefed him on their court. He probably should have remembered...but he wasn’t planning on interacting with them much anyway. He was just here to be a glorified enforcer, after all. Though, Aedion Ashryver looked strong enough to put up a fight. Perhaps he would be a worthy sparring partner should Rowan need a break from beating Fenrys. He’d certainly been told that the Ashryver male was formidable. Supposedly he was Aelin’s primary guard and closest confidant. Aelin who–wasn’t here.

He hadn’t noticed until now. But now that he searched the throne room, he couldn’t find her. He presumed that she would be easy to spot standing next to her parents’ thrones, which meant that she simply was not here.

Well, that explained the delay.

Rowan tried to ignore the tiny flash of disappointment that ran through his traitorous body. He would surely get a glimpse of the Firebringer eventually. And it didn’t matter anyway, he reminded himself. If he didn’t see her, he likely wouldn’t have to fight her. 

He wasn’t afraid of Aelin Galathynius. If anything, the challenge actually sent a thrill through his blood. Even if he couldn’t beat her, he was confident that he could survive her. But he didn’t want to risk the chaos and destruction of such a fight if he didn’t need to. Challenge or not, the people of Erilea needed to be protected. Which meant avoiding a confrontation if possible.

His attention snapped back to the people in front of him as someone said his name. Enda. His cousin was proudly introducing him, a hand on his shoulder.

Rowan managed a light smile and bowed deeply to the king and queen before letting his thoughts drift again. He wondered how disappointed Fenrys was at the princess’s absence. The male certainly seemed to have deflated a bit since they had entered the throne room. 

A commotion at the edge of the room pulled him from his thoughts. A door was opening to the right of the dais, behind Aelin’s cousin. The intruder had not yet stepped over the threshold, but he caught the look of sharp annoyance on Aedion’s face. And though it was quiet, he could have sworn the male muttered, Fucking finally.

There was only one person important enough to interrupt the king without consequence and garner such vulgar criticism from the warrior standing next to the dais. Only one person whose magic could feel so heavy and wild, its presence already sweeping through the room along with the scent of lemon verbena, jasmine, and crackling embers. He noted that each of his companions had stiffened. He swore he even saw Fenrys’s hand twitch towards his sword and made a mental note to mock him for his cowardice later.

King Rhoe stopped speaking as he looked towards the door, and the room went silent, just as Rowan’s own heart went silent as Aelin Ashryver Galathynius stepped into the throne room.

His entire world stopped as she came into focus. He wasn’t sure if he was breathing or if he would ever breathe again as he watched her move. Because he knew what she was. There was no question, no need for exploration. He knew with absolute certainty what she was.

Aelin Galathynius was his mate.

She was in her human form, but he’d been told she had full shifting abilities, which meant she favoured this body over her Fae form. And what a beautiful form it was. Beyond beautiful. And golden as if the sun itself shone from beneath her skin. Her hair was pure gold, and her eyes–cunning Ashryver eyes–were a vibrant turquoise ringed with gold. Her features were sharp and regal, with a soft pink flush that graced her cheekbones. Had she been running?

She wore a simple green gown that clung to every dip and curve of her body. It had sleeves, but the plunging neckline and tight fit more than made up for any modesty they offered. With how the gown highlighted her lithe figure, he found himself wanting to reach out and touch her. To see if she was even real. Perhaps he could...perhaps he could walk up to her right now and–

She turned those beautiful eyes of hers to give the room a sultry sweep as she swaggered up the dais steps and took her place next to the thrones. Her mouth was curled into a cruel smile as Aedion Ashryver leaned up to whisper something that he couldn’t hear. Aelin just rolled her eyes, not deigning to respond.

She hadn’t seen him yet. She couldn’t have. If she had then...well, he didn’t know. But surely something would happen. Surely he couldn’t be the only one struggling to breathe, to think, to grasp onto some shred of sanity. 

Rowan watched her as she dragged her eyes across the room, starting with Fenrys and then finally landing on him. 

Their eyes locked, and she staggered back a step, the self-assured look on her face unraveling with shock. He felt it then–a thread between them that went taut as if a chain had snapped into place, linking them permanently. He almost fell to his knees from the force of it. Her eyes had lost that wicked glint, replaced by surprise and perhaps vulnerability. Neither of them dared break the other’s gaze. 

He vaguely felt Remelle shooting him a look of confusion. But he didn’t care. It was like he was underwater, completely removed from her and the rest of the throne room. There was only one thing he could think about. Only one thought that he was certain of. 

That Aelin Galathynius was perfect, and she was his.

Chapter Text

Aelin Galathynius was about a hair’s breadth away from collapsing in front of dozens of people. Dozens of people who no longer felt real to her.

As she gazed into the pine-green eyes of the Fae male in front of her, something clicked into place. Something everlasting and all-consuming. A truth that she could not explain or reason with.

It was undeniable. A truth so powerful that it threatened to undo all that she was as it swept through her body, as it altered her very soul.

He was hers. 

She’d missed the introductions. Gods, she didn’t even know his name. 

Aelin couldn’t break his stare. Perhaps she never would–a fate that she now welcomed.

She could feel her carefully constructed facade slipping away, no longer relevant. She gaped at him without pretense, her wicked mask that had protected her for years in court utterly destroyed. He was standing in front of the dais with three companions. She barely gave them a passing glance as she took him in.

He was handsome. His face was all sharp angles and tan skin beneath short silver hair. She wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it. He was tall–even taller than Aedion, and she could tell, despite his layered clothing, despite his cloak, that his body was made up of strong, corded muscle. A warrior, then. He was an immortal after all. He’d probably spent hundreds of years perfecting that body for battle. A body that she now very much wanted to touch.

She hazily sensed that she was getting warmer, a tingle of heat jittering across her skin. She ignored it. 

Holy shit.

She’d said it out loud, she realized, and loudly too, as every pair of eyes in the room snapped towards her. The silver-haired male’s eyes danced with amusement. She felt her face flush a little but didn’t have the wherewithal to apologize for her outburst. She pulled herself back to reality just enough to realize that she had started moving. Slowly, with unsteady steps, she was descending the steps of the dais and making her way towards him. He tracked her every movement with predatory calm, seemingly frozen in place.

She was halfway towards him now. She would reach out and touch him, and he would be hers, and she could claim him and–and–

It was too much. Suddenly, and all at once, she was consumed by the force of it. And it was too much. 

His eyes widened as her magic erupted around her. There were shouts of terror, and she heard her mother’s voice as if from a distance. Everybody out, now!

Her flames only covered her body and were not yet hot enough to burn her clothes, but the temperature was rising quickly. Aelin watched the courtiers, guards, and the Fae delegates flee the room. But not him. He hadn’t even broken her gaze.

He took a step towards her, and her flames heated. She staggered back in terror, not wanting to hurt him, not wanting to hurt anyone. 

She reached down for the flask at her hip, her only hope to stop this. But her hand froze over it as she remembered that she’d emptied it this morning. Pine-green eyes snapped to where her hand had landed, tightening slightly before returning to her face.

Aelin was stuck. She was burning and she was stuck and she couldn’t think of a way out. Her magic roared, her flames now big enough to illuminate all the angles of the throne room’s vaulted ceilings. She looked around desperately for an escape. Maybe if she could get outside–

The Fae male stepped towards her again, hand outstretched as if to reach for her own. She recoiled slightly, more panic seeping through her, but he held her gaze, letting her decide whether she wanted to take his hand. There was no fear on his face, no terror in his eyes. Just calm and–was that reverence? She scanned his face, considering his offer. He seemed to say, Trust me.

She felt those words run through her body as a cold breeze surrounded her. An ice-kissed wind caressed her face and wove through her flames. Her magic jumped in response, almost playfully, the likes of which she had never experienced before. A new scent wrapped around her–that of pine and snow–and she didn’t know why but she felt safe. Despite the fear and flames and fleeing courtiers, she felt safe. Aelin looked down at his hand once more and found that it was wrapped in ice. 

She felt her magic leap in anticipation as she studied his hand, realizing what his magic might do. Her flames wanted to touch him, to consume and explore him but not to burn. Slowly, she reached out and the heat of her, which had already started to eat away at her gown, banked. Not smothered, not contained, but soothed. 

So she looked into the eyes of the male in front of her and gingerly placed her hand in his own. She braced herself for him to pull away, to hiss and shout in pain, but he didn’t. He just gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand. Her flames weren’t burning him.

Aelin squeezed his hand in return, a smile creeping onto her own face as she took him in once more. Joy and wonder danced in his eyes, behind the reflection of her flames. Flames that she could feel were about to go out. 

A quiet sort of hope coursed through her veins, and she opened her mouth to say something, anything but was unable to. 

Unable to as a wall of water hit her, the force of it smothering the words in her throat. Drowning her until her flames were gone, and she was gasping for air. But the water didn’t stop, and though she fought for air and sanity, and she fought to get back to the male that was hers, she couldn’t make it. As more water rushed down her throat, she felt herself lose the will to fight, and so the world faded to black.

________

Rowan was stunned. He had crossed continents, fought wars, and decimated cities, all with a steady and fearless heart. He did not balk as he conquered the unexpected, always looking for his next challenge, for something new. He thought he had seen everything, thought he could no longer be surprised by anything.

But now, Rowan was stunned. Totally and utterly stunned. 

One moment he was holding his mate’s hand, soothing her flames and basking in the light of the first smile she had offered him, and the next…

The water was still rushing in. Drowning her. And he was doing...what was he doing? He was just standing there.

Instantly the shock faded, replaced by rage. Rage and horror and the urge to protect. He was suddenly back in his body, back in the near-empty throne room. And Aelin was crumpled on the marble floor at his feet, pinned under the weight of a massive pillar of water.

He flung his magic out, creating a hard barrier of air between Aelin and the source of that water, shielding her from the attack. He found himself shouting, barely containing his fury, barely keeping his magic from ripping out and killing anyone that had remained in the room with them.

“Stop!"

And just like that, the water was gone. With the weight of it no longer crashing against his magic, he let the shield drop and rushed forward. He didn’t look up at who was watching as he dove for Aelin, sweeping her up into his arms. She was thoroughly unconscious, and to his surprise, breathing softly as if the water that had assaulted her had already withdrawn. The parts of her gown that hadn’t burnt away were soaked, as were his own clothes.

He heard footsteps approaching and pulled her closer, a growl slipping from him as he stood and turned his glare on her assailants. 

Evalin Ashryver was standing before him, eyes pleading, palms raised and open. “I’m so sorry.” Her panicked voice cracked as she went on, “I don’t know what happened. She was doing so well recently and she–did she burn you?”

Rowan backed away a step in disgust and noted that Aelin’s cousin had started approaching, violence lacing every step. King Rhoe was hovering closely behind Aedion, arms slightly raised, as if he meant to reach out and retrieve Aelin from his arms. He ignored Evalin’s question, only reigning in his rage enough to ask one simple thing. “Do you normally drown your daughter when her magic frightens you?” 

She flinched at the words, at his cold tone. He knew what this looked like. He knew his face was twisted with hate and violence. Aelin was the most important thing in their world, and she was currently wrapped tightly in the arms of a foreign warrior. But she was now the most important thing in his world, and he wasn’t about to just return her to the people that had nearly drowned her.

“We do the best we can,” Evalin replied in a small voice. “She can’t control her magic.”

“And whose fault is that?” 

Evalin’s throat bobbed, eyes lined with silver, but she didn’t answer his question. Instead, it was Aelin’s cousin who stepped forward. “Give her to me.” He raised his arms to reach for Aelin, a vicious expression on his face.

Rowan again staggered back a step, and the tension in the room spiked once more. No, he couldn’t just hand his mate to them. But if he didn’t...well, he supposed he would be causing an international incident. The irony was not lost on him. Maybe if he told them, maybe if he tried to explain why he couldn’t let go– 

Aedion had advanced another step, ready to attack, but was unable to with Aelin in the crossfire. He heard doors opening behind him, and from the sounds of shuffling boots and scraping metal, Rowan knew guards were pouring back into the throne room. He threw up a shield to protect his back, not daring to look away from the demi-Fae male in front of him–the real threat. But King Rhoe raised a hand as if to halt the guards’ approach. It was he who found the courage to break the tense silence and speak.

“It’s okay. We’ll take care of her.” His voice was gentle and reassuring as he passed Aedion. “I understand what this looks like, and I won’t say that I like the way we... manage her magic, but we do not mean to harm her.”

“You didn’t need to–she was about to stop. She had it under control,” Rowan replied weakly.

Rhoe didn’t respond right away, but his eyes filled with regret at the words. With a deep breath he said, “If you hand her to Aedion, she’ll be taken care of. Our healers know what to do.”

“She’s my mate,” Rowan managed to mumble, voice breaking on the word. 

The room somehow became even quieter as the words settled, each member of Aelin’s family a unique portrait of shock. Evalin lifted a hand to her mouth, something like devastation written on her face. But that devastation quickly faded into something else. Something fierce and determined. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped as her eyes shifted to movement on Rowan’s right. 

Enda had returned to the throne room, his eyes darting between them all as he took in the situation. He must have heard what had been said. He had to have been close enough for the words to reach him. Rowan dropped his shield, letting Enda advance.

His cousin approached him with the caution one might use to approach a skinwalker and rested a hand on his shoulder. And though Enda’s eyes were filled with understanding–a confirmation that he had heard Rowan’s declaration–it still took every ounce of his willpower not to blast his cousin across the room, away from his mate.

“My apologies, your majesties. I think there has been a misunderstanding.” Rowan opened his mouth to argue that no, he had not misunderstood the drowning, but Enda squeezed his shoulder painfully in warning and continued to speak. “I implore you to forgive my cousin. He thought the princess was under attack and acted accordingly. I think it’s clear to everyone now that she is not under attack”–another painful squeeze–“and so we would be happy to release her back to you.”

Enda waved his free hand toward Aedion, beckoning him forward, but not before muttering a final near-silent warning that only Rowan could hear. “Do. Not. Fuck this up further.”

Aelin’s cousin reached him and opened his arms, ready to reclaim her. Rowan hesitated for a moment, holding her close. He gave her one last gentle squeeze before loosing a shaky breath and slowly, so carefully, passing his mate into Aedion’s arms. 

With one last glare, Aedion stepped away, quickly heading for the door in the back of the room that Aelin had entered from. With each step, Rowan felt the bond between them stretch tighter and tighter. He raised a hand to his chest as if touch could alleviate the feeling of being ripped apart and watched as Aelin was carried out of the throne room. 

Enda clapped him on the back. Hard. “There. No harm done.” His words were casual, but the unnatural stillness of his body betrayed him. Enda knew this could go badly. “I would like to offer my sincerest apologies once again. This was not how we hoped to start our visit here. Please honour us with the opportunity to make it up to you during our stay.”

Carefully chosen words to assess what damage had been done. To find out if they would be allowed to stay and continue working towards peace. To find out if Rowan was about to be arrested for his actions. Gods, he’d directly fought the queen’s magic. He’d interfered in a private affair and had then kept the princess from her family–

“There is no need to apologize,” Evalin said baldly before the king could weigh in. Rhoe raised his eyebrows but did not interrupt his wife. “It was a misunderstanding, and we can see that Prince Rowan only meant to protect Aelin.”

For the second time today, Rowan was stunned. But he met the queen’s gaze and again saw that determination. Her turquoise eyes were evaluating him as if solving some long-standing riddle. “We will send word when she is awake and ready for visitors, Prince. Until then, you will be shown to your rooms.”

“Thank you,” he managed to say. It was more than they could have hoped for. No arrests, no war. Just a promise to let him know when Aelin woke up. 

“Then we shall take our leave,” Enda said, bowing deeply. A not-so-gentle wind pushed against the back of Rowan’s head, reminding him to do the same.

The queen merely nodded at both of them before turning to her husband. A dismissal. Nobody mentioned what he’d said–the claim he had made on Aelin. 

Enda gripped his arm, steering him to the grand doors at the end of the chamber. With one last look at the door Aelin had vanished through, Rowan was led out of the throne room that had changed his life.

Chapter Text

The rest of their companions were waiting outside the throne room, wide-eyed as Enda practically dragged Rowan through its doors.

Fenrys took in his stormy expression and soaked clothing before opening his mouth to say, “What the f–”

“Not here,” Enda hissed, cutting him off.

Indeed. There were courtiers and servants huddled in groups all around them. Their fear was palpable as they whispered amongst themselves, trying to figure out exactly what had occurred in the throne room. Even some of the guards had left their posts to engage in the gossip.

It struck him that the Fae of Terrasen seemed to be as unnerved by him and his companions as the humans were. But perhaps that was just because of the commotion in the throne room.

After minutes that felt like hours, a young demi-Fae with a gentle disposition finally made her way over to them. Her cheeks were pale, and he could sense her fear, but she still managed a kind smile as she approached. From the simple brown dress she wore, it was obvious that she was not a courtier but one of the staff. 

Her brown hair was swept up in a braid much like the one Aelin had been wearing. His heart clenched at the thought, and then he cursed himself for being affected by something so silly.

“Hello, my name is Maude. I can show you to your rooms if you're ready,” she said with a curtsy. Her voice was steady, and her Terrasen accent heavy. Rowan didn’t fail to notice that the crowd of people around them had fallen silent to watch the interaction. He willed Remelle not to speak. 

Luckily, Enda seemed to be thinking the same thing and quickly replied, “That would be marvelous, thank you,” gesturing for Maude to lead the way. 

It was incredibly unusual for his cousin to not bother introducing any of them to Maude. Enda was the sort of male to know every servant by name. He must have been very desperate to get them out of there and away from the gawking bystanders to forgo such niceties. 

If Maude was offended, she didn’t show it. She led them down a maze of bright corridors, up a staircase, and into a nice but slightly less splendorous wing of the castle. He didn’t care. He didn’t give a shit what sort of rooms they were staying in, as long as it wasn’t the dungeon.

Eventually, Maude paused at the beginning of a short hallway with a lovely stained glass window at the end. She gestured to each door, assigning one per group member, leaving Rowan to the room at the end of the hallway. 

“Thank you, Maude. This is perfect,” Enda said, nodding his thanks.

“It’s no bother,” she replied with a smile. “I’ll be around if you need anything, but if you can’t find me, anybody will be happy to help you.” 

“Would it be possible to have one of the Fae servants tend to my rooms? After such a long journey, I’m in need of a bit of civility.” Remelle replied with a sneer.

Rowan’s stomach twisted at the words, and he watched as Maude’s face fell.

“Yes–if that’s what you would prefer,” she said stiffly. Remelle only offered a sardonic smile before lifting her chin.

Disgust was written on all three of the males’ faces, but after a beat of uncomfortable silence, Maude managed to recover, shaking off the insult.

“The king and queen have asked to reschedule your welcome dinner to tomorrow night. We’ll have food sent to your rooms this evening.”

“Of course. We understand. Thank you for your hospitality,” Enda said a bit too formally. Maude only curtsied quickly before retreating back down the hallway. 

Once he was certain that Maude had retreated far enough to not overhear them, Rowan rounded on Remelle. He opened his mouth to speak, to condemn her hideous words and take out his anger on her, but before he could, Enda threw up a hand.

“Nobody speak. Just–just give me a minute to process how thoroughly you have all disgraced Doranelle in the last twenty minutes.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Fenrys challenged, opening his palms. “I have been perfec–”

“Shut up, Fenrys, ” Enda spat, cutting him off with enough viciousness that he recoiled. Fenrys actually recoiled. Rowan had never seen his cousin so angry. He had never seen him display enough dominance that even Fenrys felt the weight of it. That even he felt the weight of it. But it wasn’t enough to stop his next words.

“Enda,” he pleaded, “I need to find Aelin. I need to see if she’s okay–”

His cousin just threw up his hand again and closed his eyes. He took a deep, steadying breath and then scrubbed at his face. When his eyes opened, the frustration had ebbed somewhat and was now mixed with a hint of sympathy. “I know.”

Fenrys’s face twisted in contemplation as he started putting the pieces together. Remelle, however, was not so willing to be patient. She gave Rowan a look of absolute bewilderment. “Why on earth would you need to see that miserable woman after what she did?”

Rowan felt his control over his temper slipping, anger like he had never known writhing beneath his skin. But she wasn’t done. “The stories about her were clearly false. She couldn’t even deny the thrall of her magic long enough to sit through a simple meeting. Surely you”–she jabbed a thumb in his direction–“won’t be needed to deal with that half-breed lunatic.”

He decided then that his history with Remelle was the single most embarrassing thing anybody could learn about him. And as he let her words settle into him, as he processed the abhorrent statement she made about his mate, Rowan found himself speechless. He stood there silently, shaking as he leashed his rage. If he moved an inch, he might just end up throwing her off a terrace.

It was Fenrys who spoke next, understanding washing over his face. “I think it might be wise if you were to call it a day, Remelle.”

“How dare you order me to leave,” she scoffed before advancing on the male, a vicious finger raised.

Fenrys simply gave her a wry smile and replied in a singsong voice, “Goodbye, Remelle.”

She shot Enda a look of outrage that might as well have said, Aren’t you going to do something? But his cousin refused to meet her gaze. As she took them all in and realized that nobody was going to come to her rescue, that nobody wanted her to remain, an icy wrath descended over her face. 

She let out a growl before turning on her heel and stomping towards her new room. The sound of her slamming the door was likely heard by half the castle.

After a moment of silence, Fenrys said, “Well, that was fun,” and then turned a grin on Rowan, wiggling his eyebrows. “Now, can we discuss what you’re going to do about Aelin Galathynius?”

________

“The whole journey here, all I heard from you was Fenrys, don’t cause an international incident and Fenrys, you’re not to sleep with the princess and Fenrys, don’t let a female get in the way of the mission. And then we’re here for not five minutes– five minutes before you get into a magic fight with her mother and nearly run off with the princess. Who was unconscious for all of this, I might add.”

Rowan lifted his head to glower at Fenrys and the unflattering impression. After Remelle had left, the three of them had gone to his room. He was now sitting on the edge of the bed while Fenrys paced in front of the stone fireplace. Next to the window, golden afternoon light illuminating his silver hair, Enda was sitting silently in an armchair, likely thinking through what their next move would be.

The room was small but cozy. The walls were mostly composed of pale stone, interrupted only by the occasional green tapestry. It would help to dampen the sounds of their conversations, which he was grateful for.

The large bed was situated in the middle of the chamber, the sheets–again, green. Terrasen clearly liked to use their official colours. 

Rowan rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “One, we had been here for twenty minutes at that point–”

“Alright, twenty minutes. Twenty minutes and suddenly you’re ready to spend the rest of your life chasing the Heir of Fire like a lost puppy.”

“Two, I was not going to kidnap her. Excuse me if I found the sight of someone drowning my mate upsetting,” he shot back, lowering his hand from his eyes. 

Fenrys loosed a deep sigh and silently padded over to lean on the dark bedpost near where he sat. “I can’t believe that’s how they're handling her powers,” he said, crossing his arms and looking down at Rowan with dark eyes. “Why didn’t they send her to Doranelle for training? I know Evalin was on bad terms with Maeve but gods, to let it get that to this point...”

“I know,” Rowan replied solemnly, trying not to think about the flask Aelin had reached for.

He didn’t know what to make of it. Of any of it. Finding your mate was one thing, but to find her in such a state...well he hadn’t been prepared. He had been ready for boredom and violence and everything in between. But not for this reality, not this truth.

His cousin pulled him from his thoughts. “There’s nothing to be done until you can speak with her more, Rowan. Like it or not, we are guests here, and we do not have the power to interfere in their affairs.” Enda gave him a pointed sort of look as he spoke. “You might be her mate, but she doesn’t know you, and I would imagine that her family is feeling apprehensive after today’s events.” 

“But–” he protested.

“I don’t think they intend to keep you from your mate. Just let things calm down for a bit. Give Aelin time to wake up and come to you.”

He supposed he could do that. Or try to. It was certainly better than the potential fall out of the alternative. Gods, what was happening to him? Just this morning he had been a normal, level-headed person– 

“We’re still here to broker peace,” Enda went on, “and if you can play this right, it could go a long way to furthering our goals.”

Rowan wanted to snap that he wasn’t going to play anything with Aelin, but Fenrys was chuckling. “You know, I did say a Galathynius-Whitethorn union would make our mission easier,” the male reminded them.

He couldn’t help but smile a little bit, shrugging as he replied, “Yeah, but it was stupid when you said it.”

Chapter Text

Aelin woke up hours later to the moonlight streaming through a crack between the curtains of her bedroom window. 

Gods, she felt terrible. Every part of her body ached, and when she went to let out a groan, she found that her throat was raw. She couldn’t remember what had happened, why she was feeling so awful. It was all a blur of fear and water and pine-green eyes–

The silver-haired male.

She bolted upright in bed, wincing as her body protested the movement. Aelin remembered. He was hers, and she had caught fire and–and he had touched her. He had reached into her flames, without an ounce of fear in his eyes, and touched her. Whatever humiliation she might have usually felt from her outburst was lost as she clung to that moment.

She pushed back the cream-coloured blankets that had been draped over her body and made to swing her feet off the bed. But the movement caused a wave of dizziness, so instead of getting up and finding her Fae warrior, she took a moment to consider what had happened. 

In her haste, she hadn’t even noticed that Aedion was slumped over in the armchair by the window. He must have been there for hours, watching over her. He was breathing steadily, but his face was drawn even in sleep. She didn’t know what had happened after her mother’s water magic had hit her, but she was certain that her entire family, their court, and the Fae delegates had probably been alarmed by today’s events. 

She shook away the thought and took in the rest of her room: her flask left on her nightstand (likely full again thanks to the healers), the golden mirror, the pale white wallpaper patterned with foliage, the marble fireplace across from her bed. Everything was the same. The same, and yet...not, somehow. This room had been her sacred space, but now it felt like it was missing something. Or someone. Someone whose gods-damned name she still didn’t know.

Aelin had been briefed about the Fae delegates. She remembered small details, occupations, and some tidbits about their magic, but not names. She silently cursed herself for not paying more attention. 

If Aedion had been awake she would have asked, but she didn’t feel like getting into that conversation with him now. Her cousin had been thrilled to find out the Fae delegates were coming to Terrasen. Apparently, two of the males were legendary warriors, people Aedion hoped to learn from. He’d told her plenty of stories about them, but she hadn’t been paying close enough attention to sort through that information now. To know who was whom. 

She knew nothing if she was being honest with herself. Just what he looked like, what his magic felt like, and that he was hers.

Hers, because he–because he was her mate. 

Of course, she thought as the word settled in her. In the moment, it had danced at the edges of her memory but she had been too flustered to remember. Now, with the clarity that came with time and distance, those lessons on her Fae heritage from years ago were finally coming back to her. 

The Fae had mates. It was extraordinarily rare to find one–even rarer for a demi-Fae like herself to do so. But if you did, it was said to be a bond unlike any other. One person whose soul was a mirror of your own. 

Seeing him was like the answer to a question she had been asking her entire life. Like every breath and decision and dream had led her to him. And the way her magic had responded to his... She had never experienced anything like that before.

They said the love between mates was unparalleled. Unbreakable and eternal. 

But she didn’t love him yet. She still didn’t even know his fucking name. She would have laughed at her situation had Aedion not been sleeping nearby. 

She could wait until morning to find out but...she didn’t want to. 

I should go back to sleep, she thought as she slipped her feet into her favourite slippers and reached for her flask. And I definitely should not go to his room and knock on the door in the middle of the night.

No, that would be irresponsible and reckless and not at all queenly. But with a devilish smile on her face, she rose from her bed and crept out of her room anyway. 

She could be queenly tomorrow.

________

Somewhere in the many hallways that separated the royal family’s suites from the guest suites, Aelin lost her nerve.

In nothing but her silk robe and fuzzy slippers, she had expertly snuck across the castle. She’d evaded the guards on the night shift and hadn’t even woken Aedion up with her departure–a feat she was particularly proud of. Everything had gone smoothly. 

Until she’d reached the guest suites and realized that while her warrior had certainly been given one of these rooms, she wasn’t sure which one that was. 

So now she was hovering in the hallway, her plan unraveling before her. She could ask the staff, yes. But people would talk, and she needed to sort this out–needed to sort herself out before that happened. The last thing she wanted was the servants gossiping anymore than they probably already were.

She paced up and down the hallway, unsure of what to do. She could knock on a random door. There was a one in four chance she would get it right. And even if she got it wrong, it would be embarrassing but at least they could point her in the right direction. She cringed slightly as she imagined how that female would react if she chose her room. Aelin hadn’t really paid attention to her mate’s companions, but she hadn’t missed the condescension in the female’s eyes.

Nonetheless, she mustered up the courage to make her decision. She would do it. She would pick a door and knock and to hell with the consequences–

A door to her right was opening. She tensed, preparing herself for whoever might step out. She readied herself to see him again, panicking when she realized she had no idea what she would say.

But the male that stepped out wasn’t him. At first, she thought it might be. The male had the same silver hair. But he was shorter, his face softer–brothers perhaps? 

He offered her a hesitant but kind smile as he approached. He was still fully dressed. No longer in his traveling clothes but he definitely hadn’t gone to bed yet. 

“Ah, I thought I heard footsteps. Good evening, your highness,” he said warmly, dipping his head in greeting. She tried not to let it unnerve her that he had heard her lingering in the hallway. “You’re looking much better.”

Yes, she supposed he had been there to witness her meltdown. They all had. Her cheeks heated, and she stifled the urge to return to her rooms and try again tomorrow. She willed her features into a mask of indifference. Calm, cool and collected she would be. Or at least, she would try.

“Thank you, I am indeed feeling better,” she replied coolly, though her throat ached with the movement. “I apologize for earlier. It was–it was an unexpected turn of events.”

He scanned her with kind eyes, and she was sure he could see the cracks in her mask as he said, “Not to worry. We’re more than familiar with the burdens of magic. Though I’ll admit nobody in Doranelle is quite as impressive as you.”

She could only muster a grimace in return. She didn’t know what to say. She certainly didn’t want to get into the issue of her magic with him. He was–actually, she didn’t know who he was.

“I’m sorry, I missed the introductions this morning. What was your name?”

“Prince Endymion Whitethorn, your highness. Though you’re welcome to call me Enda,” he said with a dip of his head.

“Aelin Galathynius. Lovely to meet you properly,” she replied, sticking out her hand. He looked down at it with surprise but then tentatively grabbed it with his own. She gave his hand a shake, wondering a bit too late if perhaps handshakes were more of an Erilean thing. She prayed she hadn’t started blushing again.

Prince Enda released her hand and then studied her carefully once more. He seemed to be trying to find the right thing to say, though she doubted he didn’t know the reason for her appearance. Some sort of decision settled over his features, and his eyes turned sympathetic. “Well, you must be looking for Rowan then, yes?” 

If she hadn’t been blushing before, she absolutely was now. 

Rowan. That was his name. She whispered it to herself before once again realizing that Enda was watching her. Gods, this was embarrassing. She hadn’t anticipated it would be easy, but she also didn’t think she’d have to talk to anybody other than her mate. Anybody other than Rowan. It was the middle of the night, after all.

Enda seemed to sense her awkwardness and took pity on her. “My cousin is in that room over there,” he said, pointing to the last door along the hallway. With that, he just gave Aelin an encouraging if not commiserative smile before padding back to his own room and shutting the door. 

She stared after him for long minutes before turning her gaze to the door that stood between her and her mate. She walked down the hallway and planted herself in front of it but made no move to knock.

Despite her planning and excitement, despite what she had felt earlier in the throne room, she had no idea what she would say to him. She hadn’t planned for the awkwardness. What the fuck were you supposed to say to the person that destiny had chosen for you?

Hi, you don’t know me yet, but I’m your true love, and we’re going to be together forever! She cringed at the thought. No, that was definitely not what she was going to say. But she needed to decide on something. She couldn’t just stand outside his door for the rest of her gods-damned life.

Fuck it. She would just have to make it up on the spot. 

She took a deep shaky breath and curled her fingers into a fist. But when Aelin went to knock on the door, she found that it was already open. 

________

Rowan had been considering opening the door for about fifteen minutes now. After the long conversation he’d had with Fenrys and Enda, they’d gone their separate ways to rest and eat dinner in solitude–blessedly alone for the first time in weeks. And though night had fallen hours ago, he hadn’t been able to sleep. When he finally heard Enda’s voice cut through the silence, he knew exactly who had made her way to their wing of the castle. 

Though his magic had sparked at her presence, his very soul screaming to go to her, he’d decided it would be better not to interrupt their conversation. So, since then, he had been waiting patiently for Enda to go away. Well, as patiently as he could. 

He hadn’t wanted to eavesdrop, and he trusted Enda not to make a mess of things, but he couldn’t deny that his magic was ready to suck the air from his cousin’s lungs if he started saying anything too embarrassing. 

Luckily, the conversation had concluded without incident, and then, just barely over the sound of his own heart hammering in his chest, he’d heard delicate footsteps approaching his door.

It was a good sign that she was here. A really good sign considering he had made what was possibly the worst first impression in all of history on her family earlier today. He was positive that he had made better first impressions on enemy warlords moments before slaughtering them. 

Rowan was still marveling at the fact that he was not currently sitting in a damp dungeon underneath the castle. Not that they had the power to keep him there–his magic would be able to blast through whatever cell they put him in, but it was nice that it hadn’t come to that. 

Aelin still hadn’t knocked on the door. But she wasn’t gone either. He could hear her breathing, could scent the jasmine and lemon verbena. She just seemed to be hesitating.

In her defense, so was he. He didn’t know how much she knew about him or what she’d been told when she woke up. And after seeing how uncontrollable her magic was, how much it frightened her, he realized he knew very little about her too. The rumours of the Firebringer were apparently exaggerated, as Remelle had said. Not the depth of her power, no, that was undeniable, but her ability to use it. She was not the monstrous overlord all those rumours had painted her to be.

And that silver flask she had reached for...he’d have to ask her about it–something he couldn’t do until they solved this whole door situation. 

He waited out a few more painfully slow minutes before his patience reached its end. With a quick roll of his shoulders meant to shake away his nerves, he opened the door and found Aelin Galathynius gaping up at him in a pair of ridiculous fuzzy slippers. 

________

Aelin could have sworn her heart was in her throat as Rowan pulled open the door to his room. 

He was just as handsome as she remembered. More so. His harsh face was somehow open and kind, if not a little tired, and his pine-green eyes were scanning her from head to toe, perhaps checking to make sure she was unharmed. 

Then he met her gaze. 

Like a spooked animal, she ripped her eyes away from the intensity of his. She needed to gather herself, to calm the fuck down. As her eyes searched for a new place to rest, she finally properly noticed that he was shirtless.

She hadn’t been prepared for much but she definitely had not been prepared for that. He was all rippling muscle and tanned skin. His shoulders were broad and powerful, and every inch of him was clearly built for battle. Yes. Definitely a warrior.

Gods, he was beautiful. She could already imagine all the things she wanted to do to that body, all the places she wanted to touch. She felt her cheeks heat once again and forced her eyes to stop their exploration. She should hold his gaze. Eye contact. She could do eye contact.

There was a hint of amusement in his eyes. The bastard had definitely noticed where her thoughts had gone.

She cleared her throat, needing this particular moment of discomfort to end. “Sorry–I–ah,” she started pathetically, “your cousin–Enda said that you were in this room, and I–”

She couldn’t even finish the sentence. Luckily, he seemed to understand her intentions–perhaps wanting the same thing that she did. He cleared his own throat before asking roughly, “Would you like to come in?”

His voice was deep, the sound of it more perfect than any music she’d heard in her twenty-three years. And he had an accent. She supposed Enda had too, but she was certain that Rowan’s was lovelier. 

“Yes,” she said softly after a moment.

He stepped back from the door and opened it wide, allowing her to pass. She took a few steps into the room as he closed the door behind her but made no move beyond it. 

She turned back to him to find he was standing very close to her. She gasped a bit as she found that his green eyes were fixed on her, darting between her eyes and her mouth. She could get lost in those eyes. Whether she lived for seventy years or one thousand, Aelin already knew she would never get tired of looking at him. 

She tilted her head back to better meet his stare. “What happened today was–you felt it too,” she breathed, hating the vulnerability in the words. She wasn’t used to dealing with strangers like this. No, Aelin was used to swaggering in and taking control of a situation. A queen didn’t get flustered or thrown off balance.

They seemed to be drifting closer and her blood heated in anticipation. “I am your mate,” Rowan said matter-of-factly, a thrill running through her at the words.

“Apparently,” she whispered.

His eyes were blatantly surveying her body and before she knew it, they were close enough to share breath. Her lips parted as he held her gaze again, his eyes heavily lidded and unfocused. 

Rowan’s hand lifted to her face, and her eyes closed at the touch. She couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her. The feel of him, just the simple touch of his hand cupping her cheek was almost enough to undo her. She rolled onto her toes, bracing a hand on his chest. His skin was soft and warm above all the hard muscle. It would be so easy to close the distance and kiss him, to taste him and lead him to the bed in the middle of the chamber. It would be so easy.  

“Aelin,” he breathed, the sound of her name on his lips the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. Her eyes fluttered open. They were only about an inch apart now, her body pressed against his. And gods, the way he was looking at her–she felt her knees go weak.

But looking into his eyes had snapped her back to reality. And as Aelin took in her situation and realized what she had been about to do, she started laughing hysterically and couldn’t stop for all the world.

________

Rowan had been sure that seeing his mate nearly drown was the worst thing that would happen to him today. Somehow he had been wrong.

He had been about to kiss Aelin, perhaps more if things went well, and then...and then she’d just started laughing.

She was now bent over howling with laughter, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach, and showed no signs of stopping any time soon. Her shoulders shook with the force of it, and every time she tried to look at him, every time she tried to calm herself down, she just started laughing harder. 

“I’m really trying not to be offended,” he said as he crossed his arms, though his voice was playful.

“I’m sorry,” his mate managed to squeak out between laughs, “it’s just that I don’t even know you.”

Rowan waited.

She sucked in a desperate breath but continued laughing. “I don’t even know you, and I was about to”–another wheezing laugh–“I was about to–” 

Aelin was laughing too hard to finish her sentence and instead opted to just wave a floppy hand in the direction of the bed. He got the message.

But even between those laughs, her voice was melodic and lovely–much like the rest of her. She managed to calm herself slightly, wiping the happy tears from her eyes. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he witnessed this new facet of his mate.

She was still chuckling a bit but was seeming to regain control of herself. “I’m sorry, it’s not you. It’s just–it’s weird isn’t it?” Aelin chuckled again and gave him a searching look. “Right? This is weird?”

“Yes, it is,” Rowan admitted, laughing a bit himself. “I confess, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to you.”

“Are you telling me there’s no protocol for this in Doranelle? Surely, there are self-help books for this sort of thing?”

He could only bark out another laugh at the ludicrous suggestion of self-help books. “Not that I know of.”

“Disappointing,” she said, her voice still thick from laughter. She was beaming at him, and Rowan was certain that the pure joy and humour on her face was the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen. “Perhaps we can start with the basics then.”

“And what would the basics entail?” he asked, words becoming distant as he lost himself in her smile.

“Aelin Ashryver Galathynius at your service,” she said as she took a confident step towards him and shot out her hand. 

He huffed a laugh at the sight of it but played along. “Rowan Whitethorn,” he replied before taking her hand and giving it a firm but gentle shake.

She grinned up at him. “Nice to meet you Rowan. Now tell me: what are your intentions toward the beloved princess of Terrasen?”

Chapter Text

“So let me see if I have this right,” Aelin said, humour and mischief in every line of her body. “You’re a bird.”

Rowan looked at his mate, who was sitting across from him on the small green sofa before the fire in his room. He let out a groan and replied, “ Bird makes it sound silly. My animal form is a hawk.”

“Yes, but surely you recognize that hawks are just a type of bird,” she said, tilting her head and starting to giggle again. “Have you ever built a nest? Oh, and have you ever had a conversation with a real hawk?”

“No, I haven’t, and no, it doesn’t work like that,” he replied, running a hand down his face in disbelief. “Couldn’t you have asked some of your Fae courtiers these ridiculous questions?”

“Obviously. But I’m enjoying seeing you squirm.”

He let out a laugh. Of course, she did.

“It’s actually perfect, though. There’s a ball in Adarlan in the fall, and we’re meant to wear costumes. With you sitting on my shoulder as a bird, I’ll finally have the perfect pirate costume,” she said, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Rowan just let out a sigh and met her gaze. Her smile grew larger, and suddenly, as if some tipping point had been reached, they were both laughing uncontrollably. His shoulders shook with the force of it, and he realized he hadn’t felt so light in years–decades, maybe.

He hadn’t known Aelin long, but in their short time together, he had already learnt that being around her involved a lot of laughing. After their awkward encounter by the door that, yes, had ended with more laughing, Rowan had properly invited her to sit down and then had put on some tea.

She’d tensed a bit when he went to light the fire, perhaps afraid he might ask her to light it with her magic but had relaxed when he’d done it the old-fashioned way. Once the kettle was heating over the flames, they had started talking and had kept talking for hours.

Aelin had launched into conversation about her life in Orynth and her family. She’d spoken animatedly about her cousin Aedion who she claimed was her very best friend (and who despite appearances had apparently been very excited to meet Rowan and his companions). She’d told him her favourite place in the world was the Library of Orynth and that while she liked to read all sorts of books, the best in her mind were romances–the more inappropriate, the better. She’d told him that she spent her days flitting through meetings, shadowing her father, learning, and preparing to be queen one day. She’d listed every lord of Terrasen by name from most to least favourite (someone named Darrow was apparently the bane of her existence). And then she had told him that she spent her evenings training with Aedion in the courtyard, which had pleasantly surprised him. If she hadn’t already been learning to defend herself, he might have suggested it himself one day.

Rowan had listened to all of it, cataloguing every detail. No words she spoke were unimportant. There was nothing she could have said that he didn’t want to hear. But through all of it, he couldn’t help but notice how she expertly avoided mentioning her magic. 

While she had spoken, he had started to take her in properly for the first time. The initial daze of the mating bond had kept him from doing so before then, but as he’d looked at her stunning face, he had realized how tired she looked. There were dark purple circles under her eyes and not the kind that would have resulted just from today’s events–the kind that took weeks to form. And she was on the thin side. If Evalin and Aedion’s nearly identical features were anything to go by, Aelin was a bit too lean by comparison. Her cheeks were hollower, and her collarbones jutted out ever so slightly. It had left him bursting with concern and questions.

But then she’d started pelting him with questions of her own. So he’d told her about Doranelle and his cousins, including Sellene, and Enda whom she’d apparently already grown to like. He’d told her about commanding armies and then had shared some of his more exciting war stories. He’d told her about how Maeve had hounded him for centuries about swearing the blood oath and joining her inner circle but that he had declined each time. And then he’d told her all about his magic, finding the humblest way possible to say he was unmatched in Doranelle. Her eyes had gone wide at that fact, and then she had asked about his animal form, which she, of course, had found a way to laugh at.

Just as he had, Aelin listened intently the entire time he spoke, eyes eager and sparkling with genuine interest. It had been more than distracting, but he’d managed.

She was now beaming at him but had calmed her laughing enough to take a sip of her tea. Her nose scrunched up in disgust, and she placed her mug back down on the low table in front of them.

She saw the question in his eyes and explained, “It’s gone cold.”

He considered her for a moment, considered all the difficult questions he wanted to ask, and decided to risk it. “You know, you could heat it with your magic.”

A shadow fell across her face and her gaze shifted to her hands, now curled delicately in her lap. “I don’t think that’s the best idea,” she said after a moment.

They sat in silence as he considered what to say next. Then he leaned in and gingerly took one of her hands in his own. She looked up at him again, relaxing a bit at the gesture, and he asked as gently as he could, “Why not?”

Her hand tightened around his, but she didn’t pull away. She seemed to be gathering herself, finding the words to explain. Her eyes darted away from his, landing on the fireplace and she shrugged.  

“I–I can’t control it.” A shaky breath. “I’ve never been able to. My parents brought in every great magic wielder on the continent to try and teach me but–but fire magic is rare, and even the few times we could find someone with fire magic...they were just so different from me. Their magic was so much smaller. They couldn’t understand how to deal with someone like me.” Her blue eyes, lined with silver, finally returned to his.

“I probably should have been sent to Doranelle for training, but my mother didn’t trust Maeve, so it never happened. Two months ago, my last teacher quit after I set a whole street of shops and apartments on fire in the city. Nobody was hurt, but they easily could have been. I just got lucky.

“After that, we realized that soon that luck was going to run out. And so they decided–we decided that it would be better if I didn’t use my magic at all. At least until we could find a better solution.

“For weeks now, I’ve spent my nights in the library looking for something that might be of use. I even sleep there most nights but so far...nothing has helped.”

Well, that explained the tiredness then.

Rowan slumped back on the sofa as he took it all in. She had been training, but it just hadn’t been enough to manage such a significant gift. He squeezed her hand, and though part of him didn’t want to know, he asked, “What’s in the flask, Aelin?”

She pursed her lips before answering as if she knew he wasn’t going to like her answer. “It’s an iron tonic. It helps make things...manageable.”

An iron tonic. She was drinking iron. The one thing that could suppress magic. The one substance that was so suffocating and unbearable to magic wielders that his stomach turned–honestly, turned at the thought. He’d had his suspicions, of course. But to have them confirmed...it was unacceptable. Utterly unacceptable. 

The use of iron to contain magic was completely unnatural and ultimately ineffective. Ineffective because it only worked short-term. Iron couldn’t neutralize magic; it just held it in; a roiling pit of magic growing angrier by the minute. And when that iron was removed, all of that pent-up magic would come out–usually in a very destructive way. For someone as powerful as Aelin, that magical release would be devastating.

“I ran out of it before we met. It’s why my magic did..what it did,” she said, her hand slipping into her pocket almost absent-mindedly. She pulled out the flask and set it on her lap.

And before he could properly think it through, before Aelin could do anything to stop him, he grabbed the flask and threw it into the fire.

She screeched and leapt from the sofa, rushing to the fireplace to see if she could save it. But as she stared helplessly into the flames, perhaps confronting the irony of her situation, she seemed to realize it was a lost cause. She turned back to him, her face twisted with rage and indignation as she growled, “What the fuck.”

He just lounged on the sofa and calmly held her gaze. “You’re not going to drink any more iron tonics.”

“You-you can’t just walk into my life and make decisions like that!” she shouted. “You have no idea what could–”

“If your magic is being suppressed by iron, it will be impossible for me to teach you.”

A pause. “What...What do you mean?”

“I’m going to train you. Starting tomorrow. Though it probably won’t get interesting until next week since it will take some time for the iron to leave your system.”

“Oh, and you’ve just unilaterally decided this, have you?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. She was still gaping at him from the fireplace. “Look, Aelin, I don’t want to force you to do anything that you don’t want to do. I won’t stop you from getting more of that tonic if you choose. But if you want to learn to control your magic, I can help you.”

She considered him for a moment, her face severe. “I have had dozens of teachers give up on me. What makes you any different?” she asked. But despite her tone, her eyes were hopeful.

“Two things. One, I know what it’s like to work with powerful magic. If you’d been sent to Doranelle, you would have been given to me for training. And two, I think our magics...understand each other. When we met–the way my magic responded,” he shook his head, “it was like nothing I’ve never experienced before.”

He searched her face, and her eyes seemed to say, I felt that too.

“I think that’s partly why it...got so out of control,” she whispered. 

Aelin paced in front of the fireplace as she contemplated his offer, her shoulders drooping. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to carry this burden. How much of a risk she felt she would be taking. 

But she stopped her pacing and turned her eyes on him. He saw the moment she decided, watched her master her terror, and turn it into something determined. It reminded him of how her mother had looked earlier today. 

“Okay,” she said firmly. “We’ll do it. But we’ll start in two days because I need a day to process everything. And if you die because of me, I’ll kill you.”

“Deal,” he said, chuckling. And just like that, the tension in the room vanished.

She gave him a small smile before sitting back down on the sofa and to his delight, reached for his hand again. He didn’t resist as she pulled it into her lap and studied it.

“Rowan,” she said in a strange sort of voice, “do you use handshakes in Doranelle?”

He raised his eyebrows at the turn in conversation and laughed. “Of course, we do. You just shook my hand not an hour ago.” 

“I thought you might just be playing along.”

He had been, of course, but not because he didn’t know what handshakes were. Still seeing the confusion on her face, he gave her an inquiring look. Why do you ask?

A casual shrug. “When I introduced myself to Enda earlier, I offered my hand, and he gave me this look. He seemed confused–or surprised. I’m not sure.”

He considered for a moment. “Doranelle does use handshakes, but Maeve’s court...well, she wasn’t a very...pleasant monarch to work with. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he just wasn’t expecting a future queen to make such a humble gesture.”

Aelin looked to the fire once more, eyes swimming with an emotion he couldn’t quite read, before saying, “That is very sad.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed simply.

She raised an eyebrow at him, mischief on her face once more. “I know it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead but would you judge me for saying I’m glad Maeve’s gone?”

He chuckled. “No. No, I wouldn’t judge you one bit.”

Chapter Text

For the first time in days, it was not sunlight that woke Aelin Galathynius from her dreams, but the sound of someone knocking loudly on the door.

Her eyes fluttered open and for a moment she panicked as she tried to understand the unfamiliar surroundings. It took a warm hand on her shoulder and pine-green eyes to remind her that she had come to Rowan’s room last night. Looking up at his handsome face now, the events of the night before came rushing back. 

They must have fallen asleep, she realized, slumped over on the sofa by the fire which had long burnt out. They’d spent the night talking about anything and everything, most of it light-hearted after that difficult conversation about her magic. It had been one of the happiest nights she’d had in weeks. Losing herself in him gave her a high she hadn’t realized she’d been craving.

It had been weird though. Making casual conversation with someone she barely knew but apparently was going to spend the rest of her life with. It had been so bizarre to look at Rowan and know, despite not being in love yet and having only met him that morning, that she was likely going to marry him. Share a bed with him. Have children with him. 

She supposed it wasn’t really any different than an arranged marriage, only fate instead of her parents had chosen him for her. And so far, much to her satisfaction, it seemed fate had great taste.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t have reservations, though, and part of her was very nervous about how fast he was expecting their relationship to progress. It wasn’t the physical aspects of the relationship that worried her. Gods knew she’d taken her fair share of lovers over the last few years. But until now, her adventures with men had been about fun and pleasure. Having a serious and eternal commitment on the horizon...well, she needed a few days to process that.

Aelin had heard plenty of harrowing stories about Fae mates. Despite how romanticized the concept was, there were plenty of males who, once they felt the bond, believed that their mate belonged to them. So much so that kidnappings were not unheard of. Rowan didn’t seem anything like that, but she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t in the back of her mind.

Then there was the fact that she was already hopelessly swept up in him. Already addicted to the way he spoke and moved, the way he looked at her. And she was more than certain that as soon as their physical relationship progressed, she’d be addicted to that too. It put her on uneven footing to be so attached so soon. If something went wrong and things didn’t work out, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to put herself back together. And she hated that feeling–that vulnerability.

Perhaps if she had more people around her, she would feel differently. Of course, she had her court and kingdom, but because of her magic, it was really only Aedion and her parents who had dared to get close. The burden of her power had been isolating her entire life, and the possibility of Rowan seeing the full extent of her magic and loving her anyways was a luxury she could hardly let herself hope for. 

If he saw everything that she was, if he could help her learn to control her magic, it would change her life. But if he saw it and decided that she was too much–if even her mate didn’t have the stomach for her power...it would break her.

Rowan withdrew his hand from her shoulder and made to answer the door, the absence of his touch leaving her feeling cold. She couldn’t see who was outside, but she knew who it was immediately from the irritated, long-suffering sigh that came before he started speaking.

“Is Aelin here?” Aedion said impatiently.

The muscles in Rowan’s back tensed but he didn’t answer, obviously unsure whether he was allowed to reveal Aelin’s nighttime adventures. It would be silly to pretend she wasn’t, since Aedion could likely smell her anyways.

“I’m here,” she said from her perch on the sofa. After another night awkwardly curled up on a piece of furniture that was not meant for sleeping, she wasn’t in a rush to get up and feel the kinks and aches throughout her body.

Rowan stepped away from the door allowing Aedion to enter the room. Her mate’s face was carefully neutral, but Aedion’s was exasperated, his eyebrows raised as he looked at her. 

“Of course, you are,” he said, taking in her silk robe and her mate’s bare torso. She had considered asking Rowan to put on a shirt last night to prevent any unnecessary distractions, but ultimately lust had won out, and so shirtless he’d remained. “Fun night then?”

Although her cousin was speaking to her, his glare was now locked on Rowan’s. They were both unnaturally still, nothing kind on their faces. Just predatory focus–some unspoken dominance battle. She didn’t know when they’d had the time to get off on the wrong foot, but it was obvious that they had. Territorial nonsense.

“Oh, don’t be a prude. We were just talking,” she snapped back at him, her words cutting through the tension. Her voice seemed to have brought Rowan back to reality, and he shut the door before padding back to the sofa. “Did you spend the whole night looking for me, you overbearing beast?”

“No, actually I didn’t, you ungrateful fool.” A glare as her mate sat down next to her. “I only woke up about twenty minutes ago and assumed you’d made your way down to breakfast. When you weren’t there, I had a feeling.”

Aedion made his way further into the room, stopping to lean against the mantle of the dark fireplace.

“I saw your parents this morning, Aelin, and they told me to ask you ”–a nod at Rowan–“to join them for breakfast in half an hour.” 

“Just me?” Rowan asked coolly, raising an eyebrow. He was leaning back on the sofa, his body open and relaxed. As if to let Aedion know he was such a minor threat that he couldn’t even be bothered to ready himself for an attack. Her cousin’s eyes narrowed as the unspoken message was received.

“No, Aelin too. Though, I think they’d like to speak with her alone first.”

“Well, then. She should probably make her way to the dining hall then shouldn’t she,” Aelin replied sarcastically.

Aedion just rolled his eyes. “I’d recommend you both put some clothes on first.”

“Thanks for the tip. As always, your courtly advice is unparalleled and much appreciated,” she said with a mocking grin. Rowan was just looking between them with humour in his eyes, clearly enjoying the verbal sparring. 

“I aim to please.”

“And shall you be using that courtly expertise to beg Rowan Whitethorn, the greatest warrior alive –yes, I think those were your words–to spar with you now or after breakfast?” It was a cheap shot, but her cousin’s behaviour was unacceptable. She didn’t know what was going to happen with the mating bond, but clearly, Rowan was a part of her life now, and she needed Aedion to get on board. Even if she had to humiliate him a little to do it.

Aedion was giving her a look that promised slow death but managed to reply, “After breakfast,” before storming back out of the room.

She chuckled at the sight of it. Aelin one, Aedion zero.

“He seems nice,” Rowan said with a smirk.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

________

Dressed in a loose white shirt and brown pants, Aelin now sat at the fine mahogany table in the centre of her family’s private dining room. Her father was at the head of the table, her mother to his right and Aelin to his left. They were quietly dining on a simple breakfast of toast, eggs, and bacon, nobody seeming to know what to say.

When she’d arrived her mother had told her about what had happened once she’d fallen unconscious yesterday, how Rowan had behaved. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought to ask him last night, but it was obvious now that some tension had resulted from the stand-off. It made her heart flutter to imagine her mate protecting her, but she also understood why Aedion had been a little extra territorial this morning. 

Her mother cleared her throat as she scanned Aelin’s body. “Where’s your flask?” she asked, though there was no reproach in her voice.

Aelin’s heart sank at the question, but she squared her shoulders and answered smoothly, “Rowan threw it in a fire.”

The queen’s face shifted with surprise and her father snorted. She supposed it was as good of a reaction as she would get. Realizing that she should probably come to Rowan’s defense, she added, “He said he wouldn’t be able to train me properly if there was iron in my system.”

Her mother hummed as she considered, her blue eyes contemplative. She waited for their doubt and perhaps a bit of scolding at the plan, but the resistance never came.

To her shock, her father just asked, “So you’ve seen him then?”

“Yes, last night. I went to find him.” She wasn’t sure how her parents would react to that information. They weren’t overprotective and she was positive they knew she’d let men stay the night with her before, but that wasn't the sort of thing they discussed over breakfast.

“Do you like him?” her mother asked, to Aelin’s surprise. She looked into her mother’s eyes, her eyes, and only found something that looked like hope.

“Yes, very much so,” she said quietly. The queen nodded and gave her an encouraging smile as she reached across the table to give her hand a squeeze.

“Is that it? You’re not going to tell me that everything about this is insane?” Aelin asked incredulously.

“It is insane, and we will need to get to know him better before we’re totally comfortable with it, but I don't think it’s bad. He’s your mate, and we would never deprive you of that joy, Fireheart,” her mother said, brows furrowing slightly. “Besides, I think–I think that this might be exactly what you need. What you–what we’ve all been waiting for.”

“I think so too,” Aelin whispered. She really did. She could feel it in her bones, her soul. Everything about Rowan felt right. 

She looked to her father, to see if he and her mother were in agreement. But there was nothing but love and approval on his face–he wanted her to be happy. “I won’t deny that this serves Terrasen’s interests as well,” he said. Aelin raised her eyebrows in disbelief. He clarified, “Rowan is a prince of the Whitethorn house and he’s closely related to the queen of Doranelle. Considering the tensions we’ve had with them since Maeve died, this is a very acceptable match.”

Aelin hadn’t thought of that–didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t thought about the bigger picture yet. Certainly not the political ramifications of them being mates.

After a beat of silence, her father cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. “Shall we bring him in then?”

________

Rowan had been eavesdropping as Aelin spoke with her parents. He’d arrived at the time Aedion had said to, but apparently, he was meant to wait until they were ready to see him–however long that might be. It seemed that life now involved a lot of waiting, laughing, and the colour green.

For the last fifteen minutes, he had been leaning against a pillar across from the door of the dining hall, using his Fae hearing to listen to them discuss him behind his back. The conversation seemed to be going well, but the ridiculousness of his situation wasn’t lost on him. He was over three hundred years old, a renowned warrior, a prince, and yet here he was waiting for the approval of two people a fraction of his age. And he was nervous–actually nervous.

It came as a blessed relief when he finally heard the words, Shall we bring him in?

Moments later a servant was pulling open the door, and gesturing for him to enter. He pushed off from his pillar, uncrossed his arms (he needed to at least try to look non-threatening), and made his way into the dining hall.

King Rhoe was on the other side of the room, at the head of the table, facing the door. Aelin and Evalin sat on either side of him. His mate was giving him a bright smile as if she couldn’t contain it despite the seriousness of this meeting, and his breath hitched. She had traded her fuzzy slippers and silk robe for a fine shirt and pants. She looked absolutely radiant. 

Her parents were looking at him cautiously as she waved at him to sit next to her. He bowed deeply before taking his seat and then met each of her parents’ gazes, trying hard not to accidentally stare them down as he had with Aedion. They were both giving him an assessing sort of look as a servant placed a plate of food in front of him. 

When he could no longer bear the silence, he said, “Thank you for inviting me to breakfast, your majesties.”

Evalin was still assessing him, but replied warmly, “We wanted to start over after yesterday’s...unfortunate circumstances.” He nodded in agreement.

“Aelin tells us you’re going to help her with her magic,” Rhoe said.

“Yes, if you’ll allow it,” he replied, keeping his voice light. He didn’t miss how Aelin shifted in indignation at the suggestion of needing their permission to do anything. But he needed them to like him, and it was critical that he respected their boundaries after yesterday.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Evalin replied, and that was that.

They sat in silence again for another moment before Rhoe spoke. “So you’re Aelin’s mate,” he stated, stumbling on the words a bit.

“Yes,” Rowan replied slowly. “The bond snapped into place the moment I saw her.” A glance at Aelin. 

“I’m not as familiar with the Fae customs as I should be, so forgive my ignorance, but what are you expecting from Aelin?” Rhoe asked with an eyebrow raised. Aelin let out a frustrated sigh and rested her head in her hand.

The question surprised him. 

“I–I’m not really expecting anything,” he said as he considered, “other than the opportunity to get to know her.”

“No mating ceremony? Or wedding?” the king asked, skepticism clear in his voice. He looked to his mate who was silently fuming, obviously embarrassed by her father’s line of questioning. But when he met her gaze, he could tell that she too was worried about his answer.

Rowan straightened as understanding dawned on him. It was a fair question. Some males considered their mates to be more like property than a partner. He turned his gaze back to Rhoe. “If Aelin chooses to do me the honour one day, then yes, I would like those things,” he said, meaning it. “But for now I am more than happy to take things slow. I’m not going anywhere–so long as she wants me here.”

He felt a bit pathetic laying out his devotion like that, and for the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours wondered how he had suddenly become such a softie. Fenrys would have died of laughter had he been here to witness it. But Aelin was looking at him now, something like relief in her eyes. She took his hand under the table, lacing their fingers, and he knew it had been the right thing to say. 

King Rhoe was only nodding, his face relaxing, apparently satisfied with Rowan’s answer. “That’s good to hear because we have a delicate situation on our hands.” Confusion rang through him and he opened his mouth to speak but–

“What are you talking about?” Aelin asked, clearly thrown by the turn in conversation.

“I suppose I’m not surprised that you’ve forgotten,” her father chuckled. “The Lord of Anielle and his son are due to arrive today.”

The colour drained from Aelin’s cheeks, and her face screwed up in discomfort and dread. He marvelled at how such a beautiful face could make such a hideous expression, and he would have laughed at the gracelessness of it had he not been anxiously awaiting an explanation.

“Fuck.”

“Aelin,” her mother snapped.

“I know, I know. But still. Fuck.” Earning another chuckle from her father.

His mate turned to him then, opening her mouth, apprehension on her face, but couldn’t seem to find the words to explain. Luckily, her father seemed to find this mystery situation incredibly amusing and didn’t share her inhibitions.

“Rowan, the first thing you should know about the Lord of Anielle is that he is a right bastard,” Rowan choked but the king went on. “But his heir, Chaol Westfall is decent. The family came to visit us just this Spring, and Chaol and Aelin .... got along very well.” 

Rowan tensed at what the king was implying, and he saw Aelin was now looking down at their joined hands, cheeks pinkening, refusing to meet his gaze. He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze and hoped she knew that he would never judge her for her past. Gods, Remelle was literally down the hall, after all. But he did not like where he sensed this conversation was headed.

“It was expected that Aelin would marry soon, and when we saw their connection, Chaol’s father and I entered into a discussion about arranging it. Usually, we’d be a bit hesitant to make an arrangement with a man like that, but this particular lord has extremely close ties with the king of Adarlan. Chaol is even close friends with the crown prince.”

“Wouldn’t the crown prince be a smarter match?” Rowan asked dryly.

A laugh and a shrug. “Indeed, but we were trying to take Aelin’s preferences into consideration. Overall, with Anielle being a powerful territory, it was an acceptable match.

“And so Lord Westfall and his son are arriving today to start a courtship. Nothing is official, but Aelin is expected to entertain him.”

“Well, we’ll just tell them to leave then. Say I’ve mated and marriage to someone else is no longer an option,” Aelin said flippantly, finally breaking her silence and waving her free hand in frustration. She was looking directly at her father now, eyes fierce, decision made. He tried not to shudder at the certainty in her words.

“I take it you don’t want to do that?” Rowan asked the king, noting his hesitance. Rhoe merely shook his head in answer.

Evalin replied, “My husband was correct in his earlier assessment. The Lord of Anielle is a bastard. And he is very close with the king of Adarlan. A king that, regrettably, we don’t have the best relationship with. If Lord Westfall believes that we let him come all this way just to back out of an agreement he will likely make things...difficult.”

“Difficult?”

“He has significant influence when it comes to things like trade agreements and foreign policies. Not to mention he has the king’s ear. He won’t care or understand that you’ve mated, and if we offend him I wouldn’t put it past him to spend the rest of his life punishing Terrasen out of spite,” Rhoe said.

“He’s that bad,” Rowan said, getting only more nods in answer. “And so you’re saying–what is it that you’re saying?”

“They will only be here for a month. As I said, no formal arrangements have been made–and now, they never will be,” the king added after seeing his and Aelin’s faces. “Politically, it will be easier if we can keep your bond a secret until they’ve left. And while they’re here, perhaps we can get them to conclude on their own that a marriage to Aelin wouldn’t be in their interests.”

“You want me to scare Chaol away while pretending to be invested in the courtship,” Aelin stated in a stiff sort of voice.

“Yes,” Rhoe said simply to his daughter.

“And you want me to pretend that Rowan doesn’t mean anything to me the whole time,” she said, her expression incredulous, anger emanating from her.

“Only publicly. I’m sure we couldn’t keep you apart if we tried, and we don’t want to anyway. But nobody heard Rowan say you were mates in the throne room apart from us, Aedion, and Prince Enda.”

“Fenrys knows too. He figured it out last night,” Rowan corrected.

“The whole bloody castle knows that there was an incident yesterday. People saw enough to know Rowan was involved somehow. How are we supposed to explain that away?” Aelin said, clearly unconvinced.

“Rowan’s already going to be training you. It won’t be hard to convince people that he stayed back in the throne room to help you regain control of your magic,” Evalin replied.

“And the staring contest we had right before I went up in flames?” 

“I highly doubt people are going to remember that given the show you put on,” Rhoe laughed in answer. “It probably felt like an eternity for you two, but it happened within seconds. I’d be surprised if anyone had time to read into it.”

“This is ridiculous.” Aelin looked at him then, searching his face. You’re okay with this? she seemed to say.

No, but I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Rowan sent back. She just pursed her lips.

“Please Aelin,” Evalin implored her daughter. “I understand what we’re asking of you. Truly, I do. But the political fallout of offending Lord Westfall could harm the people of Terrasen for generations.”

At the mention of her people, Rowan knew Aelin would give in. From how she’d spoken of her kingdom last night, and how fearful she was of magic hurting anyone, it was clear that she cared deeply for Terrasen and its people. Her shoulders slumped in resignation before saying, “Fine.”

“Lighten up, sweetheart,” her father crooned. “This is an opportunity for you to abandon all that decorum you so often complain about.”

Aelin’s face lit up, a wicked glint in her eyes, as her mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. “I was thinking it had been a while since I’d caused some good old-fashioned courtly chaos.”

Gods help them all.

Chapter Text

While Aelin wasn’t happy with her new mission, she still deemed the breakfast meeting to be a success.

Her parents had gotten on board with the mating bond as best they could, and even though it was obvious they had some reservations about the whole thing, they had spent the rest of the meal making an effort to get to know Rowan. She had enjoyed listening to him talk, collecting more facts and tidbits about him as the conversation went on. 

By the time the plates were cleared, her mother had particularly warmed to Rowan, going as far as to hug him in farewell. Aelin had laughed at the face he’d made–one of pure shock before her father had offered him a handshake and bid him goodbye. 

Their parting had been awkward. She’d gone in for a hug while he’d reached out to squeeze her hand. But after a bit of chuckling, Rowan had leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before walking off toward his rooms. 

And even hours later, standing at the castle gates, she could still feel her skin tingling from that kiss. She hadn’t wanted to part ways with her mate, but she’d needed to start getting ready to greet the Westfalls. Dressed in her finery and standing between Aedion and her mother, Aelin was now waiting for the Lord of Anielle and his son to arrive.

As she watched their horses meander up the path towards the castle, she considered what needed to be done. The challenge was that Chaol had already met her a few months ago, and they’d been … intimate. They hadn’t actually talked that much, but she wouldn’t be able to just start acting like a lunatic because he would know something was wrong. She had shown him a bit of who she was behind her cold court persona, and it was going to be difficult to offset that impression. It needed to be subtle and believable but horrifying enough that it sent him running. 

Aedion, who had already been briefed on this silly little mission of hers, leaned over to whisper, “Just start weeping when you see him. Tell him that ever since he took your virtue, you’ve counted down the seconds until his return.”

Aelin snorted. “He didn’t take my virtue.”

“He doesn’t have to know that,” her cousin said conspiratorially. “Just go all clingy on him. Men hate that.”

“I’m sure that would work on Chaol, but his father likely wouldn’t care,” she muttered as the horses came to a stop before them. She had a feeling it would take a lot more to get that bastard to lose interested in marrying his son to a future queen.

Lord Westfall’s party was surprisingly large considering that of the Westfall family, only Chaol and himself had come. Aelin counted seventeen guards, all heavily armoured and carrying a shocking amount of supplies between them. Perhaps the travel had been a bit daunting for poor Lord Westfall.

In the middle of the cluster of guards, she could just barely make out their guests. Chaol was atop a fine black mare, eyes bright from the journey. His short brown hair was messy and his travel clothes worn, and though he wasn’t nearly as handsome as Rowan, he looked well enough. His bronze eyes met hers, and he gave her a tentative smile as if apologizing in advance for whatever his father was about to unleash. She returned the smile, though it was probably more of a grimace, and turned her attention on his father.

Lord Westfall was dismounting a white mare, and shouting at his guards as he went. Once he was on his feet, he straightened his fancy yet slightly tattered jacket before heading for Aelin’s family. The lord looked how she imagined Chaol would in twenty years. He wasn’t as muscular as Chaol, clearly more of a courtier than a warrior, but his unpleasant demeanor more than compensated for it: everyone knew to keep their distance from him. He didn’t even spare her a passing glance as he went straight to her father and bowed the minimum amount he could get away with.

“It’s good to see you, your majesties,” he said in a civil yet cold voice. Though he had addressed both of her parents, Aelin noted that the lord hadn’t bothered to look at her mother.

“Indeed. It’s an honour to have you here, Lord Westfall. I pray your journey was uneventful,” the king replied, managing to deliver a look of such dominance that the slight sneer on Lord Westfall’s face faltered. Aelin always enjoyed watching her father deal with people like this. He had a powerful and steady presence that only a monarch could achieve. It managed to humble those who needed humbling without offending–a skill she hoped to hone for herself one day.

“It seems your part of the Oakwald forest has a wolf problem, but we managed.”

Aelin nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of his words. As if they were personally responsible for how successful the wild wolf population was. She realized after she’d bitten her lip to hold in her guffaw that perhaps she shouldn’t have–she was trying to get on his bad side after all. Next time she would laugh at him.

“Well, perhaps we can arrange for you to go hunting while you’re here,” the king said smoothly, clapping him on the shoulder. And though the two men were of a similar height, her father managed to look down on the lord. There was no way Lord Westfall was the type of man who hunted–especially not wolves.

“If there’s time,” the lord replied shortly, too addled with pride to decline. He turned to his son behind him and dragged him forward. “Chaol, aren’t you going to say anything to greet your future wife?” he said curtly.

Even though Aelin knew that the engagement wasn’t going to happen, knew that Rowan was waiting for her somewhere in the castle, the words sent a chill down her spine. How lucky she was to have parents that honoured her choices rather than selling her off to the highest bidder.

A blush had spread across Chaol’s cheeks, but he managed to compose himself and bow. He reached for her hand, and she allowed him to brush a kiss across it. Unlike Rowan’s kiss, this one did not leave her feeling tingly.

“It’s good to see you, Aelin. You look well,” he said. It was a total lie, of course. She looked extremely tired and had lost weight since he’d last seen her.

“As do you. I’m looking forward to spending time together over the coming weeks.” She could lie too.

Chaol’s face was warm, but his eyes were wary as he simply replied, “Indeed.”

 Luckily, her mother saved them from speaking further. “I’m sure you’re tired from your travels, so we shall have someone show you to your rooms, but we would like to invite you to dine with us tonight.”

Aelin shot her mother a look. They were dining with the Fae delegates tonight. What was she planning?

“We have the rare honour of hosting a few guests from Doranelle at the moment. They will also be present. It should make for some fascinating conversation,” the queen said cheerily.

Lord Westfall’s mouth thinned, but he didn’t speak. 

Of course. 

Her mother was brilliant. The lord was known for his intolerance and had a special dislike for the Fae. Clearly not quite enough to object to a union with Aelin, but she had been in her human form every time he’d seen her. Something she would be sure to rectify. 

This dinner of misfits would only serve to increase tensions. She could work with that.

With a tight nod, Lord Westfall finally said, disdain dripping from every word, “I look forward to it.”

And with that, the games began.

________

It turned out, Aedion had meant it when he said he’d ask Rowan to spar after breakfast. Shortly after the royal family had greeted the Westfalls, the male had knocked on his door. Aelin was apparently preparing for the dinner party later, leaving them both with a few hours to spare.

With Aelin busy, he had been planning on grabbing Enda and maybe venturing into the city. Due to the arrival of the Westfalls, King Rhoe had asked that they start their political negotiations the following day. He wasn’t planning on attending those meetings, but it was the last day that his cousin would be totally free for a while, and after all that had happened, he could have used the debrief. But it wasn’t to be. 

Instead, Rowan found himself spending his afternoon making every effort not to kill Aelin’s beloved cousin. 

They were sparring in the castle’s training yard, on their– gods, twelfth round? Aedion was relentless. Rowan was more than willing to fight him, and he begrudgingly had to admit that the male was skilled, but it was also clear that Aedion had arranged this for some ulterior motive.

At first, Rowan thought it was to learn from him–Aelin had suggested as much last night. But with each round Rowan won, Aedion had only become more frustrated. His moves were descending into sloppiness, and Rowan’s victories were coming increasingly quickly.

Aedion’s sword clattered to the ground once more, but the male was unfazed. “Let’s go again,” he said simply, picking up his blade.

“I think I’m done for the day,” Rowan replied. He hoped that by shifting from sparring to speaking, Aedion might just say what he wanted.

“I didn’t think such a legendary warrior would tire so easily,” Aedion mocked, raising an eyebrow. 

He blew out an impatient breath, bracing his sword on the ground and leaning on it. “I don’t, but it seems like there’s something on your mind, so why don’t you just say it rather than making me stand out here for another two hours?” He knew he should be trying harder to get along with Aelin’s cousin, if only for her sake, but it seemed this conversation needed to happen first.

“Fine.” Aedion plunged his sword into the ground. “What are your intentions towards Aelin.”

This question again. Apparently, they were a suspicious sort of family.

“I’m not planning on whisking her away to Doranelle in the middle of the night if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Are you serious about her?” 

Rowan snorted. “She’s my mate. The fact that you’re asking that proves you have no idea what that means, but yes, I’m serious.”

“You barely know her,” Aedion said, cold skepticism written on his face.

“I know … but that will change with time.” 

The male just pursed his lips and gave him a calculating look. “And how much time are you willing to spend on her?” Seeing his confusion, Aedion went on, “You’re immortal. She hasn’t settled yet–possibly never will. It’s likely but not guaranteed. Will you abandon her if she becomes too old and decrepit for your liking?”

Rowan didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t had time to think about things like that yet, and right now he didn’t have an answer. Even though he wasn’t in love with her yet, he already knew it would be impossible for him to abandon her at this point. Whatever this was–whatever it was going to become, it was too powerful, too permanent. He couldn’t leave her if he tried. But in terms of having an actual game plan for the scenario …

Aedion watched him hesitate and crossed his arms. He felt ashamed of how his silence must look, but this was a private discussion he needed to have with Aelin. Not her cousin. He had no right–

“I don’t know what it’s like to have a mate, and maybe it’s deeper and more inevitable than I can understand, but Aelin has been through enough. If she falls in love with you and then you prance off back to Doranelle because she’s too mortal or because her magic frightens you … she doesn’t need that.” And I’ll fucking kill you –he didn’t need to add.

Rowan wanted to be angry. He wanted to snap at Aedion that this wasn’t his business, that it was between him and his mate, but he understood. And his statement that Aelin had been through enough …

So instead, he said stiffly, “The moment I saw Aelin, she became the most important thing in my life.” He had to work to keep the indignation from his voice. “I know that’s hard to believe, not having felt the bond yourself, but it’s true. And I’m going to do my best to do right by her.” He wouldn’t say any more than that. This truth was already far more personal than he was comfortable with.

But luckily, the male relaxed a bit as the words settled in him. He was still glaring, but after a long moment, he nodded tightly. Case closed, apparently.

Then Aedion cleared his throat and glanced at the setting sun. “On that note, we should get ready for what should be the most uncomfortable dinner party of the century.”

Chapter Text

Standing in a fine parlour dotted with lush velvet sofas and low lying tables laid with appetizers, Rowan was doing his best to look pleasant. He was dressed in a stuffy formal tunic that Enda had insisted upon, and was trying not to shift around too much in discomfort. It was the least practical thing he’d worn in years, far too restrictive for fighting. 

At least he wasn’t alone in his misery. Fenrys was standing next to him, in an equally ridiculous outfit. The male usually even enjoyed finery, but he too was uncomfortable with how it limited his range of motion. A single glance at him had confirmed that they wouldn’t be letting Enda select their clothing again any time soon.

He had already filled the males in on his bizarre situation, the plan that Aelin’s parents had concocted. Enda had simply expressed his condolences, while Fenrys had found it hilarious. He had even begged to help, stating that he couldn’t bear to not be involved in such a ludicrous and ill-fated plan. They hadn’t verbally agreed to keep it a secret from Remelle, but it was clear that nobody wasn’t going to bother telling her.

Now they were standing around making small talk, wine glasses in hand. His cousin had bravely gone off to strike up a conversation with Aedion and the Westfalls, while Fenrys, Remelle, and himself were huddled by a marble fireplace in the centre of the room. He wished Remelle would go away but he knew she wouldn’t deign to speak to the humans so they were stuck with her. She’d given him a dirty look when he’d failed to compliment her appearance, but overall had been rather mild, perhaps still stunned by yesterday’s dismissal. So her presence had been tolerable so far.

The humans were now regarding Enda dubiously as he asked about their journey to Orynth, though Rowan guessed that they each had their own reason for that mistrust. Chaol Westfall was clearly making an effort to be polite. His face was kind, his voice steady, but there was undoubtedly a glimmer of fear in his eyes. It probably wouldn’t be possible for Rowan to like the male who was courting his mate, but maybe he could come to respect him. Or at least not despise him. 

Lord Westfall on the other hand was scowling fiercely at his cousin, refusing to contribute to the conversation whatsoever. It would have been comical were it not for the pure hatred and fear in the lord’s eyes. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Lord Westfall was willing to let his son marry Aelin given her heritage, other than maybe a serious lust for power. 

The sound of doors opening distracted him from his spying, and he turned in anticipation, hoping Aelin had arrived. But to his disappointment, it was just her parents, arm-in-arm and smiling broadly as their guests bowed in greeting. She was probably going to be deliberately late to upset the Westfalls.

He hadn’t had a chance to speak with her alone after breakfast. She’d been swept away before they could discuss where they stood or what she wanted to do next. Obviously, there would be training, but he didn’t want their only time together to consist of him barking orders at her. He tried not to shoot a bitter glare at the reason he couldn’t court her properly. 

After the almost-kiss that had ended with Aelin laughing uncontrollably, he had come to the conclusion that she wanted to take things slow.

I don’t even know you, she’d said.

And then there had been the look of relief on her face at breakfast when he’d confirmed that he wasn’t planning to rush her into marriage. So, it was clear that she had her reservations, and he was more than happy to follow her lead, but he wouldn’t know where she was leading him until they talked. Alone.

Just then the doors started opening again, and his heartbeat picked up. He scented her wild, feminine scent before he saw her, and then had to promptly keep his jaw from dropping to the floor as she stepped through the doors.

Aelin was strutting into the room, a secret, satisfied smile on her face as she met his gaze. She was in her Fae form. He hadn’t seen her in it yet and she looked exquisite.  

He bowed slightly as he drank her in. Her features were sharper than her human form, the lines of her body longer and more graceful as she moved. Movement that was accentuated by a gown that didn’t even come close to what passed for modesty in the human realm. 

The gown was made of a sheer golden fabric that offered no coverage whatsoever but was made wearable by strategically placed gold beading and a lining that matched her skin tone exactly. At a glance, it looked like she was just wearing flecks of gold leaf over her bare form. And if that wasn’t enough, the sleeveless gown had a neckline that plunged past her breasts and a slit in the skirts that went nearly to her hip bone, revealing the long length of her leg. With her hair unbound and wavy, she looked like liquid gold. 

He was speechless. 

Something wicked stirred in her eyes as she saw the heat in his gaze. Then she let her eyes trail slowly up and down his body, igniting a fire in his blood, before turning her attention away. Away, because Chaol Westfall was now approaching her, a look of awe on his face. Rowan suppressed a growl as he watched the man bow and kiss her hand, murmuring a compliment. If Aelin had been trying to scandalize Chaol, she had not succeeded, he thought sullenly.

But when he glanced around the room, he found that Lord Westfall was quietly fuming. He had a look of absolute horror and disgust on his face and Rowan understood then, who this display had been for. Though from the heated glances she kept subtly sending his way, he knew the dress at least hadn’t just been selected for the benefit of Lord Westfall.

King Rhoe’s voice boomed into the room, interrupting the direction his thoughts had travelled. “Well, now that we’re all here, let’s eat!”

________

Aelin had decided to start small, keeping her off-putting behaviour subtle. Not subtle in the sense that it might go unnoticed, but rather in the sense that it would only be slightly out of character for her.

She had always enjoyed pushing boundaries, and the limits of modesty were some of her favourite to disregard. Until today, she had kept this gown in the back of her closet, waiting for its moment to shock or endear a future target. 

Tonight, she’d had the opportunity to do both. She’d guessed that showing up in her Fae form and wearing her controversial gown would offend the delicate sensibilities of poor Lord Westfall, and from the slightly purple tint his face had turned, that guess had been correct. But it had been Rowan’s reaction that she’d really been looking forward to–and he hadn’t disappointed. 

Aelin had felt his eyes on her since she’d stepped into the room, and now, seated across from him as they dined, that feverish gaze was making it hard to think. It didn’t help that he looked amazing too. Despite having an audience, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from surveying his body when she’d first seen him. 

Chaol was seated to her left, and his horrible father near the head of the table with her parents. He was desperately trying to engage her in a friendly conversation, clearly feeling awkward about their circumstances. She actually had a very decent opinion of him, regardless of the situation she was in. Against all odds, he was honourable and civilized and truly unlike his father. He had treated her with the utmost respect in the spring, and she could see them becoming friends. She felt a smidge guilty that she was leading him on, but it didn’t change the plan.

“Aelin, your father was telling me that you’re going to start training with a new magic teacher soon,” Chaol said. A careful comment, made to gather information about how dangerous her magic was. His face was pleasant, but she could see it in his eyes–the fear. 

“Yes, actually Rowan is going to be overseeing it,” she said, smiling a little as she gestured to her mate across the table. He crossed his massive arms and gave a nod of confirmation. Gods, she loved looking at him. She had to stop herself from biting her lip.

Chaol looked between them. “And will it–what will that involve?” 

“Mostly exercises in control. Aelin is one of the most powerful magic wielders in the world,” Rowan said, as Chaol’s face paled. “It requires significant skill to control a gift of that magnitude. Far more than the average magic wielder possesses.”

“And you’re different from her other teachers because–”

“Because I am also one of the most powerful magic wielders in the world,” Rowan said with a feral grin. Chaol sank back into his seat a bit as he realized what type of people he was dining with. 

The young lord was a good man–really, he was. But his weakness, the thing that Aelin was going to exploit, was his fear. He was scared of her. And hopefully, by the end of the month, he would be too scared to ask for her hand.

“What happens if you don’t learn to control it?” Chaol said, staring unseeingly down at his dinner.

“You burn down a city,” she whispered, the words coming out before she could even consider them. Chaol’s head snapped up, but she couldn’t look at him. Not as she remembered the sight of her people crying as her flames devoured their homes.

Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Fenrys joined the conversation then, laughing as he said, “All sorts of things can go wrong when you aren’t in control. Even mister serious here”–a jerk of the chin towards Rowan–“has some funny ones. Has he told you the one about Beltane? Where he was so nervous about jumping the fires that he froze his–”

A smack to the back of Fenrys’s head shut him up and Aelin let out a strangled laugh. Rowan was glaring at him as withdrew his hand and he said, “That was hundreds of years ago. And you weren’t even there.”

Hundreds of years ago. How old was he? 

“Yes, but it was so funny when you told me about it,” Fenrys laughed. His onyx eyes met hers then and he gave her an impish smile. “Make sure you get him to tell you the story at some point, Aelin.”

“I will,” she laughed, feeling light again. 

After that they drifted into lively conversation, Aedion joining in at some point. She decided that she liked Fenrys very much, and liked the way he talked to Rowan even more. The two males bickered through dessert, making her cackle the entire time. Rowan had rolled his eyes at her but smiled, and if they had been alone, she definitely would have reached for his hand. It was another facet of her mate–to see him so flabbergasted and at a loss for words as Fenrys spoke. She couldn’t help but find it kind of cute. But she’d never wound his pride by telling him that. 

She spoke with Chaol a little here and there, but mostly gave him useless answers when he dared ask a question. Her responses weren’t short or rude, just lacking in substance, making it difficult to reply. So the Fae males drove most of the conversation. 

As she listened and laughed she started to notice that Remelle–Aelin had finally taken the time to learn everyone’s names–paid an awful lot of attention to Rowan. She would touch his arm occasionally (which he would then shake off), interrupt him in the middle of conversations to make silly comments (which he would then ignore), and she spent a significant amount of time shooting daggers at Aelin. 

She would definitely be asking him about that later.

The dinner was winding down, everyone sleepy from their wine and the late hour, and conversation dwindling. Enough so that she started paying attention to what Lord Westfall and her father were discussing.

Her stomach turned as she realized they were quietly arguing about her and upcoming engagement to Chaol. Everyone else seemed to tune into the conversation the same moment she did, the room becoming silent.

And that was when Lord Westfall chose to make his most inflammatory comment yet. Spoken clearly for the entire table to hear, as if Aelin wasn’t even there, he spat, “And I presume her virtue is still intact? I won’t have my son wed to a whore.” 

At that vile, invasive question, several things happened at once.

Chaol, to his credit, spit out his drink nearly spraying wine all over poor Fenrys, across the table. Remelle barked out a loud, delighted laugh, clearly thrilled by the maliciousness of the question. And Rowan launched from his chair, hands bracing the table as he leaned in threateningly. Aedion was also standing, ready to strike, but it was her mate that said softly, “What the fuck did you just say.” 

In the moments that followed it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Lord Westfall tried to hold Rowan’s gaze but blanched at the death he found there. Instead, he settled for looking down at the wine glass clenched between his fingers.

She was frozen. The audacity and entitlement of what he had said– how publicly he’d chosen to say it –

 She felt her magic roil, pulsing under her skin in time with her pounding heart. It wanted to annihilate him. To melt his bones and exterminate every last trace of his pitiful existence and–

A cool breeze kissed her cheek. The loving embrace of a magic so familiar, steadying her, guiding her, bringing her back to reality. Her magic’s fury stumbled as she found Rowan looking at her with understanding in his eyes despite the wrath in his body. She found herself able to take a breath, almost letting out a sigh as he looked at her with such adoration.

And as she felt the tension drift from her body with every touch of his magic, she considered her situation. She knew then that she could order him to leave, and nobody would bat an eye. From the furious look on her father’s face, she knew she could throw the lord out of Terrasen itself, consequences be damned. But as raging as she was, as much as he deserved it, she wouldn’t be the type of ruler that let petty comments determine her people’s fate. She took a steadying breath and flicked her eyes between Rowan and Aedion. When she knew she had their attention, she shook her head just a fraction, telling them to stand down.

To her relief, they obeyed, though not without looks of protest and some unnecessarily loud scraping of chairs as they sat back down. 

She hadn’t planned to have a conversation like this, but she couldn’t deny that the lord had given her an opportunity to behave in a way he would deem unsavory. She didn’t love the idea of discussing her sex life in front of her parents and cousin, and would have preferred to discuss it with Rowan behind closed doors. But this was just too good an opportunity to waste.

With that, she squared her shoulders and pinned Lord Westfall with a venomous grin. He didn’t meet her eyes, but she knew he could feel the weight of her gaze. 

“I’m not sure why my lack of virtue would be an issue,” she said. And then, with a suggestive smile, she added, “It wasn’t a deal-breaker for your son all those months ago.” She took a sip of her wine and he finally looked at her. His eyes were wide and his face purple with anger once more, but he didn’t speak–couldn’t, it seemed. She just widened her smile.

Chaol was gaping at her, a hint of betrayal on his face. Apparently, his father hadn’t quite realized how well they’d gotten to know each other this spring. Not that it mattered. That sense of betrayal would only help her cause.

“I’m afraid Terrasen is a bit more progressive when it comes to these things, Lord Westfall,” she said matter-of-factly. It wasn’t an entirely true statement, but it was a condescending one. And with that, Enda–bless his heart–asked her father a simple non-offensive question allowing the conversation to pick up once more. Awkward moment over. And oh, so worth it.

With the attention of the party no longer on her, she dared a glance at Rowan. She was nervous about what she’d find but relaxed immediately when she saw that he was giving her conspirator’s smile, his pine-green eyes swimming with pride.

Her lips twitched as she held his gaze. I’ll be surprised if he can look me in the eye again after tonight.

If you keep this up, they’ll be fleeing back to Anielle in no time, he seemed to say.

You think? Care to make it interesting?

Rowan raised his eyebrows. Gambling, princess?  

She couldn’t stop her grin. Five gold pieces say they don’t last the month.

He just shook his head subtly, eyes dancing. She was fairly certain that he wasn’t going to take her wager, but after a moment of consideration and breathy chuckle–

Ten says they don’t even last the week.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Aelin found herself shuffling out of bed at the crack of dawn, wondering why she had ever agreed to train with Rowan so early in the morning. 

After the dinner party had ended the night before, her mate had caught up with her on the way back to her rooms, telling her where to meet him and to bring a spare set of clothes. She’d raised an eyebrow and asked what he was planning on doing to her other ones, but he’d just given her a furtive smile and sauntered back down the hall. Flirtation aside, the reason for the request had been obvious. If he thought she needed spare clothes, then it was because he thought she might burn her current outfit to ash at some point throughout the day. The thought didn’t sit well.

She stepped out into the courtyard, grumbling hellos at the guards, and looked towards the castle gates. As promised, Rowan was waiting for her there, arms crossed and back in his practical warrior’s clothing. His eyes warmed as he spotted her, and he started walking towards her, clearly as desperate to close the gap between them as she was.

She couldn’t help the butterflies in her stomach as he approached. Nor could she stop the bright smile that bloomed across her face–a mirror to the one forming on his own. 

They stood there smiling at each other for a moment before he finally said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said, biting her lip. She wanted to say more, to say she’d missed him but stopped herself at the last minute.

“You’re in your Fae form again,” he said, scanning her body with pine-green eyes. She almost shuddered under his gaze.

“I thought it would be the safer choice. More durable,” she replied. He laughed and turned to start walking as she followed along at his side.

“So you don’t have any problems shifting?” he asked as they made their way to the gates.

“No, I never really have–not since I was a child.”

He seemed to find that interesting and hummed as he considered. “That’s good because we’re going to be doing a lot of running,” he said eventually.

“Since when is running the key to magical control?” she challenged.

Another laugh. “It isn’t, but we need to get out of the city, and it will be faster if you can run in your Fae form.”

“Right,” she said quietly, anxiety spiking as she considered why exactly they couldn’t stay in Orynth to train. “Where are we going then?” she finally managed to say.

Rowan looked like he wanted to say something, maybe ask about her sudden change of tone, but he just said, “The plains of Theralis. It’s big and open, so it should do the job.”

“Are you kidding? It’s summer. The grasses could be dry enough now for the whole gods-damned plain to go up if I make a mistake,” she asked incredulously, eyebrows high.

The bastard just gave her an arrogant smile. “I won’t let that happen.”

“You think quite highly of yourself, don’t you?” she said, though she couldn’t resist as her lips tugged upwards.

“Not without good reason. Besides, it rained all week.”

She pursed her lips together. Her anxiety wanted her to challenge him, but she couldn’t help but feel a little charmed by his smugness. “Alright,” she yielded, “when do we start running?”

He gave her a wicked grin. “Now.” And before she knew it, he’d shot off into the city, nearly a blur in the distance.

“For fucks sake,” she mumbled and set off after him.

As she made her way through the empty streets, still too early for her citizens to have awoken, she had to admit that the running was glorious. She hadn’t been able to do something like this in–she didn’t even know how long it had been.

Rowan was a streak of silver in front of her, and he was so fast. She struggled to keep up but appreciated it when he eventually slowed his pace to match hers. Before she knew it, they were outside the city and running across the open plains. 

Her mate came to a stop once they had a generous clearing around them on all sides. He took the pack containing her spare clothes and discarded it on the ground with his own. 

“So what are we doing today, oh wise one?” she asked warily.

He met her gaze, an impish glint in his eyes. He pointed to a spot in the grass and said, “Stand there.” She obeyed, but not without shooting him a skeptical look first. He walked over to where their packs had been left. “Today, Aelin, I want you to unleash your magic. No control, no rules. Just let it out,” he said as she choked on a horrified laugh. She searched his face for a sign that he was joking, but she found none. He was totally serious.

“What,” she said slowly, certain she’d misunderstood.

“Whatever your magic wants to do, let it,” he said, still in that unruffled, confident voice from before. She realized then that her mate was insane. Completely and utterly insane. And the smile he was giving her was only proving it.

“I can’t just explode, you bloody lunatic,” she bellowed. “That’s literally what I’m trying to avoid! I need to learn control–”

He cut her off. “You’ve been taking an iron tonic for weeks, and your magic has been building up without release,” he said, his face serious again. “You can feel it can’t you? The strain?”

She just shook her head in frustration and looked at the ground. She did feel the strain, but for some reason, she didn’t want to admit to it now.

“Your ability to use and control your magic is limited right now because of the iron in your body. Teaching you today would be useless,” he said simply. “In the meantime, we need to reduce some of the pressure. If we don’t, when the iron is gone, that magic is going to rip out of you like hellfire, and it–it could be cataclysmic, Aelin.” 

A shiver went down her spine, and she staggered back a bit. It couldn’t be true what he was saying. This whole plan was ridiculous. But when she looked into his eyes again, she saw nothing but truth. A terrifying, bitter truth.

Hands shaking, she nodded, accepting her fate. If she was going to be as dangerous as he said, if this was the only way to protect her people, then she would do it. She would endure.

“I don’t know how to let it out,” she said, her voice weak. “Sometimes it happens when I’m emotional, and other times it seems random, but it’s never been a choice before. I have no control–”

“You do have control,” he challenged. “Twice now, I’ve watched you control your magic rather than letting it do what it wants.”

“That was because of you, though,” she argued. “Because your magic calmed me down–”

“My magic made you feel safe, and when you feel safe, you can take control.” She didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to convince him that he was wrong. “Your fear prevents you from accessing your magic on your terms,” he went on, “and when you refuse to wield it, it builds up until you can’t keep it in anymore.”

He started walking over to her then, coming close enough to put his hands on her shoulders. She let his warmth steady her. “Letting your magic out today will help offset the effects of the iron, but it’s also a chance for you to practice accessing your magic. To start learning that it’s safe to release it.”

“It’s not safe, though. You’re here, and I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered. 

“You won’t,” he assured her, squeezing her shoulders in emphasis and giving her a tight smile. “All you have to do is let it out, and I’ll take care of the rest.” He looked into her eyes, waiting for her confirmation. She finally nodded, and he walked back to his spot by their packs.

“So just...let it out?” she asked, voice shaky.

“Yep.”

“And, you promise I’m not going to incinerate you or set the whole plain on fire?”

“I promise,” he chuckled. She took a breath, and he waved a hand gesturing at her to get on with it.

She rolled her eyes at him. You’re insufferable.

We haven’t got all day, he shot back.

With that, she closed her eyes and focused inwards. She had spent her entire life building the dam that held back her magic. Every time a mistake was made, every time it found a hole in her defenses, she’d reinforced the barrier with her uncompromising will. To reach inside now and reach for that magic, to attempt to draw it up was so foreign to her. The magic was deep; she almost couldn’t find it until–there. There it was.

Her flames stirred as she reached down, excitement and curiosity building within her. She started pulling her magic up, and to her pleasant surprise, it listened. As she gathered a ribbon of magic within her, just a small piece that she could unleash, she opened her eyes.

She lifted her palm to the sky and watched as her magic sputtered to life, her hand wreathed in flame, sparks flying. A triumphant smile spread across her face as she channeled more of her magic into her palm. And as she prepared to release that magic like a dragon breathing fire into the sky, she looked at Rowan.

But as soon as she met his eyes, her heart stopped. 

No.

A panic, so pure it threatened to rip her very soul in half, crashed through her, and she gasped in terror. 

No, no, no.

He was too close, much too close. She couldn’t do this; it was a mistake, and she was going to kill her mate, and she had to stop it now. Her breathing came faster and faster, and she pulled her hand back, pushing down on her magic so hard that she almost cried out. 

She fell to her knees, and she heard Rowan shout her name. But Aelin kept pushing down, down, down, until she felt her magic surrender, until she felt it settle within her once more. 

Rowan’s face appeared as he kneeled in front of her. He was talking to her, but she couldn’t understand him, couldn’t do anything but look into his eyes and gasp for breath. A cool breeze touched her face, guiding oxygen into her lungs. She felt herself swaying, and he quickly placed a steadying hand on her waist. Aelin gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, and rested her forehead on his shoulder.

“I can’t do it,” she rasped, shaking her head against him. “I can’t do it with you here. I can’t.”

His arms slid around her waist, closing the distance between them. “Okay,” he murmured in answer. “Okay.”

________

Rowan held onto his mate for long minutes, running a calming hand up and down her back as her breathing returned to normal. 

She’d been doing so well, displaying an unexpected level of control until their eyes had met and she’d started panicking. He wanted to know what had gone wrong, what had snapped the control she’d had over herself, the joy he’d seen in her eyes. But he waited. Waited for her to gather herself, letting his magic soothe her while she breathed against him. 

After some time, Aelin loosened her grip on his shirt and pulled back, face pale. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, not meeting his gaze. 

“Why are you sorry?” he asked softly. She just shook her head. “What happened?” he asked, lifting her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “When you were drawing up your magic, something shifted. What was it?”

“I just–I saw you there, and I couldn’t do it, Rowan,” she replied. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Rowan took a moment to consider her words. She hadn’t lost control–she’d refused to relinquish it. And the way she’d pushed her magic down, while not particularly useful to their cause, was impressive. For her to feel such fear and to leash her magic so aggressively–

“You must have really believed you were going to kill me,” he chuckled. Then, seeing her confusion, explained, “The bond makes it nearly impossible to harm your mate–makes it so that you’d sooner hurt yourself.”

“I–”

“Give me a little credit, Aelin. I’m not that breakable,” he said, causing a frown. “But you don’t believe that, do you?” he sighed. 

She had a small, guilty smile on her face as she said, “Would you understand if I said it’s not you, it’s me?” He just rolled his eyes and guided her up to stand.

“Fine. We’ll start with something different,” he said.

Aelin raised an eyebrow in question. Hasn’t today been enough of a failure? she seemed to say.

Probably, but I won’t have you thinking I’m some delicate, untrained footsoldier.

Her lovely features transformed into a mocking grin. Oh, so this is about pride now?

Yes.

She barked out a laugh. “Okay, what are we doing then?”

Rowan stepped away from her to get his pack. He reached around inside it until he found what he was looking for and made his way back to Aelin, a candle and matchbook in hand. He sat down on the grass in front of her and gestured at her to do the same. She obliged, but not without a face full of skepticism.

He handed her the candle and matchbook, and rolled up his sleeves. “You seem to think I can’t handle you, which is totally unacceptable and frankly insulting,” he said, mock hurt on his face. “So we’re going to practice with normal fire instead until you get over that ridiculous notion.”

“Have you considered that perhaps I am just trying to protect you from your unfounded arrogance?”

He snorted but ignored her comment. “Light the candle, Aelin.” She gave him a dubious look but struck the match, and moments later, the candle was dancing with flame. He held out his exposed forearm. “Now try to burn me with it,” he ordered.

She choked on a laugh and said, “I’m obviously not going to do that.”

“Why not?” he challenged. “You already saw that my magic can protect me from fire. That’s literally how we met.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t move. “I’ll be fine,” he pushed, “but we won’t be able to get anything done until you believe that.”

She studied him closely, eyes tight, clearly struggling with some sort of internal debate. But she reached out a hand, feeling the ice he’d wrapped around his arm, and to his relief, eventually, let out a capitulating sigh. “Fine,” she grumbled.

They spent the next half hour seated together as she cautiously dragged the flame over his skin. At first, she would do it so quickly that he didn’t need his magic to shield against it, but as her confidence grew, she held the flame closer and longer, marvelling at how it didn’t burn. By the time they needed to make their way back to Orynth, Aelin was beaming again, thrilled with how she could hold the flame to his face, his hair, and even his clothes without causing any damage. 

Satisfied that Aelin no longer believed he could be defeated by a rutting candle, Rowan snuffed out the flame and declared that training was over for the day. She peered up at him as he stood, and the look she gave him nearly took his breath away. Her eyes were lined with silver, and swimming with emotion–trust. It looked like trust.

“Thank you for today, Rowan,” she said quietly, grabbing his hand as he pulled her up. 

“It was nothing,” he replied gently. And then, playfully, he asked, “So will I be seeing some actual magic tomorrow?” 

Her mouth quirked to the side, containing a smile. “If you’re lucky,” she teased, releasing his hand.

They shouldered their packs, Aelin turning towards Orynth, but before she could start running, he blurted, “When can I see you again?” 

She turned back to him and gave him a sultry sweep from foot to face. His heart pounded as she let his question hang. “You mean other than training.”

“Yes,” he replied, “as much fun as this was, having you wave a candle at me isn’t terribly romantic.”

She bit her lip at the word romantic, and after a pause, said, “Tonight. After dinner. Come to my rooms.”

His blood heated at the offer, even though he was sure that wasn’t what she had in mind. “I don’t know where your rooms are,” Rowan said a bit weakly.

“Then good thing you’re about to walk me to them now, prince,” she said, eyes dancing. And then added, in a more subdued voice, “I have to get changed for my lunch with Chaol.”

“Won’t the young lord Westfall find that a bit suspicious if he hears about it?” he asked, trying not to sound too morose as he spoke.

But Aelin didn’t seem to share in his sulking, her face twisting into a mischievous grin. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Chapter Text

The journey back to Orynth was not as exhilarating as the run there. Even though Aelin had failed to produce more than a fist full of fire and had then switched to flames that weren’t even magical, she was ready for a nice long nap.

Training had been exhausting–emotionally. But Rowan hadn’t gotten frustrated with her or told her she was impossible. He’d stayed, even when she’d failed to wield her magic. And though running the candle along his skin had made her feel silly, she had to admit that some part of her, tightly coiled within, had relaxed ever so slightly with each pass. Aelin wasn’t sure if she was ready to unleash the full scale of her power on Rowan yet, but maybe–just maybe, she’d be able to release some tomorrow, and maybe he wouldn’t run away when she did.

Her mate had been quiet as they’d walked to her rooms–pensive even. He’d kept looking at her like she was some sort of riddle he couldn’t solve, but when she’d finally asked him about it, he’d simply said he was working on a theory. She’d put on her most convincing pout, but apparently, Rowan was immune to such things. He’d just laughed and promised her that she would be the first person to know once he figured things out.

They were about to round the corner to her rooms, arm-in-arm, laughing about a joke she’d told, though Rowan’s laugh may have been closer to a groan. What she hadn’t told Rowan was that she was deliberately trying to be late for her lunch with Chaol. If she’d timed everything right, then there was a good chance that the man was–yes, there he was.

Waiting by the doors to her room was a sulky-looking Chaol, who had clearly come to look for her when she hadn’t met him in the gardens on time. He straightened as he saw her approach with Rowan, her mate also stiffening as their eyes met. Her laughter faded, the joke forgotten as Chaol offered a tense nod, eyes darting between them. 

It was clear that Chaol was frightened of Rowan–more so than he was of her. She had to find that a bit funny considering she was pretty sure that the well of her magic ran deeper than the Fae prince’s, but she supposed Rowan did have that whole terrifying Fae warrior thing going for him.

“Chaol,” she said brightly, “I thought we were to meet in the gardens.”

He cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on the grip she still had on Rowan’s arm. “You seemed to be running late, so I thought I’d stop by to see if everything’s alright,” he grumbled, and even though he clearly didn’t want to know, asked, “How was your training?”

“She’s magnificent,” Rowan replied for her. “Aelin displayed a far greater level of control than I anticipated.” She raised her eyebrows at the praise and saw the sincerity in his eyes as he met her gaze. “She’ll be levelling cities in no time,” he added with a savage grin.

Chaol’s face turned green at the words, and Aelin had to hold in a cackle. But she turned to Rowan, released his arm, and said, “Thank you, Prince Rowan. Today was most … illuminating.”

He gave her a sly smile and took her hand. “It was my honour,” he said, brushing a kiss to the back of her hand. “Until tomorrow then,” he added as he straightened.

She gave him a secret smile and dropped his hand. “I look forward to it, prince.” And then he was off, heading back down the hallway. Her heart clenched as she watched him round the corner and disappear but she steeled herself and turned back to Chaol.

“I need to change, but you’re welcome to wait in my sitting room while I do so,” she offered. He simply nodded and allowed her to lead him into her rooms. 

Aelin changed as quickly as she could, and then they were off walking together towards the gardens where the servants had set up lunch for them. He’d reached out to take her arm as they’d walked, but she’d pretended not to see him, and so they’d settled into a friendly yet respectable distance apart. They didn’t speak much as they walked. Even if he hadn’t been attempting to court her, it still would have been awkward due to their history. 

As they settled into their seats and servants dashed around them with plates and wine, Chaol finally broke the silence.

“So you and Rowan are training in the mornings?” he asked in a bit of a strange voice.

“Yes,” she replied slowly, “why do you ask?”

“I just thought that the two of you would be needed in the negotiations–between Terrasen and Doranelle, I mean.”

“I–” she began but paused, considering his words. She hadn’t really questioned the scheduling. Between training and entertaining Chaol, the arrangement made sense for her, but now that she was thinking about it, she couldn’t understand why Rowan didn’t need to attend the meetings. Perhaps the Fae had decided it was now a conflict of interest? “We decided that my training was more urgent than my courtly duties, and Rowan–Rowan is training me as a gesture of good faith from Doranelle,” she lied smoothly. “He is at my disposal.”

It wasn’t a perfect excuse, and she was sure Chaol could poke holes in her story if he tried, but luckily he seemed to accept it. Aelin was sure there wasn’t much to know anyway.

“Aelin–I–I’m sorry that this is so awkward,” he said a bit guiltily. She cocked her head to the side as she prepared to listen. “And I’m sorry for what my father said last night.

She snorted. “It’s fine, Chaol. I didn’t mind the opportunity to scandalize him.” His shoulders relaxed as she spoke.

“He could do with a bit more of that,” he said with a grin, which Aelin returned before she remembered herself. They couldn’t become friends–it would make this so much harder. 

“Once we’re married, we’ll be able to leave him behind in Anielle anyways,” he chuckled.

“Right,” she murmured, her stomach churning at the words. He seemed to notice the shift in her demeanor, concern flickering in his eyes, but he said nothing. Chaol knew that this was an arranged marriage, but perhaps he’d expected her affections for him to be greater because they’d already slept together.

Aelin’s parents had never intended to force her into a specific union, but the expectation that she would marry someone soon had been made clear. For better or worse, it was her duty to marry and produce an heir for the good of Terrasen. When Chaol came along, she hadn’t loved him but she had liked him, and so when her father had asked about a potential union, she’d agreed–if only to fulfill her duty to her kingdom. It had been convenient and practical, but she hadn’t been looking forward to it.

Chaol coughed, pulling her from her reverie. “Will you continue with your magical training once the Fae delegates leave?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, I’d expect so,” she said calmly, though her very soul recoiled at the suggestion of Rowan leaving. Chaol hummed, his face coloured with disapproval as he considered her words. “What?” she asked sharply and took a sip of her wine.

“It’s just–I was thinking that once we’re married, it might be best for us to focus on Terrasen and our children,” he said, not meeting her gaze.

She nearly spat out her wine. 

Rather than letting herself get distracted by the violent shiver that ran down her spine at the mention of their children, she asked, “And I can’t do those things while mastering my magic?”

He hesitated for a moment but then said slowly, ignoring her question, “Aelin … have you considered that–that perhaps one person can have too much power?” Her mouth fell open in shock, hurt and anger rushing through her. “I’m not saying don’t learn to control it, but once you have a handle on it, there are more important things we can turn our attention to.”

“I can’t just shove it away in a box, Chaol. It’s a part of me,” she snapped, rage searing through her as she tried to keep from shouting. “Besides, it’s not like I’m the only person with magic in Terrasen.”

“But ordinary people, humans, those without magic,” he said, his own voice rising, “who defends them?”

“ I do! ” she growled.

“No, Aelin,” he said coldly. “Who defends them against people like you ?”

The world went quiet with his words, her rage stumbling into something numb. Her magic didn’t even stir.

“You’re going to be queen. You’re supposed to do what’s best for your people– all of your people, not go around levelling cities and conquering kingdoms like a monster.”

“I–” she didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t form words in the frozen wasteland that was now her mind, her heart, her soul. 

Chaol was looking at her, his bronze eyes hard. And as Aelin saw the judgment there, how completely and absolutely certain he was of his evaluation of her, she managed to claw her way back up to a quiet, vicious calm.

“If I’m such a fucking monster,” she hissed, slamming her wine glass down, “then I would suggest, in the future, you consider more carefully how you choose to speak to me.” 

Chaol blanched at the threat and then blanched some more as he saw the promise of fire in her eyes. Her knuckles were white with fury as she clenched her glass, her flames finally awake, finally screaming to come out, to demonstrate the severity of her threat. But she wouldn’t do it–she wouldn’t prove him right. 

“I’m not a monster, Chaol,” she murmured, speaking as she stood. “I will protect every single one of my people, but I won’t deny who I am. And I certainly won’t let your cowardice determine the course of my life.” And with that–with one final glare, she turned on her heel and exited the garden. 

“Don’t bother looking for me tomorrow, Lord Westfall,” she called over her shoulder as she went, “your presence won’t be needed.”

Chapter Text

After bidding Fenrys and Enda goodnight following a rather obnoxious dinner together, Rowan returned to his room, heart pounding with impatience. The dinner had reminded him exactly why he preferred to keep to himself. 

Now that he was likely to marry Aelin, Fenrys had spent the evening calling him King Rowan and much to his consternation even his cousin had found it funny. He’d begged them never to use the nickname in front of her, but Fenrys had only grinned in response, hinting that his mischief had only just begun.

He’d hurried them through dinner, claiming he was sick of their antics, but really had been in a rush to get away from their prying eyes. Now that the sky was black and the castle was turning in for the night, he could finally move his attention to the one thing he’d been looking forward to all day: meeting up with Aelin. 

He didn’t know what they’d be doing, just that he was to meet her at her rooms. The need to see her had only grown more desperate throughout the day with every hour they were apart. And now, as he quickly disarmed himself (mostly) and changed into more comfortable clothing, he was almost tripping over himself with anticipation.

After their training this morning, he hadn’t been able to ask Aelin the questions he desperately needed to ask. He didn’t want to rush her into anything, but he still couldn’t help the tiny part of himself that desired a little validation. She’d referred to them as mated during the breakfast with her parents, but he wasn’t sure if that had just been within the context of scaring off the Westfalls.

But after this morning, after he’d held her while she’d explained how deep her desire to not harm him went, he wanted to know. 

Wanted to know whether she was ready to accept the bond. 

It didn’t have to be officialized, nor did it have to change anything they did moving forward, but to hear her say it, to hear that Aelin was as consumed by this as he was … it would be the highlight of his boring life. 

He finally understood what Enda had meant when he’d said that waiting for your mate was worth it. Rowan already knew that he would wait hundreds of years for Aelin–hell, he already had. All the years he had spent voyaging across the world, always looking for his next challenge, for something new … perhaps he’d really just been looking for her. And he wanted to tell her that.

With nothing left to do in his room, Rowan padded toward the open window and shifted, flying off into the night. He flew around the castle, aiming for the wing that housed the royal suites. Aelin had shown him the location of her room earlier, and while she was likely expecting him to use the door, flying to her in his hawk form was more convenient. And more discreet. 

He zeroed in on a wide balcony wrapped around two large tracery windows, soft golden light spilling through their curtains. Between the two windows was a large glass door, open to the cool air. And as he flew closer, he could see her. Curled up on her bed and back in her human form was Aelin with a book in her hands.

Rowan swooped down to the balcony and shifted, the flash of light alerting Aelin to his presence. She threw down her book and smiled at him as he landed silently and walked into the bedroom. 

Her room was simple and airy; a mix of whites, creams, and occasionally golds. It was the first place he’d been to in the castle that wasn’t smothered in the colour green. Aelin was still lying on her massive bed, dressed again in her blue silk robe. She pushed herself up, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, then reached out a hand, gesturing for him to join her. “Come here,” she said warmly.

He almost refused, almost saying that he wouldn’t be able to deal with the temptation, but he found himself moving anyways. It wasn’t news to him that Aelin already had him wrapped around her finger, but he still almost laughed at his compliance.

Rowan reached the bed and took her hand, sitting down next to her. 

“You could have used the door,” she laughed, stroking her thumb across the back of his hand.

“I thought it was more cloak-and-dagger this way,” he mused.

She chuckled, her turquoise eyes bright with humour. Aelin was as dazzling as always. He still wasn’t used to the feeling of seeing her. With the bond, every reunion, no matter how small, felt like coming home. Aelin felt like home. 

She shifted closer to him and lifted a hand to his face, and already he felt the edges of his control starting to fray. His eyes drifted closed as she ran her fingers across his cheekbone, then down to his chin, and finally down to rest on the side of his neck. He sucked in a shuddering breath and was hit with her scent, nearly driving him out of his mind.

“I missed you,” she whispered. Rowan opened his eyes and found her gazing up at him, lips parted. He wanted to kiss her, to pin her to the bed and find out what was underneath that robe of hers. But he would let her guide this–let her decide what happened next.

“We weren’t apart that long,” he said in jest. She pulled back but kept her hand against his neck as he said, “but I missed you too.”

She smiled brightly at that, before letting her hand fall back to her side. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep the disappointment from his face. At least in her human form, she couldn’t smell what was pounding through his blood.

“What did you get up to today?” she asked, still smiling.

“After I left you with Chaol”– her eyes darkened at the name– “Aedion forced me to train with him again for a few hours. And then I had dinner with Fenrys and Enda.”

“Aedion is determined to become the greatest warrior alive. He probably means to get you out of the way by annoying you to death.”

“Shouldn’t take long at the rate he’s going,” he replied, earning a laugh from Aelin. 

He looked over her as she smiled at him. Her face was cheerful but her shoulders sagged slightly as if she were quietly withering away under some unspoken burden. And the way the light in her eyes had dimmed when he’d mentioned Chaol–

“How did the lunch go?” he asked carefully.

She blew out a loud sigh and looked to the window. “It was–well, quite frankly, it was a fucking disaster,” she said, loosing a humourless, bitter laugh. “Even if I hadn’t met you, Rowan, there’s no way I could have married that man.”

He reached for her hand again. “What happened?”

She laced her fingers with his own, but didn’t meet his gaze. “He said that once my magic is under control, that I shouldn’t continue training,” she said quietly. “He said that I was a monster for my magic–for how powerful I am.” 

A scalding rage tore through him as she spoke. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to hunt down the young lord and tear him into bloody ribbons for what he’d said to Aelin. But he held himself in check, instead gently lifting her chin with his fingers. She met his eyes, and his heart clenched as she said, “Do you think–”

“Never.” He moved his hand to cup her cheek. After a moment, he went on, “Aelin,” his voice barely more than a breathless whisper, “it is not the depth of one’s power that determines whether or not they are a monster, but rather the strength of their heart.”

A snort. “How poetic,” she said. But her eyes were hesitant and lined with silver as if she was still waiting for him to land a killing blow.

“I’ve seen enough of the world to know that it’s true.” She raised an eyebrow in question.

“Back when Maeve was in power,” he explained, “I spent a few years hunting down unsavory Fae–ones that even Maeve couldn’t stomach.” Aelin’s eyes widened. “One time, during a drought, a farmer reported that their neighbour’s crops had grown wild overnight–yielding a huge harvest while everyone else starved. Many Fae have magical abilities that complement agriculture so that in itself wasn’t unusual, but apparently, that farmer had barely a drop of magic to his name–nowhere near enough to achieve such results.

“So I went to question him, to figure out how he’d done it. And while I was there, I caught a scent. It was filled with such terror and despair and–to spare you the gruesome details, the farmer had been keeping someone against their will. Every time the farmer needed extra magic to tend his crops, he’d just go down to his basement and steal it from the poor male he’d imprisoned.” 

Aelin’s face was twisted in horror, questions burning in her eyes. Rowan blew out a breath and placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “Some of the greatest evils I’ve had the displeasure of witnessing were committed by those with the least power. So, no Aelin, the depth of your power does not govern what type of person you are. And the fact that you worry says enough about your intentions.”

They sat in silence for some time, as she processed his words and gathered her thoughts. She nodded to herself and some conclusion was reached. Finally, to his surprise, she asked, “How does one steal magic?”

“They were carranam.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, brows furrowed.

“It’s a bit difficult to describe,” Rowan replied, struggling to find the words. “Essentially, it’s when someone can yield their power to you. It doesn’t work with just anyone–you need to be compatible, but as long as you're sharing a blood connection, you can draw not just from your own well of magic, but your carranam’s too.”

“I’ve lived amongst the Fae my entire life, yet I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she said incredulously.

“It’s incredibly rare. I’m not surprised nobody bothered to mention it.” 

Aelin’s lips thinned for a moment as she considered, and then in a small voice she asked, “What happened to the male–the one from your story?”

“He didn’t make it.”

At that, she let out a long, pained sigh and stood from the bed. She padded to the fireplace, stoking the flames as she said, “Well, I think that was the dreariest motivational speech I’ve ever received.” She turned back to him, a wicked glint in her eye.

Rowan let out a gasp of mock disbelief. “How dare you? Next time I’ll just leave you to your wallowing.”

Aelin laughed–a real genuine laugh, and his heart warmed as he watched the amusement return to her stunning face. “I want to talk about something else now,” she said with such a broad grin that he found himself dreading whatever she had in store.

She walked back to the bed, hips swaying as she went, but didn’t sit back down beside him. Instead, she climbed past him, into the centre of the bed, and settled into the mounds of pillows. As Rowan twisted to look at her, Aelin patted the bed beside her, and before he knew it he was moving. He laid down next to her but opted to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. If he met her eyes while she was looking at him like that, his already shredded control might just finally slip.

Aelin propped her head up with a hand and looked down at him, a sly smile on her face. 

“So, what did you want to talk about?” he asked hesitantly.

Her grin became impossibly wide. “I want you to tell me what happened between you and Remelle.”

________

Aelin wasn’t sure if it was because she found it so hilarious, or because the mating bond afforded her so much certainty, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be jealous that Rowan had slept with Remelle.

He had just finished explaining his intimate history with the female and had glared at her the whole time as if warning her not to laugh. She’d tried not to, she really had, but there was nothing Aelin could do to stop her cackling. It was just too good.

“But she’s so awful,” she laughed.

“I know.”

“She’s the absolute worst.”

“I know.”

“She’s almost as bad as Chaol’s father.”

“I know,” he said again, glowering up at the ceiling.

“Did you not know that at the time? Or were you just unable to resist her feminine wiles?” she asked mockingly, wiggling her fingers in emphasis.

Rowan turned his head to look at her, eyes narrowed and pleading. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “It was a mistake.”

“Have to agree with you there,” Aelin said with a snort. “And she doesn’t know that you’re no longer on the market?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. We didn’t tell her but she has all the same information that Fenrys did when he put it together,” he replied. “I think she might be in denial. She knows enough to have marked you as an adversary but won’t accept that the mating bond has made me unavailable.”

“Clearly. You should have seen the way she was glaring at me the other night!”

“Oh, believe me, I noticed. She isn’t skilled in the art of subtlety.” 

She chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Are there any other scorned former lovers I should be worried about?” she asked, watching with delight as Rowan squirmed at the question.

“No, Remelle is the most ... audacious female I’ve been involved with.” And then, with a cheeky grin, he added, “Until you, that is.”

She smacked him playfully on the arm. “That’s no way to speak to a future queen.”

He just laughed, and she marvelled at the joy in his pine-green eyes. That joy made her reckless. Made her want to ask–

“Have you ever been in love before?” she blurted. 

Embarrassment bloomed through her and her cheeks heated, but he didn’t seem upset or bewildered. His face just turned contemplative at the question, brows furrowing as he pondered his answer. Then he gave her a crooked smile and reached over to ruffle her hair. “Audacious. Just like I said.” She hissed and batted away his hand.

Rowan laughed at her dismay before turning thoughtful once more. “I thought I could be a few times,” he said slowly, “ but now … I’m not so sure. I don’t know.” The meaningful glance he gave near as he spoke nearly took her breath away. She bit her lip as she mulled over his words.

Aelin definitely hadn’t been in love before; she was sure about that. She had liked men in the past, enough so that she’d even cursed the limitations that came with being queen a few times. But compared to how it felt seeing Rowan for the first time, compared to how it felt looking down at him now … there was no contest. She had never felt anything like this–this need.

He was looking at her, green eyes full of words and feelings so powerful she wasn’t sure she was ready to face them yet. Rowan was her forever; there was no going back. Something in her had been altered so greatly that she knew she couldn’t stay away from him. She didn’t want to. And clearly, their relationship was progressing. He was literally in her bed at this very moment. She’d be shocked if she hadn’t kissed him within the week. But all of those things … no matter how permanent and perfect he felt, she still wasn’t sure she was ready to lay her heart at his feet. To fully open up to him and take that leap.

She didn’t know what that meant going forwards. It wasn’t like she was going to avoid him. Gods, she wanted nothing more than to spend every minute with him, talking with him, touching him. But for now, she wasn’t ready to tell him how she felt, no matter how obvious and inevitable it was.

Rowan pointedly cleared his throat, demanding her attention once more. “Sorry,” she chuckled.

“What were you thinking about?”

“I was just thinking that it’s weird to imagine you not knowing something,” Aelin lied, replying to his previous statement.

His brows furrowed as he asked, “What do you mean?”

“You’re immortal,” she said, “you’ve lived so long, seen so much.”

“Immortality doesn’t guarantee wisdom–just look at Fenrys,” Rowan replied, and she barked out a laugh at his words. “And besides, I’m considered young by my people.”

She couldn’t help herself as she inched closer and laid a hand on his chest. Though his face remained the same, to her great satisfaction, she saw his pupils dilate. “And how young would that be?”

A sly smile. “Let’s just say, I’m over three hundred years old.”

Gods.

“I can’t imagine living so long,” she said, the awe clear in her voice.

Rowan lifted his hand to cover hers, still resting on his chest. He evaluated her for a moment, seeming to debate with himself before saying, “Aedion told me you’re likely to settle.”

She sucked on a tooth. “Yes–I mean, we won’t know until it happens, but I got all the other fancy Fae powers so why not throw immortality into the mix?” It was a difficult topic for Aelin to think about. Her whole life people had told her that it would be a gift to be immortal, that it was something to look forward to. And it was in some ways: she could travel the world, see it all, do it all. But she couldn’t shake the sense of loneliness she felt when she pictured it. 

“You don’t seem thrilled,” he said softly.

She broke his stare and pulled away to roll onto her back. Shoulder-to-shoulder she said, “So many of the people I care about are mortal.” She took a deep breath and tried to exhale the sadness from her body. “I’m going to watch everyone that I love waste away and die–even Aedion,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “He’s already twenty-eight years old and hasn’t settled.”

It was Rowan’s turn to prop himself up on his elbow and look down at her, his green eyes full of understanding. But she continued, “I just–I don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be,” he assured her, face set with determination. And she could picture it then–that glimmer of the future he offered. She saw it so clearly that she couldn’t breathe. Perhaps immortality had scared her because, until now, she had been missing a piece. Perhaps with Rowan at her side, there was a chance that immortality could be the blessing everyone claimed it was. 

Aelin lifted a hand to his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for today–for all of it.”

His response was just to lean down and place a chaste kiss on her forehead. She shuddered under his touch, almost throwing her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to her own, but … it wasn’t the right time. Tonight, she was just too tired and grumpy, so instead, she asked, “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course, Aelin,” he murmured. 

With that, they maneuvered themselves under the warm blankets of her bed, and she curled up onto her side so that her back was against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close, and she felt his magic fly through her room, snuffing out candles and extinguishing the fire. 

And with her mate wrapped around her, holding her safely in his arms, Aelin drifted off into the best sleep she’d had in months.

Chapter Text

Rowan woke to the sound of Aelin’s raucous snoring and the feeling of her arm wrapped a little too tightly around his neck. He’d slept wonderfully and apparently, had been in a deep enough sleep that he had not woken when his mate had half climbed on top of him. He was now pinned under her body, her head resting on his shoulder, and a leg thrown over his thighs. If there had been any question of whether Aelin was a cuddler, he now had his answer.

Furthermore, she was a blanket thief because despite the fact that her body was covering his and she was happily cocooned in the giant quilt, somehow, he was barely covered at all. At least it wasn’t cold enough to have woken him.

Like him, the princess seemed to be a deep sleeper, which was a good thing because he needed to reposition them before she felt the effect her proximity was having on his body. Rowan would have liked nothing more than to make good use of that excitement, kissing her awake and–

No. He wouldn’t even let himself think about it. Boundaries. 

He hadn’t been able to ask her how she felt last night. She had seemed so sad, her worries weighing so heavily on her that he hadn’t wanted to add to it. Things had gone well anyway, and she’d invited him to stay the night, so asking for proclamations of her devotion … it could wait. 

Besides, when she’d asked him if he’d ever been in love, it had made him realize that he didn’t quite know what he wanted to say to her either. He couldn’t yet give her those three words. It would happen, and probably quite soon, but not just yet.

Slowly, Rowan unhooked her arm from his neck and slipped out of her grasp. Luckily, she was still sleeping peacefully as he positioned himself a small distance away–even if every part of him now screamed to touch her again, to restore contact. He couldn’t help himself as he reached out a hand and pushed back the golden hair that had fallen across her face.

Aelin’s eyes cracked open at that touch. She took one look at him and groaned before burying her face in her pillow. He laughed and continued to stroke her hair. “Not a morning person?”

She just groaned again in answer. He laughed once more and made to get up, but a hand shot out, catching him by the arm.

“Don’t go,” she grumbled. He lowered himself back into bed, and she snuggled up to him, recreating the same position he’d only just managed to extract himself from. Fortunately for him, his body had already calmed down.

Aelin nuzzled her head against his chest and then frowned. “Do you have a hidden dagger strapped to your chest?” she asked, sounding more awake and like herself again.

“Yes,” he said assuredly. “I like to be prepared.” For a split second, he was worried that she wouldn’t approve of such things, but then she just chuckled and rolled away from him, sliding a hand under her pillow. When she pulled it back, she was holding a hidden dagger of her own, a wicked smile on her face.

“As do I,” she said before sloppily shoving the dagger back under her pillow.

“A woman after my own heart,” he murmured, pulling her into a tight embrace. She trailed her nose along his neck and hummed in content. They stayed like that a while before a thought struck him. “Should I be gone before someone comes to wake you?

Aelin slid her arm around his neck. “No–not for a while anyway,” she said in a serene voice, eyes closed. “When I started staying in the library, I told everyone to leave me alone until late morning. That way I could sneak back in before anybody figured out what I was doing.” 

“How devious,” he chuckled.

“Indeed, though I must say I much prefer this,” Aelin murmured, burying her face in his neck in emphasis. He felt another thread of control fray at the touch, and before he could stop himself or think it through, he was rolling them, pinning her body beneath his own. Her eyes fluttered open in surprise, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d gone too far, but then she placed a hand on his cheek, bringing his face down so that their foreheads touched.

“Rowan,” she whispered, her breathing uneven–as was his own. The scent of her desire hit him, and that was almost enough to shred through the last remnants of his control. If she hadn’t already known what effect she had on him before, she could certainly feel it pressed against her thigh now. 

“Tell me what you want, Aelin,” he said roughly. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for her answer.

After a long moment, she groaned a sound of absolute suffering and gently pushed on his shoulders. “Not yet,” she said finally, and he rolled away. His mate returned to her position with her head on his chest and looked up at him. Her cheeks were pink, and she was giving him a crooked smile as she said, “I think we have some training to do.”

Rowan returned her smile and rubbed a hand along her arm. “Yes, I think we do.” 

Aelin shifted in his arms and gently, soft enough that he thought he might have imagined it, pressed a kiss to his neck. He bit back his groan, but the glint in her eyes told him she knew exactly what that kiss had done to him. With a satisfied smile on her face, she hopped out of bed and disappeared into her closet. 

________

Aelin wasn’t worried about training today. In fact, she wasn’t worried about anything. Not her magic, or Chaol, or Remelle, or any of the other million things she had to deal with. She was too happy to give a damn about anything other than her morning with Rowan. 

She’d barely noticed her surroundings as the two of them had ventured onto the plains that morning. She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him, watching as he moved, remembering how it felt to have him on top of her.

It wasn’t until her mate had waved a hand in front of her face that she realized she’d been daydreaming. They’d reached their destination and he had been talking to her–likely giving her instructions for the training ahead. But from the smug look on his face, she knew her scent had revealed to him where her thoughts had gone. She couldn’t help the blush that spread across her face.

Today would be the same as yesterday. Her only goal was to release her magic, and trust that he wouldn’t let her burn down the entirety of Terrasen. He was standing by their packs once more, patiently watching–waiting for her to do something. 

After yesterday, she’d grown to trust that Rowan would be safe. Maybe not against the full force of her power, but that wasn’t what she was trying to do today. She shifted on her feet a bit, shaking off the nerves, and shot him a look.

Are you sure about this?

He smirked at her–utterly fearless. Completely.

She rolled her eyes. Arrogant bastard, she shot back.

He chuckled, but she knew she had to get on with it. Just like yesterday, Aelin started looking deep within herself, looking for the wall that held back the vast well of her magic. Deeper and deeper, she went, sliding behind her defenses. To her great relief and fear, she found it far more easily than she had the day before.

Her magic felt different today–deeper and more volatile. Probably because more of the iron had left her system. A shiver went down her spine, but she kept reaching inwards, gently unspooling a tendril of magic. It leaped in anticipation as she started pulling it up. 

Before she channeled it into her hand, she looked over at Rowan. She didn’t know if it was for some final approval or if she just needed to know that she wasn’t alone, but the nod he gave her set her at ease. She could do this. She was in control, and she would not be afraid.

Sparks erupted from her fingertips, and though her heart pounded in her ears and her stomach turned as she imagined all the things that could go wrong, she wouldn’t give in now.

So she unleashed her magic. 

Brilliant cobalt flames erupted from her hand, filling up the sky in a terrifyingly beautiful display. The heat of her magic had sweat dripping down her forehead almost immediately, but the flames didn’t burn. And for the first time in her life, she looked at her magic and laughed in joy and wonder. Her flames danced and swirled with her as she swayed on her feet, and she was struck by how right it felt. 

Aelin had never felt like this before. Had never felt so free and light. She hadn’t realized how heavy her magic had been. Not just the emotional burden of controlling it, but the pressure of keeping such power trapped within her. To finally surrender to it–even just a bit–was glorious. 

She unleashed a little more of her power, letting it fill the sky above her, the swirling blues as vibrant and wild as the crashing waves of the sea. Gods, it felt so good to let it out. To finally stop fighting it. She wanted to call out to Rowan to see if he was marvelling as she was, but when she turned her head, he was already approaching. 

Protected from the flames by a hard wall of air, her mate came to stand next to her, a proud toothy grin on his face. An ice-kissed breeze twisted and snaked between her flames, and just like every other time, his presence had soothed her magic–just as his presence calmed her very soul–she felt her magic relax.

Slowly, the flames cooled from blue to yellow to red, and then, as she exhaled softly, they disappeared entirely.

She took a moment to breathe, steadying herself with a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. Finally, as she found herself back in her body, remembering she was standing on the Plains of Theralis, she rasped, “I did it.”

Rowan beamed at her. “How do you feel?”

“I feel...I feel amazing,” she said slowly. “Like I can breathe again–or maybe like I’m breathing for the first time.” She shook her head in disbelief. 

“The pressure of your magic is gone,” he said matter-of-factly. “The feeling won’t last forever, but as long as you find some way to release it, you’ll be able to manage it.”

“I was in control,” she mused.

“You were,” he replied with a grin. “As I said, your biggest obstacle was fear. When that fear is removed, your magic is yours to use as you see fit.”

Aelin laughed in astonishment and flung her arms around Rowan. She had no words to describe what she was feeling right now. And when she pulled back to look at Rowan–met his pine-green eyes and felt the wonder and pride and pure joy that thrummed between them, she kissed him. 

At first, it seemed she’d taken him by surprise. But then, with a sharp intake of breath, his arms wrapped around her, gripping her hips and pulling her tightly against him. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, adrenaline and desire fueling each movement of her lips. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and when his tongue brushed against her own so that she opened for him, she felt her knees go weak. She clawed at him, desperately trying to feel as much of him against her as possible. His hand slid up to the back of her head, deepening the kiss even further, and she let out a moan.

Rowan broke the kiss at the sound of it, staggering back a bit. His eyes were wild as he met her gaze and leaned forward so that they were brow-to-brow. She couldn’t speak–couldn’t do anything except try to calm her ragged breathing. She’d never been kissed like that before–never had been kissed in a way that caused the world and sanity itself to fade away. Aelin was satisfied to see that he seemed to be going through the same thing.

They stood there for what felt like a blessed eternity, just holding each other, breathing together. Finally, she lifted onto her toes and kissed him again. It was a different sort of kiss this time–softer. She lingered for a moment, soaking in his warmth, enjoying the soft movements of his lips, and only managed to pull away when an idea struck her.

“I’m not seeing Chaol today,” she said breathlessly. He tensed at the name, but she went on, “If you’d like, we could spend the day together–maybe go into the city–”

He cut her off with another soft kiss. “Yes,” he murmured onto her lips before deepening the kiss again. And when they finally pulled apart long minutes later, they began their journey back to the city of Orynth.

Chapter Text

Before Rowan could fully recover from the kiss that had brought his world to a grinding halt, they were back in Orynth exploring what Aelin claimed were the “must-see” parts of the city.

They’d taken a moment to slip back into the castle and grab their cloaks, and now in their feeble disguises, Aelin was dragging Rowan down alleyways, stopping on every corner to point to a shop or sculpture or view that she loved.

He hadn’t realized how much he had needed it–to spend time like this with Aelin. Yes, their identities were hidden by heavy hoods, but until now, he’d only seen her in private or in situations where he had to pretend he wasn’t her mate. He hadn’t been bitter about it before, but now … Rowan wouldn’t let that thought ruin his day with her. Chaol would be gone in a matter of weeks, and then he would have her all to himself. Hopefully, for hundreds of years. He could wait out the month. 

He gave Aelin his undivided attention as she led him through the city. Every time she’d stop to show him another one of her favourite things, he’d committed it to memory, grateful for every detail. Even hidden under a heavy hood, the crowds of people seemed to part for them. He wasn’t sure if it was because they knew who Aelin was or because people could sense their magic humming in the air around them, but Aelin didn’t seem to mind.

First, she’d taken him to the Royal Theatre, a massive, elegant building, so unlike the simple stone theatres they had in Doranelle. Aelin had told him that it was fairly new–only built after she’d visited Rifthold five years ago and discovered they had a far superior theatre. She’d come straight home and demanded that Terrasen up their game. They hadn’t been able to go inside, but she’d promised she would take him to her favourite symphony as soon as she could and that they would be able to watch from the Royal box. 

Next, she’d taken him to her favourite bakery. It had been the complete opposite of the Royal Theatre–small and out of the way, yet somehow packed with people. She’d claimed they had the best chocolate hazelnut cakes in the whole kingdom, and when they’d been on the brink of bankruptcy just months ago, she’d made sure that all of Orynth had heard that Aelin Galathynius loved the place. Within a week, they were making enough gold to open a second location. 

Before they’d left, Aelin had purchased two slices of cake for them, despite his protests that he didn’t eat sweets, and when she’d gone to pay, the owner had winked at her and called her Celaena.

With their sugary lunches secured, Aelin had led him through the market, weaving through stalls, waving to the occasional vendor, finally arriving at large, wrought iron gates that opened to a public garden. They’d walked past fountains and topiaries through winding paths of rose bushes until they’d arrived at a private bench hidden by dense flowers on all sides.

Now, as they ate their desserts in the secluded shadows of the rose bushes, Aelin beamed at him and asked, “So, what do you think?”

He forced himself to swallow another bite of too-sweet cake and gave her a smile. “The cake or the city?”

She laughed. “The city. I can tell from how you keep scrunching your nose up that you don’t like the cake.”

“I told you I’m not a fan of sweets,” he said apologetically, placing the small box that held his piece down in the small space between them.

“I know, but I thought you were just being a snob.” 

He rolled his eyes and then watched in horror as Aelin finished her own slice and started on his abandoned one. She saw his face and raised her eyebrows innocently. “What? You think I’m going to let this go to waste?” she asked. Then she waved her fork dismissively and said, “I haven’t been there in ages, anyway.”

“You’re more familiar with the city than I expected,” he mused after a moment. 

A wry smile spread across her face. “Well, I tried to stay cowering in my tower, waiting for my handsome prince to save me,” she said sarcastically, “but I’m afraid you showed up a little late. I got bored.”

“Of course you did.” A chuckle. “I like the city very much,” he said, finally answering her question. “It’s not as wild as Doranelle, but you can feel the Fae influence. It feels like home in some ways.” Aelin’s eyes lit up at the words, and he wondered for a moment if they were both imagining their lives together here in Terrasen–how it might be if she asked him to stay. He cleared his throat, pushing away the emotions suddenly surging up, and asked, “So do you go incognito as Celaena very often?”

“As often as I can manage,” she replied, a wicked glint in her eye. “When I was twelve, I was curious to see the city and so sick of court that I finally got the courage to sneak out. I wanted to see how our people lived–how the real world lived. Aedion eventually caught me, but I convinced him not to rat me out, and in the end, we started sneaking out together. For a while, we’d do it every week.

“As I got older, the sneaking became less necessary. I actually go out as myself with a small group of guards fairly often, but the habit stuck.” She shrugged.

He thought back to the baker and all the street vendors that had waved at her. “But some people know that it’s you–when you’re pretending to be Celaena.”

Aelin chuckled. “I’m pretty sure half of the city knows it’s me by now and just plays along.”

“Won’t word get back to Lord Westfall that you were seen running through the city with a stranger?”

“No,” she snorted, “they’ll just assume you were a bodyguard. And people here tend to mind their own business anyway.”

“Your city is–” he shook his head, searching for the words, “–I’m surprised it’s safe for you to go out like this.”

A touch of pride glimmered in her turquoise eyes before they turned impish. “I can protect myself just fine, birdie,” she said, a hint of real annoyance in her voice. Rowan let out a choked laugh at the nickname and was about to respond, but then her eyes softened, and she continued, “You’re right, though. Orynth isn’t like other cities. I certainly couldn’t do this in Rifthold. Terrasen is so stable–our people are happy and prosperous. There is a lot of support for the royal family.”

Aelin munched happily on her last bite of cake as he considered her words. Terrasen truly was unlike any other kingdom he’d visited. “And there’s no tension with the Fae?” he asked carefully.

His mate smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Why would there be?” she asked, clearly wanting to feel him out by deliberately being obtuse. Rowan resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard what it’s like in Doranelle,” he said. “Coming to Terrasen and seeing everyone so integrated–mortals, Fae and demi-Fae all living peacefully–it was quite a surprise.”

Aelin broke his gaze, eyes guarded as she stared unseeingly into the rose bushes. She chewed on her bottom lip and slowly asked, “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a great thing, Aelin,” he reassured her, resting a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him again, a small smile forming on her face. “I don’t quite understand how your kingdom managed it, but it gives me hope for Doranelle.”

“Perhaps it’s not that Terrasen did something right, but rather that Maeve did something wrong.” Her opinion of Maeve was clear though her words weren’t cold.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “I hope I live to see it rectified.”

“You’re immortal. I’m sure you will.”

Rowan just gave her a tight smile, not yet wanting to broach the subject of her mortality. He’d been thinking about it since Aedion had confronted him–what he would do if Aelin didn’t settle, if she only lived a mortal lifespan. It hadn’t taken him long to arrive at his answer, but he thought it still might be too soon to tell Aelin that.

His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of two small arms sliding around his neck. “I find I’ve grown tired of talking,” Aelin said coyly.

Rowan’s only reply was to pull her fully onto his lap so that she was straddling him. His arms slid around her waist, tightening his hold on her until their bodies were flush. They had never been this close before. Her eyes darkened as she started pressing slow, taunting kisses down the column of his throat. 

“Much better,” she hummed against his skin, sliding her fingers into his hair. 

Rowan huffed a laugh, but the sound was short-lived as Aelin pulled his face down and silenced him with a kiss. 

________

They spent the better part of an hour kissing in the rose garden before Aelin finally had the strength to peel herself away. She had been right to assume that a physical relationship with Rowan would be addictive, and she was already desperately looking forward to her next hit. It was so different from the kisses she’d shared with other men. Gods, even just kissing Rowan was better than any sex she’d ever had, though she couldn’t be sure if that said more about her mate or her previous lovers. Aelin couldn’t imagine what it would be like when she took that step with Rowan–she might just combust at the thought of it. Literally.

But even though it was torture to pull back from him, they really did need to make their way back to the castle. They’d been out long enough, and she wanted to be back in time for dinner. 

Aelin took him on a different path as they made their way through the city–this one more scenic than the one they’d taken through the market. It wasn’t quite private enough for her to hold his hand, but she made do with heated glances and the occasional brush of their fingers.

They’d just been about to pass through the castle gates when she spotted a very tired-looking Fenrys also returning from the city.

“What happened to you?” Rowan asked the male as he saw them and made to approach.

Fenrys groaned and ran a hand through his long golden hair as he came to a stop before them. “The meeting went on for hours today–far longer than anyone planned,” he said, obviously exhausted. “It was so boring,” he whined.

Rowan chuckled and replied, “That’s what you get for playing delegate.” She suddenly remembered that she hadn’t asked him why he wasn’t in the meetings yet. For some reason, her stomach knotted up a bit at the thought, but she still resolved to ask him later tonight. “Why were you in the city?” her mate asked.

“I went for a walk after they finally freed me,” Fenrys replied. Then his face changed, a feral smile forming. “Let’s not talk about my painfully boring day, though,” he drawled, crossing his arms. “Tell me–how’s your little ruse going?”

Rowan rolled his eyes (his signature move, it seemed), but Aelin managed a smirk, despite the unwelcome reminder of her shitty situation. “So far, so good,” she answered for the both of them. 

Fenrys snorted. “I don’t know why you’re bothering. This one”–he nodded at Rowan–“can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

Her mate scoffed, and she couldn’t stop herself from laughing at how genuinely offended he looked.

“Oh, don’t look so put out,” Fenrys mocked, “it’s true.”

“It is not ,” Rowan growled. “I’ve been trusted with many of Doranelle’s secrets–even without having sworn the blood oath.”

Fenrys’s eyes darkened a bit at the mention of the blood oath, but the humour didn’t leave his face. “Sure, you can keep secrets if the fate of Doranelle depends on it, but you gossip like a fishwife the rest of the time.”

“Please tell me you have examples,” Aelin laughed, absolutely thrilled with this new information. She wanted as many ways to make fun of Rowan as possible.

“Oh yes,” Fenrys said, a massive grin on his face.

Rowan groaned. “Can we just leave it alone–”

“There was this one time,” Fenrys began dramatically, cutting Rowan off, “when Rowan and I were training new recruits, and we recognized one of their scents. We both realized he must be the bastard son of one of Maeve’s generals. But instead of minding his own business or pulling the recruit aside, Rowan just starts asking the poor male if he knew who’d sired him. When the recruit couldn’t answer, Rowan announced who his father was to the whole group.”

“He deserved to know–” Rowan interjected.

But Fenrys went on, “The next day, we were in a war meeting, and that general happened to be attending too. It was clear that Rowan’s rumour had not yet reached him, and when the general wanted to send a group of recruits to the front lines, Rowan suggested he avoid the ones we were training because his son was in that group. You should have seen the look of shock on the male’s face, as Rowan said you doom your son to die ,” Fenrys mocked in a silly, serious voice.

“Technically, that was the same secret–”

“There was also that time that you told everyone that a respected visitor of Maeve’s was a shapeshifter. We’d barely sat down to eat when Rowan just blurted it out for the whole party to hear,” Fenrys said, laughing hard. “The poor woman was so upset, and the worst part was that Maeve already knew about it. ”

Aelin raised her eyebrows at Rowan, who just grimaced as she laughed. “I recognized the scent, and I thought she could be a threat to security,” Rowan tried.

“That’s all fine and well, my friend, but there is something to be said for discretion.”

Rowan’s mouth tightened into a thin line as he glared at Fenrys, words apparently lost to him. Aelin rubbed his back, giving him a patronizing look of concern, as the corners of her mouth turned into a mocking pout. “It’s okay, Rowan. I don’t think you’re a gossip,” she laughed as he turned his glare on her. “You just lack finesse–which I already knew.”

“Remind me why I bother with any of you,” Rowan muttered, and she laughed at him some more. It was minutes later–after she and Fenrys had reigned in their giggling that a thought struck her. There was a different sort of question she wanted to ask.

“Fenrys, forgive me, but you were blood sworn to Maeve, correct?” She immediately regretted asking when she saw the shadows that fell over his face, but he nodded. She steeled herself, gravel crunching under her boots as she shifted uncomfortably. “How does it work?” she asked gently, vaguely noting Rowan throwing her a look of caution as she pressed on.

“Which part?” he asked, eyes dark but voice kind.

“Well, in Terrasen, it’s tradition for the ruler to have one warrior blood sworn to them,” she explained. “My cousin Aedion is likely going to swear it to me one day, and–and I just don’t know if I’m comfortable with it,” she admitted.

Something like surprise and perhaps respect flashed across his features. “Why do you say that?”

“I guess I just don’t want to be that kind of queen,” she answered, letting out a breathy sigh. “I don’t want him enslaved to me.”

Fenrys smiled at her–a truly kind smile, lacking any of the mirth and sarcasm of the previous ones he’d given her. “If you don’t want your cousin to be enslaved to you, then he won’t be.” Seeing her confusion, he went on, “The intention behind the oath determines its nature. If you swear it to each other with only love and respect in your hearts, then it won’t be like what Maeve offered.”

She almost couldn’t bring herself to ask, but she needed to know, “What did Maeve offer?”

“Complete obedience,” Fenrys said bitterly. “We had to obey every order to the letter, no matter how small or horrible.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. It was all there was to say. Rowan brushed a hand along her lower back before dropping it back to his side.

“Don’t be.” Fenrys smirked and added, “The bitch is dead now anyway.”

Aelin let out a nervous laugh but couldn’t shake the queasiness that had settled in her stomach. She just barely registered Rowan changing the topic and steering her back into the castle, but she was lost to her thoughts.

No. She definitely wouldn’t be that type of queen.

________

Fenrys accompanied them on their walk back into the castle until it was time for him to peel off and head for the guest wing. Rowan, however, walked Aelin all the way to her rooms, and she was dreading letting him go again–even if it was just for dinner.

Aelin was planning on asking him to fly back to her rooms tonight. In fact, she was thinking she might do it every night–hopefully with progressively less clothing. Her toes curled in her boots at the thought, but she kept her giddiness to herself. She was going to play it cool. At least for a few more days.

They pulled up to a stop at her door, and to her great pleasure, the hallway was blessedly empty. Taking advantage of the privacy and the fact that Rowan would hear anyone approaching long before they were spotted, she rolled up onto her toes and kissed him gently.

He kissed her back and then smiled as he met her gaze. His pine-green eyes were so happy and warm that she couldn’t resist kissing him again. He chuckled onto her lips before pulling back to say, “We should do this again sometime.”

“Going into the city or the kissing?”

“Both.”

Something molten rushed through her at his words, at the huskiness of his voice. “I suppose that can be arranged,” she answered. It was true, though. Since she’d told Chaol to fuck off, she had far more time to spend on important things. Like kissing. She’d have to talk to her obnoxious suitor eventually, but for now, she wasn’t going to let it ruin her time with Rowan.

Her mate sighed as she nuzzled her face into the crook between his neck and his shoulder, and they just stood there for a few moments–holding each other, breathing each other in.

Then she pulled back and pinned him with an inquisitive stare. “I wanted to ask you something,” she started. “I was wondering why you haven’t been attending the negotiations with the other Fae delegates–is it because it’s a conflict of interest?” she asked.

A laugh. “No. It probably would be considered one now, but I wasn’t planning on attending the meetings anyways–it’s not really my thing.”

A pit in her stomach formed, and she chastised herself for being so silly and suspicious. But she couldn’t stop her voice from shaking a bit as she asked, “Then why were you sent to Terrasen?”

Rowan stiffened, and she saw it–the moment he realized he’d said the wrong thing. Aelin couldn’t stop the dread that washed over her. She suspected she knew the reason, and even though she didn’t want to, she needed to hear him say it.

“Rowan,” she started quietly, stepping away from him, “were you sent here to kill me?”

His eyes widened, and he barked, “No! No, Aelin, of course not.” Rowan reached out a hand to pull her back into his arms, but she stepped away again, ignoring the way his eyes guttered at her retreat. “It’s just–” he stammered, “Sellene just wanted to make sure her people would be safe in Terrasen if the peace talks didn’t go well.” His eyes were on the floor, avoiding confronting the hurt that was surely on her face. 

“Because she thought I might murder the delegates if I didn’t like what they had to say?” she asked, her voice bitter as she wrapped her arms around herself defensively.

Rowan met her gaze again, pleading. “We didn’t know what to expect. All we had were rumours to go on. It was just a precaution.” Aelin couldn’t help the way his words stung–the harsh truth of what the world thought of her.

“A precaution in case someone had to kill me,” she repeated, needing him to admit that’s why he was here. She hated the tears that were threatening to fall, but she held his stare.

Her mate gave her a long look, filled with regret and apology and something more she couldn’t place, and then let out a shaky breath. “Yes, if it came to that,” he admitted. Then rushed to add, “but it was a last resort–if it was the only choice that would prevent a war. And it doesn’t matter anyway now. I could never –”

“I know, Rowan,” she said, her voice small. She pursed her lips together, slamming down a wall to hold in her turbulent emotions. “I understand,” she whispered. It was true. She did understand, and she wasn’t mad at him. It wasn’t his fault that he was here as a backup plan. If it had been anyone but her mate she’d have praised their preparedness. But he was her mate, and for some reason, that made it different.

“If they asked me to do it now, I wouldn’t,” he said fiercely, “not for all the world.” She felt her eyebrows raise in surprise, and he went on, “If it came down to it, I’d choose you, Aelin. Always.”

Her heart nearly burst with emotion as she took in his words, each one more precious than the last. Aelin cursed herself as a single tear slipped through her defenses, and she quickly wiped it away.

Rowan reached out his hand again–a steady offer. She took it and squeezed gently, while her other arm still wrapped around her torso protectively. Aelin wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with him and maybe cry for a few hours while he held her. But she wasn’t ready to go there with him. She would be okay, but she needed a moment to catch her breath and sort out her miserable life.

So, despite the emotions roaring within her, and despite the look of heartbreak in Rowan’s eyes that threatened to undo her, she lifted onto her toes and kissed his cheek in farewell. When she pulled back, she dropped his hand and opened the door to her rooms.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked, a weak smile on her face.

Rowan saw the goodbye for what it was–he wasn’t to come to her rooms tonight. But he still managed to muster a tight smile in return and nodded.

So she slipped into her rooms and closed the door, leaving her mate alone in the hallway.

Chapter Text

The raging headache that had pulled Rowan from his restless slumber was one of the better things that had happened to him this morning. In fact, he’d welcomed it because as long as his head was pounding, it was hard for him to remember any of his actual problems.

One of those problems he’d attempted to forget last night by going for drinks with Fenrys in the city. They’d found the most sordid tavern in all of Orynth and had stayed until close, playing cards and knocking back tankards of ale faster than the bartender could keep up with.

His companion hadn’t been a very sympathetic drinking partner, but that was exactly what Rowan had been looking for. He didn’t need someone to pry or make sad eyes at him the way Enda would. He’d just needed to get away from the castle and stop obsessing about Aelin for a while.

Rowan had succeeded at getting drunk and avoiding his feelings for most of the night, but as soon as he was back in his room, lying in a bed that didn’t contain Aelin, he’d regressed into what Fenrys often called his cranky old bastard form. It wasn’t an incorrect assessment. 

His mood was made all the worse by the message he’d received from a castle servant at the crack of dawn: that the princess was unwell and wouldn’t be attending training today. Rowan hadn’t been able to help the growl that sent the messenger fleeing from his rooms. At the news, he’d resolved to go back to bed and embrace the splitting headache that stood between him and his stupid heart. Today, he wasn’t going to do anything or talk to anyone. No, he was going to stay right here all day and wait until it was late enough to start drinking again.

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, he was laughing at himself. He knew it was ridiculous. He’d only known Aelin for a few days. They hadn’t even really fought for gods’ sake, just a difficult conversation. Yet here he was, completely wrecked by her rejection. Perhaps he would force himself to spar with Fenrys or Aedion later–if only to prove to himself that he could still function without her.

Before he had the chance to decide, the doors to his room were flung open, and someone sauntered in. Rowan wouldn’t deign to open his eyes or remove the arm he’d dramatically thrown over his face, but from the scent and familiarly amused chuckle, he knew exactly who it was.

“You’re going to ruin that fearsome reputation of yours moping around like that,” Enda laughed.

Rowan groaned out a barely intelligible Go away and then sent an annoying breeze flying into Enda’s face in emphasis.

“You must be quite hungover, indeed, if that is the best you can muster,” Enda mocked before throwing up a shield. His cousin was baiting him. Obviously, Rowan could rip through Enda’s shield and send him flying out of the room, but that would require effort.

“Why can you never just leave me to my misery, you nosy son of a bitch?” Rowan moaned as his cousin started pulling back curtains. Even with his eyes closed, the stupid sun just reminded him of Aelin.

“Because you’re always so extreme when you’re miserable,” Enda said fondly, his smile clear in his voice. “Remember when we were children, and you refused to speak to any of us for two months after your dog died?” 

At that, Rowan finally cracked open his eyes to send his cousin a look of absolute loathing. Enda had stopped to stand at the side of the bed and was peering down at him, humour and judgement swirling in his green eyes. Rowan lowered his arm from his face and begrudgingly sat up against the headboard, ignoring the way his head spun. “Perhaps I just do not share your insufferable optimism.”

His cousin just laughed, completely unfazed by Rowan’s insolence and glowering. After a pause, he asked, “So is the reason for this pageant of despair the same reason that everyone is saying Aelin’s ill today?”

Rowan responded by letting out a frustrated groan. Enda was so fucking nosy–

“Oh, stop your boorish grunts of protest and just tell me what happened,” Enda demanded.

Rowan let out another even louder groan just to spite him but then said, “Fine.” Enda smiled triumphantly and settled into the green armchair, gesturing for him to begin. 

“Aelin knows why I was asked to join this mission.”

“Oh.”

“Ya.”

“Oh.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a long moment as his cousin contemplated, fingers tented beneath his chin. “I take it she was upset?” Enda asked.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “ Obviously. And I can see why she found the information distressing.”

“Do you think this will cause any issues politically?” Enda probed, brows furrowed.

“Unlikely,” he replied with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “She didn’t seem to disagree with the logic of it. I think it was just the fact that it was me that unsettled her.”

“Okay, good,” Enda declared as he clapped his hands on his thighs and stood. 

Rowan sent him an incredulous look. “How is that good?”

“It’s good because it’s easily resolved,” Enda chuckled. “You can’t really need me to tell you what to do here. Just go and fix it, you fool.”

“She’s obviously avoiding me,” he grumbled.

His cousin smirked. “Go anyways. The worst thing that can happen is that she melts you” Enda laughed at his own joke. “Knowing you, though, that’s probably one of the things you like about her.”

Rowan couldn’t help the dark laugh that escaped him. He couldn’t deny it; he did like that about her. He didn’t have the energy to examine what that said about him right now, but it probably meant that he was insane. “Fine,” he capitulated. “But I’m only doing this so that you’ll fuck off.”

A wide grin spread across Enda’s face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

_______

Aelin had been cooped up in her sitting room for hours now, trying to survive the absolutely delightful cacophony of suffering her body was inflicting upon her. Her great accomplishment of the morning had been when she’d managed to drag herself from her bed to the sofa in her sitting-room. Her second accomplishment had been interacting with the staff enough to send out a message and call for some ginger tea and pain tonics.

Since then, she’d been curled up on that rutting sofa, muttering curses and trying to stay as still as possible as to not further aggravate her nausea. She wished she had the strength to shift into her Fae form if only to have access to that immortal stillness, but she couldn’t bear to imagine the amount of vomiting shifting would require. Aelin could manage the pain fairly well–she had plenty of tonics after all–but the nausea always incapacitated her. Even her magic was silent now as if it too understood that they currently had bigger problems.

A gentle flash of light and footsteps in her bedroom caught her attention, but she was far too unwell to raise her head and greet her intruder. Still, her heart stuttered as anticipation flooded through her. Unfortunately, that excitement interrupted her careful stillness, making her stomach churn.

“Aelin?” Rowan’s deep voice filled the quiet.

She managed to whimper, “In here.” Then she squeezed her eyes shut and vowed not to vomit in front of her mate. He’d probably see her vomit a lot if they were going to be together for a thousand years, but that didn’t mean she had to start now.

Aelin felt the air stir in front of her, and suddenly, a cold hand was pressed against her forehead. It felt divine. 

“You’re actually unwell,” he said softly, stroking back the hair from her face.

She didn’t have the energy to laugh, but her lips twitched as she cracked open her eyes. “Evidently,” she murmured.

“I thought you might have been avoiding me.”

“If I wanted to avoid you, I would have told you to bugger off straight to your face,” she clarified. 

Rowan’s eyes danced at the words, and his breath skittered across her skin as he let out a soft laugh. He pulled his hand away from her forehead, and she moaned her displeasure. With another laugh, he brought his palm back to her face as a cold breeze guided fresh air into her lungs. All she could do was let out a sigh that she hoped sounded grateful.

“Are your cycles always this bad?” he asked gently. 

“How did you know–” she started but then stopped when he gave her a pointed look. Right. Scent. Gross. She groaned in embarrassment but then rallied herself to reply, “Yes. Though I think they’ve been getting worse over the last year.”

Rowan opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Their eyes met, both surprised and confused, before Aelin hesitantly shouted, “Who is it?”

A servant’s muffled answer came through the door. “Lord Chaol is here to see you, your highness.”

How wonderful.

“Can you tell him to come back tomorrow?” she shouted back.

“I tried, your highness, but he insists that it’s important.”

Sure it was.

Aelin gave her mate an apologetic look before motioning for him to hide in her bedroom. She knew he wasn’t pleased from the bitter frown he was wearing, but he obeyed, and soon she was alone in her sitting-room once more. She missed his cold hands against her skin, soothing the nausea, but was grateful that the cold breeze remained.

“Send him in,” she shouted finally. 

A minute later, the doors opened, and a wary-looking Chaol appeared before her, a hand behind his back. His bronze eyes were full of concern and motivation–like he wanted to help but didn’t quite know how. 

She scowled at the thought and at the increase in nausea his presence had brought. Gods, what she would give to not have to deal with this right now. And to not have poor Rowan stuck in the next room, forced to listen to another man attempt to woo her.

Chaol stood awkwardly in silence for a moment, looking down at her, before saying, “Bit drafty in here, isn’t it?” Of course, he would think that.

“What do you want, Chaol?”

“I apologize for the intrusion,” he began. For a brief second, she was surprised to hear the uncertainty in his voice. Perhaps he didn’t want to be here either. “I heard that you were ill, and I wanted to stop by and–and see if you were alright.”

She just grimaced in a way that said, Do I like alright?

He seemed to receive her message and cleared his throat, realizing how awkward this conversation was becoming. “Aelin, I wanted to apologize for the other day,” he stammered, shifting on his feet. He wouldn’t meet her stare as he spoke. “I’m sorry that you were hurt by my words–that was not my intention.” Her eyes widened at the non-apology, but he went on, “I think that–I think we are both under a great deal of pressure because of the engagement, and we both said things we should not have.” As he finished speaking, he pulled his hand from behind his back, revealing a bouquet of flowers–daisies it would seem.

Despite the pain roaring through her, despite the nausea threatening to surge, she barked out a cruel laugh. Chaol wasn’t apologizing for how wrong he’d been or how unfairly he’d judged her. He wasn’t apologizing for telling her how to live her life or calling her a monster. No, he was merely expressing regret that his stupid beliefs had been poorly received. The nerve of him, to come into her private rooms, while she was in pain–

“First of all, Chaol,” she said curtly, anger allowing her to find her voice again, “we are not engaged. Whether or not that happens is yet to be seen.” Chaol’s face shifted with surprise, but she was not done. “Second, I don’t regret anything I said to you the other day, nor do I accept your shitty apology,” she seethed, pushing herself up into a seated position. “And finally, I am allergic to daisies, so unless you want me sniffling all day, I’d suggest you take them with you when you get the hell out of my rooms,” she ordered.

“Aelin, please–” he sputtered, pulling the flowers back hastily. But she raised a hand before he could continue speaking. Her other hand went to her stomach as the anger that had been holding back her nausea suddenly failed. Chaol dropped the daisies and rushed forward, putting a too-warm hand on her back.

“Leave,” she warned, her voice hoarse, but he stayed where he was rubbing his annoying hand down her back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, panic clear in his voice. “Shall I fetch a healer–”

Aelin cut him off mid-sentence by vomiting all over his legs and shoes. 

He choked on a disgusted gasp and scrambled away from her. She hung her head, only vaguely embarrassed underneath the discomfort and sharp taste of bile in her throat. But suddenly, she felt a bit better–clearer–the nausea fading for a moment.

She took in Chaol’s horrified look and his now ruined clothes and mumbled, “Sorry.” He just gawked at her as if she were possessed by a demon from another realm. “Don’t worry. You won’t catch anything.”

“Are you sure?” he barked in disbelief. “You’re really sick, Aelin.”

“Happens every month,” she replied weakly. She’d pay good money to see him put up with this as regularly as she did.

Chaol looked confused for a few moments before understanding finally settled over his features. He quickly pushed himself up to stand, eyes darting around as if looking for an easy escape, and retreated until his back hit the wall.

“Oh–I–then … I should leave you to rest,” he stammered. “Your condition–yes–you rest.” And then he was out the doors and gone before she could so much as say goodbye. She would have to deal with him properly later. 

Before the doors could fully close from his rapid departure, a servant popped her head in and kindly asked, “Your highness, do you need anything?” She’d likely overheard their argument. And maybe the vomiting.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m sorry, but the room will need cleaning,” she said, finally feeling the embarrassment she’d been suppressing in Chaol’s presence, “and please throw away those flowers.” Then using what were surely her last moments of reprieve from the nausea, she carefully stood and started staggering back to her bedroom. Luckily, she’d managed to avoid getting vomit on her own clothes.

“Of course, your highness. You just rest and give us a shout if you need anything.” Aelin didn’t answer, not out of rudeness, but because nausea was overtaking her once more. But she made it to her rooms in one piece and shut the door. 

Rowan was before her in an instant, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her into the bathing room. They didn’t speak while the staff were close enough to overhear, but he helped her wash her face and rinse out her mouth before carrying her back into the bedroom and setting her down in bed. Then he climbed in with her and gathered her into his arms. 

He met her gaze and then carefully, as if giving her the chance to object, rested a hand on her abdomen. She raised an eyebrow in question, but her confusion only lasted a moment before a faint glow appeared and healing magic swept through her. Aelin almost cried in relief as the nausea subsided. Her whole body relaxed and a small sigh left her as she was once again soothed by her mate’s magic. She found his pine-green eyes again, knowing her own were wide with awe, and he grinned at her. 

For a moment, Aelin felt practically euphoric in the absence of the nausea, but then, as her mind settled, exhaustion crept in. So, with Rowan stroking a cold hand along her face and neck, she let herself drift into a peaceful sleep. 

________

“You have healing magic, then?” Aelin asked. 

The staff had finished cleaning rather quickly, but when Rowan had seen how tired she was, he’d decided to let her sleep. Fortunately, he wasn’t waiting long, and Aelin had woken up about half an hour later, looking and sounding much more like herself.

“Yes. Not enough that I could have become a healer, but enough to patch myself up in battle and do things like this,” he replied, still holding her and easing her nausea.

“I have it too–or a type of it anyways. My mother’s water magic,” she said, “I only got a drop, but it’s there.”

“Even a small amount could be worth training.”

Aelin hummed in agreement and chuckled. “Add it to the list.” Then she snuggled closer to him and let her eyes drift closed with contentment. Rowan stroked his fingers across her cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as he surveyed her. Despite her difficult day, she looked healthier. It had only been a few days since she’d stopped drinking the iron tonic and sleeping in the library, but she already looked so much more well-rested. 

“You know,” he mused, “any healer could probably do this for you.”

Turquoise eyes found his again, and she gave him a strange sort of look. “I know,” she said, with something like guilt in her voice. “I’ve had them come by a few times in the past, but it’s not much of a cure unless a healer stays at my side day and night.”

“So? You’re a princess. I’m sure something could be arranged.”

“It just feels … wrong to use resources like that,” she admitted, as her hand drifted to her middle and rested atop his own. “As unpleasant as this is, it’s not life or death. I want the healers to be available to help the people that truly need them.”

Rowan scanned her face before leaning in to kiss her forehead. He wasn’t sure he agreed with her assessment–she shouldn’t have to suffer–but he had to respect her for it. It wasn’t common that a future monarch would place others above themselves like that. He’d met plenty of kings and queens over the centuries that didn’t bat an eyelid when monopolizing wealth and resources for their own comfort. “Well, you’ll have to settle for me then.”

“How unfortunate,” she joked, her tone affectionate.

He chuckled. “Not as unfortunate as poor Chaol.” Her cheeks flushed as she likely remembered vomiting on the man. “Don’t worry, he deserved it,” Rowan assured her. He had heard everything, of course, since he’d been trapped in the next room. It had taken all of his training to not drag the man out by the hair for bothering Aelin while she was unwell. He was already bitter that Chaol could court her and could enter her rooms without raising suspicion. Having the man burst in when he clearly wasn’t wanted and when his mate was defenseless had almost pushed Rowan over the edge. But killing the future Lord Westfall wouldn’t make their situation any easier.

“I just think it’s funny that it wasn’t my vomiting that sent him fleeing, but my condition,” she said, mimicking the way Chaol had said it. “He’s going to be in for quite a shock when he finally finds himself a wife.”

Rowan joined her in her laughter. “Indeed.”

Aelin rolled over onto her side so that her back was to him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. She sighed happily, her breathing relaxed and even, so unlike when he’d first arrived. He smiled, knowing that he’d been able to make a difference, suddenly grateful for Enda’s interference–not that he was going to admit that to his cousin any time soon. Rowan moved to kiss her rounded ear before a thought struck him, and he pulled back.

“Have you considered staying in your Fae form?” Fae females typically only had their cycle once every six months. It was quite a bit worse than what humans usually experienced, but Aelin was already suffering so much. Perhaps staying in her Fae form could at least reduce the frequency of her pain.

She turned over again to look at him, her eyes thoughtful. “I have, actually. I even tried it for a while.”

“It didn’t work?”

“No, it did,” she answered, pausing to gnaw on her bottom lip, “but it didn’t feel right.”

Rowan gave her an inquisitive look but allowed her the space to sort through her thoughts. While she decided what she wanted to tell him, he lifted a thumb to her soon-to-be brutalized lip and pulled it free from her teeth. Aelin chuckled at the touch, her features relaxing a bit.

“Here’s the thing,” she began, her voice now confident and direct, “I know that my Fae form is … better. It’s stronger, faster–all those things. But it’s only half of who I am, just as being human is the other half. And even though the human part of me causes a little extra suffering … it means something to me–to be in human form.” She paused and gave him a hesitant look. “Does that make sense?”

“It does,” he answered softly. He hadn’t really considered it before because Aelin’s Fae and human forms were so similar, but it did make sense. If he wasn’t able to shift into his hawk form, he would feel suffocated. It didn’t matter which form was better or more practical; he couldn’t bear to be cut off from such a large part of who he was.

Whatever Aelin saw in his eyes seemed to be what she was looking for, and she gave him a small smile, a companionable silence settling over them. But then his stomach turned as he finally remembered the reason he was here. Aelin didn’t seem to be upset with him, but he still couldn’t just leave things like that–

“About last night,” he began.

“Don’t worry about it, Rowan.”

“Aelin–”

She lifted a hand to his face. “Really, it’s okay. I just needed some time to … think things through. There’s nothing you need to apologize for.” He wanted to say more, to properly atone, but her words sounded genuine. “I’m not upset with you,” she assured him, eyes fierce and sincere. 

“I meant what I said last night–that I’d choose you.”

Aelin’s eyes glittered with emotion, and she took a deep breath. “I know,” she whispered after a moment.

It wasn’t quite what he was hoping she’d say but he accepted it nonetheless. Even if she couldn’t offer him the same sentiment, the silver lining her eyes told him what it meant to her. Maybe she just wasn’t ready to go there with him. She smiled again, a hint of wickedness creeping back into her features as she pulled him closer. “So,” she drawled, “do you think you can kiss me and heal me at the same time?”

He barked out a laugh. Clearly, Aelin was done with their vulnerable heartfelt moment. “Your standards are much too low if that’s all it’s going to take to impress you.” She just grinned and moved close enough to brush his nose with her own. “You’re insatiable–you know that?”

“I’ve never received any complaints before,” she teased. “Perhaps I should have someone fetch Chaol back–”

Aelin’s terrible joke was cut off as he rolled them so that she was underneath him. Her breath caught, but the wicked grin returned. Rowan leaned in slowly and dragged his lips across her throat, delighting in how she arched into his touch. 

“That won’t be necessary.”

Chapter Text

Rowan cancelled training the next day. She’d argued and complained, claiming the worst of it had passed and that she felt totally fine but he wouldn’t budge. She was to rest and regain her strength, and that was that.

Aelin had to admit that Rowan had done an excellent job of taking care of her the previous day. His presence and healing magic had turned what was normally a horrific twenty-four hours of suffering into a tolerable and possibly even fun afternoon. He’d kept her mug full of tea, cuddled her whenever she asked and had even flown off to the kitchens at one point to steal her a piece of cake. 

But now the problem was that he wouldn’t stop taking care of her. Despite her reassurances, he was still fussing like a nursemaid and had sulked when she declared she would not be spending all day in bed. Eventually, she’d offered to stop whining about the cancelled training but only in exchange for him joining her at breakfast with her family. He’d agreed far more readily than she had anticipated, saying that it was obviously a wonderful idea and that she was a terrible negotiator. 

Now, as he escorted her through the hallways of the castle, she felt the prickle of magic surrounding her and couldn’t help but ask, “Is there a shield around us right now?”

Rowan had a slightly guilty look in his eyes. Perhaps he had been hoping that she wouldn’t notice. “Yes.” 

Aelin snorted. “We’ve reached a relationship milestone.”

Her mate eyed her suspiciously before saying, “And which one would that be?”

“The one where I find you incredibly annoying for the first time,” she scoffed, smacking him playfully on the arm. A few nearby guards gave them a quizzical look, but she ignored them. “Are you always going to go berserk when I’m unwell?”

“This is hardly berserk. Your magic is still dodgy from the iron, and might I remind you that very recently you were so unwell you were vomiting on your visitors.”

“Just one visitor, thank you very much,” she corrected with a glare. “And it was actually a very effective defense.” Rowan just glared right back at her, apparently unamused by her joke. “Besides, I’m fine now, really.”

“I know, just–let me take care of you today.”

She raised her eyebrows, but his face was drawn–that was real fear in his eyes. Aelin’s heart strained as she studied him. The memory of their first day of training flooded back–how she’d panicked because she thought he was in danger. Even just recalling how she’d felt in that moment caused her heart to start racing. Perhaps she was being too hard on him.

“Very well,” she said softly.

His eyes jumped back to hers, a hint of shock present, but he didn’t question what had changed her mind. He just nodded and gave her a small grateful smile.

Breakfast was already in full swing when they arrived, and Aelin was delighted to discover that in addition to her parents, Aedion had also turned up. With the whirlwind that meeting Rowan had been, she hadn’t really remembered to spend much time with her family. She hadn’t noticed it at the time, but sitting with them now, she realized how much she’d missed it. 

The cover story was that Rowan was updating her parents on her training. And there was a hint of truth to it–they had discussed it. But Aelin was far more interested in having everyone else get to know each other better. Luckily, Aedion was more than happy to keep the conversation moving, finally surrendering to his deep admiration for Rowan. For the past twenty minutes, he had been listing every story he knew about her prince, asking if each one was true, and for the ones that weren’t, what had actually occurred.

“–clean through the chest and into the stone wall,” Aedion said, making an enthusiastic stabbing motion. He had just finished telling the story of how Rowan had impaled an enemy warlord with a table leg. Despite the fact that he was not the owner of these stories, Aedion had been doing almost all of the talking while Rowan smirked. From the lack of objections coming from her mate, clearly, this story was true.

“Well,” Aelin said, snorting, “I’ll give you points for resourcefulness, at least.” Rowan just gave a feral grin.

At first, she’d been worried that his war stories might not have been the best topic to discuss over breakfast with her parents but her father had listened intently, eyes widening with wonder as Aedion spoke, clearly as enthralled by the glorious tales of warfare as her cousin. Evalin was a bit less enthusiastic, scrunching up her nose at some of the more harrowing details, but even she laughed along at Aedion’s amusement, eventually surprising everyone by bringing a story of her own.

“I heard a particularly horrible rumour about you, Rowan,” the queen began with a sly smile. Aedion’s whole body seemed to jump with anticipation, his eyes wild and bright. Rowan, however, sunk back into his chair a bit, bracing himself. She couldn’t contain her chuckle. Seeing her legendary warrior prince timid was such a hilarious contradiction.

Evalin let him squirm in silence for a moment. “What was it?” he asked eventually, voice heavy with dread.

Her mother grinned and said, “I heard that after a battle you flew back onto the battlefield to peck out the eyes of your enemies”–Rowan choked–“and then you ate those eyes.”

“Ew, Rowan, you didn’t,” Aelin gasped as she curled over herself with laughter.

“ Of course not,” Rowan said sternly. “That did not happen. Who told you that?” he demanded of the queen. Evalin just continued to smirk, unwilling to reveal her source.

“Damn, I wish it was true,” Aedion chuckled. “That’s a good one–though not from your perspective I suppose,” he added as Rowan turned his glare on her cousin.

Rhoe paused his own laughter to say, “Don’t worry Rowan, we wouldn’t have even let you through the city gates if that’s all we thought of you.” At his words, Aelin felt her mate relax a little. She was so grateful for how her family was treating him. She couldn’t help but picture Rowan seated there forever–he fit so well into her life.

“How about we take a break from interrogating Rowan,” her father went on, still chuckling. “Let’s talk about the interesting rumour I heard about Aelin this morning.”

Worry coursed through her as she processed his words, though she didn’t know what the rumour could be. She hadn’t done anything particularly scandalous over the last few days–nothing her father hadn’t sanctioned anyways. But Rhoe’s eyes were filled with mirth–oh, he definitely knew something.

“I heard that a very dismayed Chaol Westfall was seen fleeing from your rooms yesterday, looking a little … worse for wear .” Aelin cringed as her mate let out a loud laugh–the loudest she’d heard from him yet.

She glared at him. You’re supposed to be on my side .

I am. I love that you did that to him. In fact, it’s one of my fondest memories.

Aedion cleared his throat. “Why am I just hearing about this now, dear cousin?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” she whined. 

“What did you do?”

“I don’t want to talk–”

“She vomited on him,” Rowan cut in, grinning like a maniac. “All over his legs.”

“What! You saw it?” her cousin asked incredulously.

“No, but I had the pleasure of hearing it.”

“Aelin,” Aedion laughed, “I know you’re trying to discourage Chaol’s advances, but did you really have to vomit on the poor man? That’s extreme, even for you.”

Aelin growled in disbelief. “It wasn’t on purpose. Now can we stop talking about this?”

“Of course, your radiance,” Aedion said mockingly. “Now that I know that you might vomit on me, I’ll do whatever it takes to not get on your bad side.”

“You are always on my bad side.”

Her cousin just laughed, and despite her humiliation, she couldn’t stop her mouth from twitching into a faint smile. She looked to Rowan and found his pine-green eyes focused on her, humour and pride clear on his face. She wanted to say that only a lunatic would be proud of her for vomiting, but he just took her hand under the table and gave her a reassuring smile as he turned to her parents to ask a question.

They fell back into easy conversation, finishing their breakfasts, and thankfully not returning to the subject of eye-eating, vomiting, or Chaol Westfall–that is until someone knocked on the door. 

Her father called for the visitor to enter, and a harried-looking servant rushed forward, bowing deeply before handing Aelin a note. She looked around the table for reassurance, but everyone was just as surprised as she was. 

Carefully, Aelin unfolded the note in her lap, gave it a quick read, and then let out a loud, exasperated groan. “It’s from Chaol,” she said, resting her elbow on the table and laying her head in her palm. 

Rowan’s fingers tightened around her other hand. “What does it say?” he asked. His voice was steady and unconcerned, but she already knew enough about him to see that he wasn’t happy with this development. And in fairness, she wasn’t either.

“He wants to meet for lunch,” she replied flatly. “He says he wants to apologize properly.”

“I guess vomiting is not as good of a defense as you claimed,” Rowan muttered under his breath. She just squeezed his hand reproachfully.

“What are you going to do?” Aedion asked, not bothering to look as neutral as Rowan. Even before everything had happened with Rowan, her cousin had never liked Chaol. He’d spent the entire spring asking Aelin what she saw in him, telling her that she deserved more. Apparently, Chaol wasn’t epic enough for the Fire-Bringer. And considering that the fates themselves had paired her with Rowan Whitethorn ... perhaps her cousin had been right.

Aelin sighed. “I’ll meet him. It’s the least I can do after–you know.” Aedion’s face twisted as if he were about to argue, but she went on, “I need to deal with this, and ignoring him doesn’t feel like the right way to do it.” She turned to Rowan. “Can you entertain yourself while I handle this?”

A snort. “Now who’s fussing?”

She rolled her eyes, but Aedion was the one to respond. “You can train with the Bane if you’d like,” he said hopefully. “A lot of my men are dying to meet you.”

Though Rowan wasn’t the sort to preen under flattery, Aelin still caught a little glint of joy in his eyes as he nodded. They hadn’t spoken about it much, but from their own training and all of his stories, she could tell he enjoyed teaching. Her mind raced ahead on its own with visions of all the things he could do in Terrasen, training warriors and magic wielders alike. That was if he chose to stay here. If he chose to stay with her. She pursed her lips to reign in the small frown that crossed her face at the thought.

“If your meeting with the other delegates ends early,” Rowan said to her father, “we can bring Fenrys along too. He was feeling a bit cooped up last I saw him.”

Aedion beamed. Two famous warriors training with the Bane was likely going to be the highlight of his life. She was thrilled to see them getting along so well despite their rough start–all of them. Rowan was going to fit in here, she knew it. She just hoped he felt the same.

______

Aelin had planned to live a life that didn’t require her to ever apologize for vomiting on another person. She’d thought it was an easy goal–simple; that she wasn’t asking for much. How wrong she’d been.

She was particularly peeved that it had been Chaol on the receiving end. Not only did her plan to repel him not involve him thinking she was disgusting, but it had also made her the bad guy. Only a little, but enough so that she couldn’t live with just pretending it never happened. She needed to make amends for that if nothing else. So she would apologize and sit through this meeting with him. Her last shred of dignity demanded it.

Aelin made her way to the large, neutral space Chaol had suggested they meet. It was an elegant parlour filled with squishy armchairs and lit by the rainbows of stained glass windows. She didn’t frequent it as she was rarely asked to socialize, but she knew that many of the courtiers used it to play games, gossip, and drink together. 

There were plenty of people in the room when she arrived, and a few heads popped up to survey her entrance. She scanned the faces looking for that head of brown hair and the glint of bronze eyes; he wasn’t hard to find. Chaol was huddled in the far corner of the room, fortunately seeming to favour privacy as she did. There were enough people in the room that neither of them would be inclined to make a scene, but they’d be secluded enough as to not be overheard. She didn’t want to have this conversation in front of an audience.

He spotted her as she drifted through the armchairs and couches, and raised his hand in a feeble wave. It took everything she had to not turn right around and flee, but somehow she managed to continue her walk of shame.

Chaol gave her a weak smile as she came up to a stop before him. He was seated at a small table, and in a sudden act of chivalry jumped up to pull out a chair for her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled as he pushed in her chair and then sunk back into his own. He looked different today. Why he had changed, she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but his eyes were softer and his face less strained. She schooled her features into neutrality so that her suspicion wouldn’t put him off.

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, neither willing to speak first. Aelin knew there was power in not making the first move so she crossed her arms, leaned back in her chair, and gave him a pointed look as if to say, Well?

Chaol seemed to receive her order, perhaps realizing he wasn’t going to win a dominance battle against a future queen, and let out a long, pained sigh. “Aelin, I’m sorry,” he said.

“That’s how you start all our conversations,” she scoffed. Despite her resolution to go easy on him and offer an apology herself, she couldn’t fight the rage that stirred. She wasn’t in the mood for more paltry excuses.

“I know, but I mean it this time.”

She just waved a hand, gesturing for him to get on with it.

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you the other day,” he began, “and I was an ass for intruding on you yesterday.”

“Then why did you?”

“I–I honestly don’t know where to start.”

She waited.

Chaol sighed again. “Aelin, you are … ” 

“A monster? Yes, I’ve heard,” she spat, rolling her eyes.

“No! I–I know that’s what I said, but what I want to say now is that you are so … much,” he said hesitantly.

She leaned forward and laid her crossed arms on the small table between them. “Not gonna lie, Chaol, you’re not off to a great start here.”

“I mean that you’re larger than life,” he said. “You’re literally a living legend, and you’ve barely just begun. And I wish that I could say otherwise, but I’m a little bit afraid of you.”

Aelin already knew that, but she needed more. “You didn’t seem all that frightened when you slept with me,” she pushed.

His cheeks turned red at her words. The man was quite the puritan, considering they’d already seen each other naked.

“I was frightened a little at the time. But it didn’t really come up … our relationship was mostly physical at that point. I think it was easier for me to compartmentalize it.”

“And now?”

“And now I’m imagining my life under your shadow, watching from the sidelines as you build and destroy empires.”

“Under my shadow? Please,” she growled. “You cannot possibly tell me that this has all been about your ego.”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’ve just been struggling with the idea of spending my life with someone who is not … my equal.”

“So I can be your equal, but not your superior? Even if I didn’t have magic, I’d still be your queen.”

“I know, I know. I’m not saying it was right or logical, but it was just intimidating,” he clarified, “and I think I needed to find some way to level the playing field.”

Aelin scowled at him as she considered. Even though she could kind of understand his reasoning, she wasn’t okay with it. She had a feeling Rowan would never do anything to level the playing field, even if he hadn’t a drop of magic to his name.

“I was wrong, Aelin,” Chaol declared. “I don’t want to be that type of man. I was a coward, and I was wrong, and I’m sorry.” He slid his interlaced fingers across the table, palms up–not to reach for her hands, but a gesture of honesty and openness. “If you give me the chance, I’d like to prove to you that I can be better.”

She broke her silence. “How will you be better?”

“Well, for starters, I’m not going to let my father pull my strings anymore.” She raised an eyebrow. “He told me to go and see you yesterday–even though we knew you were sick. He practically shoved those flowers in my hands and dragged me to your door. It’s not an excuse–I should have refused, but I won’t let him do that again. And”–a pause–“I’m not going to try and control you again.”

Aelin remembered Chaol’s face yesterday–the hesitance–like he hadn’t truly wanted to be there. She felt her whole body soften, and her shoulders drooped as she, perhaps for the first time, really put herself in his shoes. None of this was his fault. He was being dragged along, caught up in schemes and negotiations more than anybody else–an innocent caught in the crossfire. Though her parents were respectful of her wishes, she hadn’t truly considered that he might not have the same luxury.

“Chaol, do you even want to marry me?” she asked softly. 

His face shifted, eyes widening with surprise. “It’s–complicated,” he said.

“Tell me.”

A sigh. “I like you … a lot,” he admitted. “When I met you in the spring, I thought you were the most amazing woman I’d ever encountered. You’re beautiful and smart, and even after I went back to Adarlan, I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

Aelin sat back in her chair, pulling her arms from the table as genuine surprise flooded through her. 

“But I never thought it would turn into anything, and there was so much we didn’t know about each other,” he went on, “so when our fathers started negotiating, I was both thrilled and terrified. Because I like you so much, but I also don’t have a choice. I don’t even know if we’re going to be a good fit long term.” He slid his hand across the table, this time open–an offer to take it. “But if you’re willing to start over, I’d like to try.”

Damn it.

A slew of curses ran through her mind as she watched him lay his heart at her feet. Aelin hadn’t expected him to have real feelings for her. And after his admission that he had no choice but to obey his father’s wishes, she couldn’t help but recognize him as the victim in all of this.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

She couldn’t marry him. That wasn’t on the table. But she also couldn’t continue to fight with him or treat him poorly. It wasn’t him she needed to scare away anyways. And perhaps while dealing with Lord Westfall, she could give Chaol something he needed in the process.

Aelin wouldn’t take his hand, but she spoke sincerely. “Let’s start with being friends,” she said gently. And she meant it–the man could certainly use one. 

Chaol’s eyes flickered with disappointment, but he seemed to realize that this was a win. He gave her a crooked smile. “Deal.”

“I’m sorry I vomited on you,” she said, lightening the mood.

He laughed. “I’m sorry I brought you flowers that you’re allergic to.”

It was her turn to bark out a laugh. “I was actually lying about that,” she said, biting her lip mischievously. “I just wanted you to feel bad.”

Chaol just shook his head as he laughed, an incredulous look on his face. And for the first time since he’d arrived, she saw something real in his eyes. As if he’d finally been able to step out from under some invisible tension and relax a little. She liked him much better this way. 

His face shifted from incredulous to something else as he gazed at her. 

“What?”

“You’re just not what I expected,” he said, eyes glistening with unspoken words.

Aelin chuckled and considered all that had happened in the last week, all the unexpected events, and new people and a wicked smile bloomed across her face.

“Ya, I get that a lot.”

Chapter Text

The next few days fell into a rhythm. Once Rowan deemed her to be completely better, they’d resumed their training in the mornings, to much success. Aelin was getting far more confident accessing her power, and her mate had assured her that once she passed a test–which he refused to divulge the nature of–they could move onto something else. She had set her clothes on fire a few times, but luckily, Rowan had suffocated the rogue flames before much damage had been done. And considering how the summer heat was drying out the grass, that was a very good thing.

She’d also resumed her evening training sessions with Aedion, though they’d decided to only meet every second day. As much as she enjoyed working with weapons, she was simply too exhausted to continue with her old schedule. Her magic took a lot out of her, and since she’d also resumed her lunches with Chaol, she just had a lot going on.

Although she wasn’t interested in Chaol romantically, she was actually enjoying her friendship with him. Other than Aedion, she really hadn’t had the chance to make a new friend in gods’ know how long, and since her magic was starting to become more predictable, she finally felt safe enough to try. He was an interesting enough man once you got past his shy and stern exterior.

Unfortunately, since she’d started having a genuine relationship with Chaol, Rowan had been …  distant. Not unsupportive or outwardly jealous, but distant. She knew he was upset with the situation, and she didn’t blame him. He was her mate, and it wasn’t fair that he had to sneak into her room to see her. It wasn’t fair that he had to watch another man attempt to woo her, even with the extra confidence that came from the mating bond. Aelin hated that she was putting him through this, but she didn’t know what else to do. She had a duty to Terrasen and that had to come first.

They hadn’t properly discussed any of it since she’d recounted her meeting with Chaol the other day. She’d told Rowan everything that had been said, and he’d simply replied that he was happy that she had a friend. But she’d seen the pain in his eyes as he’d spoken.

The tension was perhaps made worse by the fact that Aelin was dying to have sex with him, but so far, nothing had happened. She wasn’t sure if it was making him grumpy too, but it was certainly having that effect on her.

Rowan had stayed in her bed every night for the last five days, and even though they’d spent plenty of time kissing, he hadn’t made a move beyond it. The kissing was amazing, of course, leaving her dizzy and struggling to remember her own name, but it was only making the tension worse. She had never been so tightly wound as she was now. Every morning she woke up with him, wrapped in his stupidly strong arms, feeling his breath on her neck, she got a little closer to losing her gods-damned mind. So Aelin had decided that tonight she was going to take things into her own hands. The anticipation was making it more than a little difficult for her to focus on anything else.

As the sun approached the horizon that night, Aelin could barely contain her excitement as she wrapped up her training session with Aedion. Rowan would be meeting her in her rooms as usual afterward, and she wanted to make sure she’d have time to bathe away the dirt and grime from sparring before he arrived.

She turned to head back to the castle but found her companions lagging behind. Aedion and Chaol were deep in conversation, murmuring things she couldn’t hear. Despite her cousin’s animosity toward Chaol, she’d still taken the risk of inviting him along. He’d been a bit isolated since his arrival in Terrasen, and she had guessed he’d appreciate the opportunity to spar with worthy opponents. 

Aelin’s assessment had been correct, and when she’d beaten him at sword fighting, he’d merely grinned at her and commented on how formidable she was. The flattery had been nice, but she’d been even more impressed that he was living up to his promise to do better.

“Can we go? Some of us actually have lives to get back to,” she called to her sparring partners.

Aedion snorted. “Oh yes, you and your busy social calendar.” 

Aelin flipped him off, only earning herself a round of laughter from the males. 

“Cousin, we were just talking about heading into the city for a drink tonight. Care to join?” Aedion asked to her surprise. Was he warming up to Chaol?

Her doomed suitor’s brows furrowed. “Is it safe for Aelin to join us?” Then as panic flooded his features, he added, “Not because you can’t protect yourself! Just–if people recognize you, I mean–will it cause a problem?”

“Don’t worry about her,” Aedion laughed, “she has plenty of experience keeping a low profile in the city. Isn’t that right Celaena?”

Aelin grinned, proud of her stealthiness. “Indeed. But I actually have some business to attend to tonight, so I must regretfully decline your invitation.” If all went according to plan, she would be doing something a hell of a lot more fun than drinking.

“Well if you change your mind, we’re meeting at the gates in an hour,” Chaol replied, clearly holding on to hope that she’d make a surprise appearance. 

She nodded her thanks, avoiding Aedion’s knowing look, and the three of them made their way back into the castle. 

______

Aelin pushed open the doors to her room, filled with excitement for the romantic evening she’d planned. Rowan wasn’t even there, and yet her skin was already on fire, her blood pounding. Maybe she wouldn’t even say hello. Maybe she’d just pounce on him as soon as he stepped into her bedroom. She was done waiting.

It wouldn’t be long before Rowan arrived, so she hopped into the bath and scrubbed her skin with brutal efficiency. Once she was near-sparkling she slipped into her closet and eyed the tiny red nightgown she’d selected for this evening. If she was being honest with herself, it was positively indecent–which was exactly the impression she wanted to make. 

Aelin dropped her towel and started pulling the red silk along her body, startling slightly when she heard footsteps sounding in the next room.

Rowan’s deep voice came through the wall. “Aelin?” 

“One minute!” she gasped, surprised by the slight quiver in her voice. Perhaps this meant more to her than she’d let herself believe. For a second, she paused, steadying herself with a deep breath. She could do this. He was going to love it, and it was going to be perfect, and she could do this.

The sound of the mattress shifting brought her back to her senses. 

Good. That’s exactly where she wanted him to be.

Aelin took one last look at herself in the small closet mirror, at the tight nightgown that barely covered her hips, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Just the thought of him peeling the silk from her skin already had her biting back a moan. But the time for imagination was over. With a final approving glance down at her body, she turned and sauntered confidently out of the closet. Just because she was nervous didn’t mean she had to look it.

Rowan was seated on the edge of her bed, looking down at his hands as he waited. When he heard her soft footsteps on the carpet, his eyes flicked up to look at her. 

Aelin knew her plan was going to be a roaring success when she heard his breath catch. Rowan was unnaturally still as he let his eyes slowly trail along her body. When he met her gaze once more, those lovely green eyes were almost predatory–dark with hunger. He didn’t move an inch as she made her way over to the bed, exaggerating the sway of her hips, her heart pounding with every step. 

She greedily looked him over, letting her eyes catch on every dip and curve of hard muscle, evident even through his clothes. Aelin hadn’t seen him shirtless since that first night, but if what she’d seen then was any indication of how the rest of him looked–she almost let out a sigh at the thought. 

When she was almost in front of him, he took a deep, sudden breath–as if remembering he needed to breathe at all–and stood to take a step forward. But she wasn’t having any of that. Aelin placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed until the backs of his knees hit the bed, forcing him to sit once more. Then she climbed into his lap, straddling him as she started pressing small, biting kisses along his throat. They hadn’t explored each other’s bodies that much yet, but she had been thrilled to discover that he very much liked it when she used her teeth.

Aelin slid her hands along his powerful arms, taking in the strength of his body before interlocking her fingers behind his neck. Rowan let out a groan as she rolled her hips against him, his hands coming up to grip her thighs tightly. As she moved, she revelled in the fact that she could already feel him hard and pressing against her centre. 

She nipped his ear, evoking another groan that sent a thrill to her core. Aelin was ready for him to take her right now, knew he could already sense it, but she wanted to draw it out–torture him a little first.

“Hi,” she sighed, pulling back for just a moment to give him a coy smile. His eyes were wild as he drank her in. She trailed her mouth along his jaw–taunting, teasing. “How was the rest of your day?”

Rowan managed a strained chuckle before saying, “It was fine.”

His eyes drifted closed as she continued her ministrations, letting them fall back into a charged silence. He was exactly where she wanted him. 

Aelin lazily moved her mouth from his jaw to the corner of his lips, where she placed a gentle, teasing kiss. “Aren’t you going to ask me how my day was?” she whispered before moving her lips to the other side of his mouth.

“How was your day?” 

She smirked against his skin, still withholding that final kiss. From the way his hands had started traveling up and down her body, caressing her bare thighs and then moving up to graze her breasts over the silk, she knew his patience was about to run out. But she wasn’t quite done.

“It was lovely. Thank you for asking,” she breathed as she kissed the bow of his lips. “I signed a fancy political agreement and snuck in some reading”–her fingers slid into his hair, pulling gently–“and decimated Chaol in a sword fight during training.”

She chuckled at the memory and moved to kiss him, to finally take what she wanted but–

Rowan had gone still. His hands had stopped roaming along her body, and he was tense beneath her fingertips.

Aelin pulled back to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head and forced a tight smile to his face, hands sliding back down to her hips, tugging her hard against him. “Nothing.” 

She didn’t believe that for a second. His voice was too neutral–just like his face was as he closed the distance to kiss her–

“What did I do?” she pushed, her voice soft with concern.

The guilt in his eyes twisted something inside her. Seeing Rowan upset made her almost physically ill,  but she gave him a moment to find the words, and after a long, painful moment, he loosed an apologetic sigh. “I just didn’t realize you were spending so much time with him now.” The way he spoke wasn’t reproachful, but the anger brewing in his eyes had her on edge.

“He’s my friend Rowan. You don’t have anything to worry about.” 

He closed his eyes and visibly directed his frustration inwards, voice rough as he said, “I know, and I don’t want to take it away. I just wish it wasn’t … him.”

“Why?”

The force with which Rowan’s jaw clenched had her regretting the question immediately.

When he opened his eyes, they were cold as ice. Her heart stuttered as she readied herself, realizing that this had been bothering him a lot more than she’d bothered to acknowledge.

“He’s courting you,” Rowan said, bitterness bleeding into his voice. “You’re my mate, and I have to pretend that you’re not. I have to resist ripping him to shreds, while he gets to court you.”

“But you know it’s not real–you know it’s not like that.”

“It’s like that for him.” 

“He’s my friend–”

“He isn’t your friend, Aelin! He thinks you're about to get engaged,” he said with a grim laugh. “I’m sorry if I’m uncomfortable with you spending time with a man who already admitted he wants to fuck you.”

Aelin recoiled slightly at the vulgar words. She’d never heard him speak like this before. But his tone had set something off inside her, stoking her flames and igniting her temper. She pushed off from his lap and started pacing angrily around the room.

“It doesn’t matter whether he wants to fuck me,” she spat and was satisfied to see surprise flit across Rowan’s face. Yes, she could use those words too. “It doesn’t matter what he wants because I don’t want him!”

Her mate’s face softened, regret washing over his features, but she was past the point of peaceful resolutions. Instead, she wanted to shout. So she did. “This is the first time I’ve made a friend in years! ” she hissed. “Do you have any idea what that means to me?”

“I do. I’m sorry, Aelin–I didn’t mean it like that,” he pleaded, face turning desperate.

Her eyes burned beneath her glare, but she held her ground, refusing to cave in on herself. “I don’t want him.” I want you, she didn’t say.

Rowan’s eyes guttered, and he stood, arms opening as if to coax her into a hug. But she crossed to the other side of the room, rejecting his peace offering. 

“Aelin,” he breathed.

“No, Rowan. You can’t be like this.”

His face tightened. “Can’t you at least understand why this is hard for me?” he said, voice icy again.

She could. She absolutely could. Underneath the fire and rage, her heart was drenched in guilt, killing her for what she was putting him through. Giving those feelings just one inch of space nearly took her breath away, and she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t–wouldn’t lift that wall and let those feelings punch through her. It was not an option.

Instead, she found the numbness that had guided her through so many difficult times in the past. 

“Let’s just … talk about this tomorrow,” she said finally, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. When she looked at Rowan again, his eyes had lost their icy coldness, his face twisting with sorrow, but she wouldn’t budge. “We can both take some time to think things over and–and we’ll figure it out tomorrow,” she repeated.

He looked like he wanted to beg her to change her mind, to let him stay and figure this out, but he didn’t. He just nodded and made his way to the balcony, not uttering a single word. Every step he took ripped her heart to pieces, and she almost came undone–almost burst into tears and pleaded with him to stay. But before she could even open her mouth, it was too late. Rowan had already shifted and flown off into the night sky.

Aelin stood in the centre of her room for long minutes, cheeks burning, eyes shut tight as she willed herself not to cry. She stuffed every raging emotion into a box and sealed it shut. She wasn’t going to deal with this tonight–not while the look on Rowan’s face was still fresh in her mind. 

Instead, she came up with a different plan. 

This wasn’t how she’d expected her night to go, but she still had options that didn’t involve her being alone with her feelings. So as quickly as she could, Aelin got dressed, grabbed her shadowiest cloak, and headed down to the castle gates to meet Aedion and Chaol.

______

Aelin had arrived at the castle gates a bit late, but she’d managed to catch up with them on their walk down to the city. Aedion’s eyes had narrowed suspiciously at her arrival, but he hadn’t been able to ask her what had happened with Rowan because Chaol was there. And what a perfect buffer he was. 

Chaol had been thrilled with her sudden arrival, and he’d happily chatted with her all the way down into the city and to their first tavern of the night. With him there talking about mindless topics and her cousin unable to speak freely because of it, Aelin didn’t have to confront her feelings at all.

By the time they’d grown tired of the first tavern, she was thoroughly drunk and buzzing with energy, the alcohol helping her forget the unpleasant conversation she’d just had with her mate. As they walked into their next drinking location, named the Ghost Leopard something or other (she was a bit too drunk to remember the name or read the sign), she proudly realized that she hadn’t thought about him for a whole two minutes. 

The tavern was one of the swankier hotspots in Orynth and was particularly popular among their Fae population. She’d only been a few times, but each visit had been more than memorable. Despite the obvious dangers of mixing alcohol and magic, the patrons used it as a place to show off their powers. It was always small things, like creating butterflies out of water that would fly around the room, but with everyone’s magical displays combined, every visit was a spectacle.

She was a little worried about how Chaol would react, but she’d had too much ale to think it through–and so had he. Looking at him now, though, she knew it had been a good decision. He was enthralled by the magics flying through the air, face bright with wonder. When he finally tore his eyes away from it all and beamed at her, and she didn’t fight the answering smile that appeared on her face.

“Ale?” Aedion asked over the sounds of drunken revelry.

Aelin replied in a singsong voice, “Absolutely.” The males chuckled, and Aedion disappeared into the crowd to head to the bar. “Chaol,” she ordered with a fake posh accent, “find us somewhere to sit.”

He laughed. “As you wish, your majesty.” Then he turned to scan the room with his higher vantage point. He wasn’t as tall as Rowan, but he could still see more than her.

“If Rowan was here, he’d be able to see all the tables,” she mumbled. Rowan was so tall.

Chaol stopped his search and lowered his ear to hear her better. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing.”

He laughed again and said, “It looks like everywhere is full, but I think I recognized some people in the back. Maybe we could join them.”

“Who?”

“The Fae delegates. Not the female, but your magic teacher is there as well as the other two males,” he replied.

What.

She rolled onto her toes and craned her neck. “Where is he?” she asked as she aggressively grabbed Chaol’s shoulder to steady herself. Her heart was pounding, and she slurred her words a bit as she repeated her question. “Where is Rowan? ”

Chaol pointed through the crowd to a table in the back corner, and there he was. Sitting between Fenrys and Enda, with an adorable scowl on his face, was her mate. His face was so pretty–

No. She was mad at him. 

“You’re friends, right? Do you want to go say hi?”

“No, we aren’t friends,” she drawled as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, her voice sounding drunker than expected. “He’s stupid.” 

He’s stupid? Oh, she was definitely much drunker than she’d realized.

She grabbed a fistful of Chaol’s shirt to barbarically drag him in the opposite direction, but before she could turn away, Rowan’s eyes flicked to hers, widening in surprise. Aelin started to panic. She was pretty fucking drunk, but she still knew what this looked like.

By the look on her mate’s face, it was obvious he hadn’t seen Aedion yet. Gods, he probably thought she was here alone with Chaol. Perhaps she could run away. Or should she stay long enough for Aedion to return and prove that she hadn’t grabbed Chaol as some sort of rebound drinking partner? She was much too drunk for this.

Unfortunately, the decision was made for her. Fenrys had followed Rowan’s eyes and spotted them. Now he was enthusiastically waving them over, a near-crazed smile on his face. Enda reached over to grab his hand and force him to stop, but Fenrys just shook him off and continued his beckoning.

“I think that’s as good an invitation as any,” Chaol said with a chuckle. And then she watched in horror as he grabbed her hand and led her over to her mate’s table, utterly unaware of the bear he was poking.

Territorial nonsense.

Rowan tracked her the entire time, eyes darting between her face and the hand Chaol was holding. Somehow they made it to the table without incident, though she swore the air had grown colder with each step they’d taken. Fenrys stood, offering Aelin his seat in the booth, while he sauntered over to the wooden chairs on the other side of the table. She didn’t know what to do other than sit down next to Rowan while Chaol took a seat next to Fenrys and smiled pleasantly at them all. 

Even this drunk, she could practically feel the ire radiating off of her mate. Aelin was used to the harsh lines of his face softening in her presence. There was nothing soft on Rowan’s face now. Part of her wanted to collapse into him–disappear into his massive arms and never resurface again–but he didn’t deserve that because he was much too stupid.

Fenrys had a shit-eating grin on his face as he looked around the table. She had never seen him so amused. “This is great, isn’t it? We’re all here. Same time, same place,” he sniggered cheerfully. “What are the odds?”

Aelin turned her whole body to look at Rowan. He was staring daggers at Fenrys, knuckles white from the grip he had on his tankard. “Hi,” she chirped in a very loud, very flat voice, waiting for his attention. 

Too slowly, he turned his head to look at her, his eyes pained. “Hi, Aelin,” he sighed. He wasn’t as drunk as her. 

“You’re not as drunk as me,” she confirmed.

“I don’t think so.”

She frowned. Then a male she recognized shuffled out of the crowd carrying three large tankards of ale. Aedion. Thank the gods. 

Her cousin approached the table slowly, a confused look on his face as he took in their new drinking partners. But that confusion quickly morphed into a smirk.

“Well, isn’t this an interesting and not at all strange thing that’s happening?” he announced, barely holding in a cackle. Chaol’s eyes tightened a little bit at the very bizarre sentence Aedion had uttered, but he didn’t comment. Rowan, on the other hand, relaxed ever so slightly. Perhaps Chaol would survive the night now.

“That’s what I was just saying,” Fenrys agreed enthusiastically as Aedion took the remaining wooden chair and distributed the ales.

Aelin reached for hers greedily, but Rowan intercepted it. “I think you’ve had enough,” he chuckled.

“You don’t know anything, Rowan.” She dragged out each syllable. “You’re just a bird.” Aelin reached again for her tankard, ready to bat him away, but he took it and downed it himself in one go. Her eyes widened. “Wooooow.” 

He set the empty tankard down with a grimace. 

Sloppily she placed her hand on his face–a crude attempt at a caress. “Rowan, you will buy me another one,” she ordered.

He gently removed her hand, dropping it back to her side. “I’ll buy you one tomorrow.”

Aelin frowned at him again but nodded.

“This is really fun. I’m having the best time right now,” Fenrys cut in, earning himself another glare from Rowan and Enda. But Aedion laughed along, happy to be part of any teasing at Aelin’s expense. 

Chaol cleared his throat, a confused look on his face, reminding her why she wasn’t supposed to be here in this obviously ill-advised situation. “So,” he began, awkwardly trying to get a proper conversation going, “what have you three been up to tonight?”

“It’s actually a very sad story,” Fenrys drawled, not sounding very sad at all. “Rowan here had a bad day, so we’re helping him drown his sorrows in ale.” Aelin’s cheeks heated as she remembered their fight surprisingly clearly–she was his bad day. 

“You don’t say! What happened?” Aedion asked Rowan, eyebrows high with mock concern as he joined Fenrys’s game. 

Her mate glowered at both of them in warning but Fenrys didn’t care one bit. “He got into a fight with his lover and–”

Fenrys’s voice cut off immediately and was replaced by a loud choking sound, followed by absolute silence. Aelin just stared at him in shock as he clutched at his throat, totally unable to understand what was happening to him. Before she knew it, he was breathing normally again, albeit looking a bit more purple than before. After taking a moment to compose himself, he finally returned Rowan’s glare. “I hate when you do that,” he muttered.

She turned to Rowan again, her mouth hanging open as she let out a loud gasp. “Rowan, did you use your magic on him?”

Her mate looked down at her and shook his head. “Wasn’t me,” he said calmly, crossing his arms. At Fenrys’s look of indignation, he went on, “Really, it wasn’t me this time.”

Everyone turned to Enda, who was looking rather guilty. “I didn’t want to have to sit through the story again,” he offered mildly.

Fenrys was seething, but with Enda’s interference, he seemed to take the hint that it wasn’t the time to discuss such topics. Chaol was scanning everyone’s faces, realizing that he was clearly missing some key information, but ultimately decided to let it go, saying, “Enda, how are the negotiations going?”

Boring, boring, boring. 

Aelin didn’t want to hear about politics. She wanted to talk to Rowan–or maybe hit him. She wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter because he wouldn’t even look at her. So as the males dove into their incredibly boring conversation, she crossed her arms and started brainstorming ways to get his attention again.

______

Rowan tried to pay attention to the conversation around him, but he just couldn’t. Even though he wasn’t looking at her, his every sense was focused on Aelin, drunk and scowling at his side. It probably wasn’t dissimilar to how his own face looked. 

After she’d dismissed him, refusing to talk through their fight, he’d flown straight into the city where he knew Enda and Fenrys would be. He’d hoped to clear his head, but it wasn’t to be because almost as soon as he’d felt himself starting to relax, Aelin had wandered into their tavern, drunk and standing with the very last person he’d wanted to see. And when Chaol Westfall had led her over to their table by the hand, his mood had plummeted to near-murderous levels. Not killing someone had never been so difficult.

This was not how he’d expected his night to go. He probably should have known that he would never be able to get away from Aelin since the bond had snapped into place, but Rowan had hoped to have a few hours on his own to calm down. His evening had almost gone so differently, and he couldn’t fight the way his blood heated with rage and desire as he remembered how Aelin had looked in that red nightgown. 

He never should have said anything.

A tiny part of him was soothed by the fact that he had the entirety of his mate’s attention. She’d barely even looked at Chaol since she’d spotted him across the room, and once Aelin had sat down, she’d spoken only to Rowan. Though the rest of their companions were deep in conversation, she hadn’t participated one bit. In fact, she looked completely disinterested. 

Rowan was a bit too drunk to care about the conversation either, but he was still sober enough to notice Aelin occasionally scooting closer until their legs were touching, perhaps thinking she was being far more subtle than she was. Nobody else seemed to recognize what was happening, though–especially not Chaol, who was foolishly trying to keep up with the amount of drinking the Fae were doing. He would have a hangover worthy of song when he woke up tomorrow.

Rowan shifted as he felt Aelin’s hand come to rest on his knee. Again. She’d been touching him all night–not that he minded–and he had been subtly removing her hands from his body the whole time, trying his best to make sure Chaol didn’t notice. But this time, either because his own drinking had weakened his willpower or because he could feel Aelin’s hopeful gaze, he gave in. 

He was still mad at her and they needed to talk about it, but it didn’t change how much he wanted to tuck her under his arm and hold her close. Rowan dared a glance at her, and a bright smile spread across her face as their eyes met. Her cheeks were rosy, either from drinking or what was passing between them now, and she gave his knee a squeeze.

Rowan was about to cover her hand with his own when something gold and bright zoomed around their table, causing Aelin to rip her eyes away. Someone in the tavern had used their magic to form a long shimmering dragon that was now zigzagging between patrons and doing tricks in the air.

Aelin squealed with delight as it flew around her head, illuminating the parts of her face that had been shadowed by her hood. When it was gone, she was still bouncing in her seat, positively jittery with amusement. His heart swelled as he took her in. She was so beautiful. For a moment, he couldn’t even remember why they’d been fighting–

“Chaol,” she shouted happily across the table. 

Right.

The bastard looked over and returned her smile while Rowan felt his own face fall back into a scowl. But it only lasted for a moment because once she had Chaol’s attention, she turned her whole body back to Rowan and sat cross-legged on the bench. “Rowan has the best magic,” she said to her friend without looking at him. “Will you show him?” she asked, reaching for his forearm and clasping it between her hands. Rowan was a little surprised by the compliment–he’d barely shown her the extent of his powers–but her face was so sincere, brimming with genuine excitement. He certainly wasn’t going to deny his mate. Not when she was looking at him like that.

“What would you like me to do?” Rowan asked, a hint of a smile creeping back onto his face.

“Something pretty.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes. Then he lifted his free hand, a delicate gasp escaping Aelin as he started forming a gift for her out of ice. Her mouth fell open with wonder, sounds of awe rising over all the drunken chatter, as the crystals were forged into intricate patterns of leaves and vines. When the crown was complete, he grabbed it from where it had been hovering in the air above his palm and turned to his mate.

Her face changed from wonder to glee as she lowered her hooded head for him to crown her. When she pulled back, the sight of her nearly took his breath away.

“It is pretty?” she asked.

Rowan grinned. “It’s beautiful.”

She grinned back at him, and for a moment, it was like the world had faded, and they were the only two people in existence. But the moment didn’t last.

“Is that Aelin Galathynius?” asked a voice he didn’t recognize. Rowan tore his eyes from his mate, shifting ever so slightly to shield her with his body. A Fae female had stopped near their table and was now studying the princess with wide eyes.

Aelin’s face scrunched up in confusion, and she opened her mouth as if to answer, but stopped when Fenrys stood abruptly. 

Ever the quick-thinker, he unleashed a dazzling smile on the unsuspecting female. He managed to guide her away toward the bar, using only his powers of flirtation, but Rowan knew it was time to get Aelin home. In case anyone had overheard that royalty was in the tavern.

Aelin let out a moan of displeasure as her ice crown disappeared and turned a frown on him. “Rowan, I’m tired,” she grumbled, suddenly grumpy.

“Then I’ll take you back to the castle.” He stood and slipped a hand under her arm to help her up.

“I can go if you want to stay,” Aedion offered.

“No, it’s fine. I was ready to go anyways. Enjoy your drinking.”

Aedion nodded happily, clearly grateful that the night was not yet ending. Chaol looked like he wanted to say something, like he might object, but as he surveyed the table and saw that nobody else had a problem with the arrangement–not even Aedion–he settled back into his seat. Rowan almost felt bad for the man considering what Aedion likely had planned for them all. Almost.

He kept a steadying hand at Aelin’s waist as she stumbled over to Aedion, tugging his head back into what looked like a painful hug. Once she was satisfied that she’d said the appropriate amount of goodbyes, she allowed Rowan to steer her through the crowds and out of the tavern. As the fresh night air hit them and Aelin’s feet started catching on the cobblestones, she declared, “I don’t want to walk.”

Rowan chuckled. He’d had a feeling he would be carrying her home. He reached to scoop her up into his arms.“Okay.”

“No,” she shouted, smacking his hands away. “I don’t want to be carried like a damsel.”

Then she was walking around him as he laughed and dutifully crouched down. He peeked over his shoulder in time to see her launch herself at him in a poorly executed jump. Aelin clambered up onto his back–the least graceful way she’d touched him as of yet–and wrapped her arms around his neck in what was almost a chokehold. Thankfully she relaxed her grip as he brought his hands underneath her thighs, supporting her weight. Rowan was a fan of breathing, after all.

Once Aelin was settled, and he was confident she wasn’t going to tumble off his back, he set off toward the castle. They traveled in silence for a while, and she rested her chin on his shoulder, letting out a happy sigh. Her breathing was soft and even, and for a second, he thought she may have fallen asleep until she muttered, “The ground looks so far from up here.”

“Do you want me to put you down?”

“No, you’re just so high up. It’s weird.” Her words were a bit slurred but more with exhaustion than drunkenness now. “I told Chaol you could see all the tables, but he didn’t listen.”

Rowan laughed. He didn’t know what she was referring to but enjoyed her frustration at Chaol’s less than satisfactory listening abilities. “You should see Lorcan Salvaterre, he’s even taller than me.”

“Taller than you?” she asked incredulously. “Why?”

He chuckled. “I don’t know why but he is.”

After a moment of contemplation, she announced, “I don’t know him,” dismissing the topic. 

Aelin turned her head so that her cheek was resting on his shoulder, her face buried in his neck. He continued walking, soaking in the quiet of the city, content to just hold her close and feel her breath fanning across his skin.

“Rowan,” she said suddenly, her voice smaller and softer than he’d heard all night.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezed her thighs–the closest he could get to a hug, and said, “Me too.”

She hummed happily and returned the makeshift hug by tightening the arms she had around his shoulders. “Will you stay tonight?”

“Yes.”

Aelin hummed again. “Can we have sex?”

Rowan almost dropped her as he barked out a strangled laugh. He couldn’t believe that that was still on her mind right now. He’d figured she wanted to from the very pleasant greeting she’d given him before their fight, but now she could barely get out a full sentence between her yawns. 

“Not tonight,” he managed to say.

She was quiet for a moment as she considered his words. Then in a calm, totally unruffled voice, she replied, “Oh, okay,” before yawning loudly in his ear. “What about tomorrow?” she asked, still mid-yawn.

He couldn’t stop his chuckle. “Maybe.”

Satisfied with his non-committal answer, Aelin nuzzled her face into his neck again. Clearly, they had some things they needed to talk about when she was sober. After she’d laughed at their close encounter on that first night and had said, Not yet, a few days later, he’d been trying really hard not to do anything she wasn’t ready for. He didn’t want to pressure her and had thought that she was happy taking the lead, but after tonight … perhaps she wasn’t. He’d have to ask her what she wanted tomorrow. 

However, now there was also the fact that he wasn’t sure he wanted to sleep with her quite yet. He absolutely would have this evening before they’d started bickering, but when his mind was clear and she wasn’t parading around in clothing that made it hard to think, he wasn’t sure he wanted to take that step just yet.

When he and Aelin had first met, he had been ready to bed her before they even had a conversation, but the more he got to know her, the more he wanted to take his time. It was still really early, and though he’d slept with plenty of females within hours of meeting them, this was different. Aelin mattered. And some small, vulnerable part of him wanted to be sure she wasn’t going to crush his heart into a million pieces before doing it. As much as it pained him to admit it, she clearly still had her hesitations about him too, and after tonight’s argument … it just didn’t feel like the right time.

So there was lots to talk about in the morning. Or whenever the massive hangover that she was absolutely going to have tomorrow, let up.

“Rowan,” she said again, pulling him from his thoughts. Drunk Aelin really liked to say his name.

“Yes?”

Her words were distorted by a yawn, but he still managed to catch her saying, “You’re my favourite person.”

He smiled to himself. “You’re my favourite person too.”

“Good,” she mumbled. It was the last thing she said before finally drifting off into a peaceful, drunken slumber.

Chapter Text

“Oh, gods,” Aelin moaned loudly into her pillow the following afternoon. 

Rowan laughed softly as he watched his mate return to consciousness. She had finally woken up after a solid thirteen hours of sleep, and her entire body seemed to be writhing in discomfort as the effects of her hangover hit. It likely didn’t help that she was still in her clothes from last night, but it hadn’t felt right for Rowan to change her into more comfortable ones while she was unconscious. So he’d just taken off her cloak and boots, and had otherwise left her as she was. 

“Here,” he said, reaching for a tonic that Aedion had dropped off hours earlier. The male had likely drunk five times as much as Aelin last night, but he hadn’t seemed the least bit affected this morning. When Rowan had asked about Chaol, Aedion had just smirked and said that he was having a very similar morning to Aelin but with a lot more vomiting. Petty as it was, the news had put Rowan in a wonderful mood. 

Aelin moaned again and then flinched as if the sound had been too much for her surely pounding head. Slowly and clumsily, she managed to roll herself onto her back and then made the monumental effort to sit up against the headboard. She didn’t open her eyes, perhaps finding the room too bright despite the tightly closed curtains, and raised her hands to rub at her face. Once her face was thoroughly scrubbed, she lowered her hands, tilted her head back and, opened her mouth–a silent order.

He chuckled. “You want me to pour the tonic into your mouth?” he confirmed.

“Shhh! ” she hissed quietly but then nodded.

Rowan obliged, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter, and when the small vial was empty, Aelin sunk back down into the pillows and let out another moan that he somehow knew was an order.

“What?”

She finally cracked open her eyes and surveyed him as he sat against the headboard next to her. Aelin squeezed her eyes shut again, clearly having seen enough of her surroundings to navigate them, and shuffled over to lay her head in his lap.

“Can you stroke my hair?” she breathed. She spoke so quietly that without his Fae hearing, he wouldn’t have been able to hear her.

He didn’t speak again, giving her the gift of silence while the tonic kicked in, but he lifted his hand and started gently running his fingers through the golden strands as requested. She let out a small whimper before seeming to fall asleep again.

Rowan hadn’t left her side since they’d run into each other at the tavern. Even though he’d woken up hours before, with barely a headache of his own, he hadn’t wanted to leave–couldn’t leave if he was being honest with himself. Not while his mate was defenseless. For a while he’d just held her, thinking through all that had happened yesterday. They’d exchanged apologies last night, but he wasn’t sure Aelin was even going to remember that, and even if she did, they still needed to actually talk about it.

Once he’d decided on all the things he wanted to say to her when she was functioning again, he’d grown bored and had reached for the book she kept on her nightstand. Her bookmark was near the very end, and so he’d taken the opportunity to familiarize himself with the type of literature she enjoyed.

She’d been sleeping long enough that he’d managed to get halfway through the book, and while he’d actually enjoyed it more than he’d expected, it was far more … explicit than he’d been anticipating. He had a feeling that if she knew he’d been reading it, her face would turn a hilarious shade of red.

About thirty minutes later, almost exactly when he’d expected the tonic to start working, Aelin shifted on his lap and let out a small groan, awake once more. But this time, she was able to fully open her bloodshot eyes and look up at him. He discarded the book and moved the hand that had been stroking her head down to cup her cheek. “Good afternoon,” he said softly.

“Afternoon? Gods,” she replied, squeezing her eyes shut in a frown.

He trailed his thumb across her cheek. “You had a busy night. It’s not surprising you needed some extra sleep.”

Aelin’s eyes shot open again, going wide as a pink flush graced her cheeks. 

“Do you remember anything?” 

The flush in her cheeks went from pink to red. “Would you believe me if I say the whole day has been wiped from my memory?”

Rowan laughed, but he knew what she was getting at–knew she was regretting their fight as much as her drunken antics.

A sigh. “I think I remember everything,” she admitted. “The tavern is a bit hazy, but I remember you carrying me home.”

“We have some things to talk about,” he concluded softly and she nodded in agreement. Then he added, “When you’re up to it, that is.”

“I’m up to it now,” she murmured, pushing herself up to sit next to him. She groaned a bit from the movement but stayed upright, save for her head which had come to rest on his shoulder. Rowan shifted his arm to tuck her into his side, and she hummed as she settled into him. “You were right,” she started. “This isn’t fair to you, and I’ve been selfishly trying to ignore it so that I don’t feel guilty, but it’s not okay.”

“It’s not selfish Aelin,” he replied quietly. Her head shot up to look at him in surprise, and he went on, “You deserve to have friends, and I don’t want your relationship with me to ever get in the way of that.”

“I know, but you were right about Chaol. He wants me, and he thinks we’re heading towards marriage …  it’s not a normal friendship. I’m leading him on.”

“But you were right when you said it doesn’t matter what he wants. You don’t want him, and I trust you so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Rowan–”

“I’m never going to like the man, Aelin,” he admitted, and then with a chuckle added, “but I promise not to kill him.”

She laughed at that and nuzzled her face against his chest. “I hate these kinds of fights,” she sighed.

“What kind is that?”

“The kind where nobody is wrong.”

“Just think of it as practice for when you become queen,” he teased. “All your fights will be like this when you’re in charge.”

A snort. “Can’t wait,” she replied, letting out a breathy laugh. Then her face turned serious again. “I’ll try to set some more boundaries with Chaol.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, hoping she could see the gratefulness and adoration in his face. 

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, Aelin looking more relaxed and alert as the tonic continued its work. She raised her hand to his neck and started grazing her fingers along his skin. It reminded Rowan of the other topic they needed to discuss.

“So you remember the walk back from the tavern.”

“I think so–until I fell asleep, I mean. Why?”

He smirked down at her. “You said some interesting things.”

Her cheeks turned pink again. “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” she said, averting her gaze.

“I think you mentioned there was something you wanted to do. It was quite a blatant request, actually.”

Rowan felt her tense against him, could hear her heartbeat picking up, but she deflected. “I can’t remember anything like that … but if there was something that you wanted to do, I’m all ears.”

He let out a laugh and brought his hand to Aelin’s face, lifting her cheek so she was forced to look at him. Her eyes were wary, but underneath was a burning desire, and her lips parted as she gazed up at him.

Rowan swallowed as he took her in. Even dishevelled from a night out she was still stunning. He felt his own heartbeat picking up, matching the rhythm of her own, but–this wasn’t what he was trying to achieve. It was absolute torture to decide against taking her right now, but his mind hadn’t changed since last night. 

“Aelin … ” he started, struggling to find the right way to say what he wanted.

She heard the hesitance in his voice and the light in her eyes dimmed, her shoulders falling in disappointment. “It’s okay,” she said, voice hoarse as she moved to pull away.

But he caught her and tugged her back into his arms, shifting so that they were nearly face-to-face. “No, I don’t mean–” he tried, caressing her cheekbone with his thumb. “I want to–believe me, I do.” Her eyes were shining with longing and hope when she finally looked at him again. “I want you so badly, I feel like I’m dying.”

Aelin sucked in a tight breath and moved to close the small remaining distance between. Her lips parted as her gaze flicked between his mouth and his eyes, and she lifted a hand to his cheek, her touch lighting his skin on fire. “I’d be most displeased if you were to perish from something so easily remedied,” she whispered with a sly smile. “I’ve grown rather fond of you.” 

For a moment, he couldn't remember what he was trying to achieve or why he wasn’t inside her already. But then she pulled back, something like understanding on her face. “You want to wait,” she sighed.

Aelin’s declaration brought him back to his senses, and he gave her an apologetic smile. “I just want to do things right.” Her face fell into an exaggerated pout and he laughed as he explained, “I think we still have some things to figure out together.”

She blew out a long breath. “I know.”

Rowan smiled sympathetically at her and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it gently before setting their interlaced hands down together. Then something shifted in Aelin’s expression, a wicked grin appearing on her face as she swung her leg over him, straddling his thighs.

“So,” she began, her voice sultry as she slid her arms around his neck, “is everything off the table, or just sex?”

“What would you prefer?” he laughed, running his hands along her hips.

Aelin just smirked before leaning in to kiss him. It was an aggressive kiss, fueled by pent-up lust and unspoken words. She wasted no time brushing her tongue against his own, and she let out a sigh as he slid his hand up along the front of her body, between her breasts, to eventually rest on the side of her neck.

But he pushed her away using that hand, and before she could misread the action, he said, “It pains me to say this, but you taste the way taverns smell.” 

Her nose scrunched up in either disgust or embarrassment, and she crawled off him, making her way to the edge of the bed. Once she was standing, she looked down at her clothes and grimaced. “I should probably take a bath anyways.”

“I didn’t want to say anything.”

Aelin glowered at him, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at his face. Her mouth twisted into a smirk as he gave her a face of faux shock, and she said, “I can’t believe I ever wanted to sleep with you.”

______

When Aelin was soaking in the bath and satisfied that she no longer smelled or tasted like a tavern, she moved to rest her chin on the tub’s curved edge and let out a dramatic sigh.

“I can’t believe you won’t even look at me,” she pouted.

Rowan groaned from his spot on the floor, where he was leaning against the gigantic clawfoot tub. She’d begged him to keep her company while she washed, but he, ever the gentleman, had sat with his back to her the whole time. She moved her head closer to his own, close enough that her nose touched his ear, and whispered suggestively, “You’re allowed to, you know–we already agreed on it. There’s no need to protect my modesty.”

Her mate let out a shaky laugh, “Maybe it’s not your modesty I’m worried about.”

Aelin chuckled and nipped his ear, truly impressed by his self-control. Rowan groaned again and leaned his head back, in spite of all his verbal complaints. His eyes drifted closed as she hovered over him, pressing kisses along his cheekbone. “You’re a menace,” he murmured.

She chuckled again, continuing her exploration of his face with her lips.

“You two are disgusting.”

Rowan’s eyes shot open, and Aelin yelped as she recoiled back into the tub, water sloshing with her panicked movements–totally soaking her mate’s hair and clothes.

Aedion was standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets and leaning against the doorframe.

“AEDION, ” she screeched, crossing her arms over her chest, “I’m in the bath! ”

He snorted. “I know, cousin, and it’s gross, but I was sent to speak with you.”

“Can it not wait? I’m NAKED! ”

“You’re always naked,” he said dismissively as he walked into the room and sat down next to a very stunned Rowan. “I’m surprised you even bother to wear clothes anymore, considering how often you burn them to ash.” He nodded casually at her mate. “Hi, Rowan.”

Rowan turned to look at him, his movements stiff, his eyes wide. Despite herself, Aelin let out a laugh. He opened his mouth a few times, trying to find the words to speak, but then closed his lips into a tight line and frowned at the floor. “I’m–going to wait in the bedroom,” he said eventually.

As she watched Rowan stand up and leave, she noticed that Aedion was appreciating the view just as much as she was. “Eyes down,” she hissed. “He’s mine.”

All she got was a chuckle and a shrug in answer.

She leaned her head back against the tub, closed her eyes, and started massaging her temples. “Well, aren’t you going to tell me why you ruined my lovely morning?”

“It’s after lunch, Aelin. I doubt you even saw the morning,” he mocked.

Aelin opened her eyes and found he was already looking at her, lips pursed as he held in his laughter. She gave him a sarcastic smile and shut her eyes again.

“I came to remind you about the ball tonight.”

The ball.

Oh. 

Oh, no.

“It’s in a few hours,” he clarified.

As panic surged through her, she brought her palms down to violently smack the water, sending it flying in all directions. “Why didn’t you come here earlier, you pointless idiot ?” she yelled, splashing more water into his face to emphasize her rage. “Why does nobody ever tell me about these things until hours before they’re happening?” 

Aedion finally burst out laughing, completely unfazed by her shouting and splashing. “I reminded you yesterday,” he said with a grin, “and the day before, and the day before that, and also the day before–”

Aelin splashed her cousin again, silencing him with a mouthful of water. “I get it,” she growled. He just spat out the water and continued to laugh, his shoulders shaking. “Ugh, I just wanted to relax today.” Her voice was no more than a whine as she accepted her fate. “Hand me that towel, will you?”

Aedion obeyed, walking over the stack of plush folded towels and throwing one into her outstretched hand. He made to exit the bathroom, but she called out to him before he was gone. “Could you fetch me my green hair ribbon? It’s on the dresser in my bedroom.”

He sighed and muttered something about being on ribbon duty but nodded. In his absence, she quickly hopped out of the tub and wrapped her towel around herself, reclaiming some semblance of privacy.

Aedion returned quickly, ribbon in hand, but it wasn’t the one she wanted.

“I said the green one.”

“There were no green ones,” he replied, dropping a pink ribbon into her palm.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she stared him down. “Rowan?” she called.

“I can’t see it either,” her mate answered from the bedroom, and she deflated a bit. She must have lost it. It wasn’t really a big deal–she could get another one. But it had been her favourite for years, so she hoped it would turn up. 

Aedion was rolling his eyes, indignation clear on his face, but he recovered quickly. “You have two hours to get ready. Do you want me to come by your rooms later so we can go together?”

Aelin sighed as she realized she wouldn’t be able to arrive at the ball with Rowan. “Sure, sounds good.”

With that, her cousin squeezed her shoulder gently, perhaps reading the sadness that had crept onto her face, and took his leave.

She padded over to the mirror above the sink and wiped away the steam with her hand, cringing a bit when she saw how hungover she still looked. But there was no time for self-pity. 

Aelin had a ball to get ready for.

Chapter Text

For once in her life, Aelin had not arrived fashionably late. With Aedion on her arm, dragging her to the ball and barking out all the reasons a queen should be punctual, she had arrived before most of the guests. 

It had given her time to say hello to her parents and the man of the hour, Lord Cal Lochan. The ball was being thrown for his birthday, and so he, his wife Marion, and their daughter Elide had travelled from Perranth to celebrate. 

The king and queen didn’t throw birthday balls for all the lords, but the Lochans were particularly close with Aelin’s parents–Marion had even acted as her nursemaid when she was a child. But as Aelin had grown and her powers had become more volatile, the Lochans had kept their distance. Just like everybody else.

The ballroom was decorated beautifully for the occasion. In all honesty, the room itself was stunning enough that it didn’t need much decor, particularly the wall of glass doors that opened into the manicured private gardens of the castle. But what had been done certainly added to the effect. 

Streamers of green were draped from the ceilings, tables were laid with white and silver tablecloths, and her favourite part was the long line of buffet tables. Technically, food wasn’t decor, but Aelin thought it was essential to the look nonetheless.

Rowan hadn’t arrived yet–not that she’d be able to spend the whole night with him anyway but while she waited to spot his silver hair in the crowd, she danced with as many different males as possible with the hope that Lord Westfall might find it distasteful. It was pretty pathetic as far as plans went, but for some reason, Aelin had been struggling to come up with something better. 

She finished dancing with a charming demi-Fae male that had spent their time together showering her in compliments and made her way to the dessert table. Aelin was ready to take a breath and eat some chocolate cake. 

As she grabbed a plate and started piling desserts onto it (all of which had been provided by her favourite bakery, of course), something in her sparked to life, and she just knew, without even looking, that Rowan had arrived. She spun on the spot and found him by the grand doors, walking into the ballroom with Enda and Fenrys and … Remelle.

Aelin hadn’t seen the female in days, nor had she expected to be upset by her presence, but watching her trail behind Rowan now, attempting to keep him close, made her want to rip out Remelle’s spine. 

Her mate met her eyes, and she saw his face light up, even from across the room. He looked her up and down, and she felt herself blushing under his gaze. The gown wasn’t up to her usual standards since she’d completely forgotten about this ball, but she could tell that Rowan was more than satisfied by the simple black fabric that clung to her figure. 

He gave her a smile that implied he would find her soon, and she turned back to the desserts, hoping to have a moment to calm the heat in her cheeks. 

“I’m not surprised I found you by the cakes,” came Chaol’s voice from behind her. 

She turned back and gave him a wry smile. “Guilty as charged,” she said. “How are you feeling after last night?”

Chaol let out a long breath and chuckled. “Coming here was the first time I got out of bed today. Even after Aedion stopped by with a tonic in the morning, I still spent hours throwing up.” Aelin’s nose crinkled as she laughed at the pain in his face. “What about you?”

“Pretty much the same, save for the vomiting.”

Amusement flickered in his eyes. “I thought vomiting was sort of your thing.”

She groaned and smacked his arm reproachfully. “Am I to be mocked for this for the rest of my life?”

“Yes,” he said as a wide grin spread across his face, “I think it will be a hilarious tale to tell our children.”

Aelin’s stomach turned at the words, and though she nodded politely at his joke, she was suddenly too nauseous to eat her cake. Chaol looked her over carefully while she tried to calm herself back down, perhaps realizing he’d said the wrong thing again.

“Would you like to dance?” he offered after a moment, his voice soft.

She gave him a weak smile, considering his offer. Aelin hadn’t been specific when she had promised Rowan that she’d set more boundaries with Chaol. Thinking on the fly, she decided one or two dances would be fine as long as she didn’t favour him more than any other dancing partner. 

“Yes,” she said, meaning it, “but can we do it later tonight? I’ve been dancing since the band started playing, and my feet are already killing me.”

He laughed. “Absolutely.”

Just then, Aedion’s booming voice came from across the dancefloor. His head had popped up above the crowd, and he was calling them both over to join a dance that required a large group. It was an intricate one, and Aelin enjoyed it thoroughly, but she had been telling the truth about her feet. “You go ahead,” she encouraged.

“Are you sure?”

“Completely,” she assured him with a grin. “I’ll join when my feet are properly rested, and my cake has been defeated.” 

Chaol smiled warmly and reached out to give her arm a gentle squeeze. Then he started weaving his way through all the people until he was swallowed up by the crowd. Aelin looked down at her cake. Maybe she could stomach it now–

“I would love to have someone look at me the way he looks at you.”

The soft female voice came out of nowhere, and Aelin’s head snapped up in surprise to find Elide Lochan standing before her. 

“Oh ya,” she murmured, heart sinking a bit. “Chaol’s great.”

Elide snorted.

Aelin’s eyes widened with shock, completely taken aback by the sharp sound and the wicked smile on Elide’s beautiful, pale face.

“Not Chaol Westfall,” she clarified, tucking her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “The handsome silver-haired Fae over there that keeps undressing you with his eyes.”

Aelin choked.

“I can see why you like him. He’s lovely,” she continued, tilting her head and looking Rowan over with an appreciative eye. 

“How did you know?” she asked, abandoning any hope of pretense. 

Elide just shrugged. “It was obvious.”

Aelin couldn’t help but bark out a bewildered laugh. She’d been told that Elide was perceptive but gods above. 

Elide wasn’t a very large woman, and Aelin towered over her, but her appearance was as far as her delicateness went. She was known for her bold personality and unmatched cleverness–so much so that people had already started chattering about how powerful Perranth would become when she assumed power. Already knowing that didn’t stop Aelin from being impressed, though.

“What’s his name?” she asked softly, her dark eyes kind.

Aelin raised an eyebrow, suspicion creeping into her features. “Rowan.”

“ Rowan,” Elide repeated in a melodic voice, testing the sounds of the name. “And why is everyone saying you’re about to be engaged to Chaol Westfall when lovely Rowan is right over there?”

Aelin chuckled but didn’t answer the question immediately. She took a moment to consider Elide Lochan–to really try and feel the woman out. Despite the tales of her cunning, she was also known to be good and just, and she was loyal to Terrasen–as loyal as Aedion and herself. If she was asking these questions, it likely wasn’t to gossip or blackmail her. Perhaps Elide really was trying to be friendly. 

Aelin wasn’t used to that, the feeling setting her on edge. Not that her court treated her poorly, but she could always sense when it came from a place of obligation. Rarely did anyone try to make a genuine connection with her for the sake of it. 

She’d never had the opportunity to know Elide beyond simple greetings at events like these, and even though the two of them were similar in age, their parents had discouraged the friendship for the sake of Elide’s safety. But now, with Aelin’s magic under control and Rowan nearby should something go wrong … perhaps that could change. 

When her decision was made, Aelin whispered conspiratorially, “I’m not planning on marrying Chaol Westfall. He just thinks that I am.”

Elide’s eyes widened at the statement, her mouth curving into an enthusiastic grin. “Tell me everything.”

So Aelin did.

______

Rowan had been keeping an eye on Aelin since he’d arrived, waiting for a chance to talk to her, but so far, no opportunity had presented itself. When he’d seen his mate happily chatting with a petite brunette woman, he knew it wasn’t the time to interrupt anyways. It didn’t stop him from sneaking glances at her from across the room, though, his heart warming as he watched her make a friend. There was a selfish part of him that hoped that the more friends she made, the less she would bother with his unspoken arch-nemesis, Chaol Westfall.

It had been difficult to ignore all of the gossip flowing between Terrasen’s lords and courtiers. The status of Aelin and Chaol’s relationship was a hot topic of discussion and had people debating everything from political implications to wedding decor. But he’d done his best to eavesdrop as little as possible. He trusted Aelin, and he’d promised not to kill the man, so calm he would remain.

Unfortunately, it was turning out to be rather difficult to remain calm for another reason entirely. It was not Chaol Westfall who had his blood boiling at the moment, but his other arch-nemesis, Remelle, who had regrettably decided to amp up her seduction efforts. 

Since Rowan hadn’t been attending the political meetings and was busy with Aelin or her cousin when those meetings let out, he’d had the pleasure of barely seeing that insufferable female at all. In fact, since the dinner party on his second day in Orynth, he hadn’t spent more than a minute in her presence. And now, to his great dismay, Remelle seemed to be making up for lost time. 

She’d touched him more times than he could count and though he would shrug her off when he could, she was deliberately doing it in front of other people so that his reactions would be subdued by the expectations of etiquette. It meant that he couldn’t yell at her or storm off in a huff. No, he had to stand there like a gentleman and subtly remove her stupid hands without the courtiers noticing.

He was now standing in a group of Terrasen’s most powerful people while Enda and Remelle made polite, yet meaningless, conversation. The group had been wary of him and his companions at first, but with a little charm from Enda, they’d relaxed. 

Rowan was surprised at how pleasant Remelle was being. She had quickly earned herself the admiration of all the males in the group, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it were for some greater motive than just touching his arm without consequence. 

Rowan looked over at Aelin again, hoping for the opportunity to escape and perhaps even sneak off somewhere private with her, but she was still speaking animatedly with the brunette. He would have looked for Fenrys instead, but he already knew that whatever debauchery the male was up to wouldn’t be his cup of tea now that he had Aelin. 

A small hand sliding around his elbow forced his attention back to the group of people before him. Remelle was looking up at him, her face kind and eyes almost genuine-looking as she gently asked, “Would you like to dance?”

He scowled, ready to spit insults and fling her gods-damned hand away, but all eyes were on him. “You know I don’t dance,” he answered stiffly.

A manipulative pout formed on her face. “I know, but just this once, Rowan? It’s a special occasion.”

He almost let out a laugh loud enough to wake the dead. She was speaking to him as if they were lovers–as if he declined to dance with her all the time–as if he was the problem. He sucked on a tooth, anger flooding through him, and he opened his mouth to say no–

“Go on,” a stocky demi-Fae across from him urged in a strong Terrasen accent, “give the lady a dance.” And then, suddenly, the entire group was beseeching him, falling for Remelle’s delicate charade. 

The conniving female gave him a look of both victory and challenge, as if to say, Do it. Make a scene in front of all these people.

His nostrils flared with rage, and he cursed himself for caving in to social pressure, but he took a deep breath and slowly nodded his head.

_______

In between laughs and bites of chocolate cake, Aelin had filled in Elide on all the details of her chaotic love life. She’d told her about meeting Rowan, and that they were mates but had to keep it a secret because of Chaol. She’d told her about the plan to frighten him away and how it had failed because Chaol was actually being forced into the engagement by his father. Finally, she’d told Elide that the two of them had become friends, and so Aelin had decided to focus her efforts on Lord Westfall, the true decision-maker, instead.

She had just finished her rambling when Elide asked, voice still filled with excitement, “So what are you planning to do?”

Aelin frowned. Though she wouldn’t admit it, a lick of shame washed through her as she remembered that she’d made no progress whatsoever. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “None of my original ideas will work on Lord Westfall, and honestly, tonight is the first time I’ve seen him in days.”

“You haven’t done anything?” Elide asked incredulously.

Aelin snickered. “I told him I’d already defiled his son when he arrived the other day–which he was not happy to hear, but beyond that, no, not really.” She wouldn’t deign to mention her pathetic dancing plan from earlier. Lord Westfall hadn’t even looked at her.

Her new friend's eyes narrowed, and her face turned contemplative. After a long, slightly awkward silence, she finally declared, “I have an idea.”

“Really?”

A mischievous grin formed on Elide’s face. “Oh yes.” Her voice was confident. “Can you meet me tomorrow? You’ll need my help to pull it off.”

Aelin beamed at her new favourite friend. “It would be my pleasure.”

Elide spent the next fifteen minutes laying out the specifics of her plan. They debated the details and worked out the kinks until they were both certain it would upset Lord Westfall without revealing the greater scheme. Aelin was thrilled with the progress. If she and Elide could organize a few more unfortunate experiences for Lord Westfall together, he would be gone in no time.

When Aelin eventually came up for air, the plan was solid, and all the desserts they’d stacked on their plates were gone. She could get used to having a female friend.

In their planning, Aelin had left the rest of the ball behind her, ignorant to the events unfolding before her. When she finally looked up, what she saw made her want to throw up all the cake she’d just eaten.

Rowan was dancing with Remelle. 

It didn’t matter that her mate didn’t look happy about it. Aelin’s teeth still clenched at the sight of Remelle’s fingers resting against his neck, her other hand gripped in his own as he spun them around. Their bodies were close–closer than the dance required, and though she hated to admit it, Remelle looked beautiful.

That bitch.

Her magic screamed to set Remelle’s too-perfect hair on fire. Honestly, if Aelin were confident she could wield her magic with such precision, she might have done it. But she wouldn’t risk the people around her, and she wouldn’t scare off her brand new friend by exploding into flames. 

Elide followed her glare and gave her a sympathetic look. “At least he doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself.”

“It’s not him I’m upset with,” Aelin growled. Then she let out a very tense-sounding sigh. “I’m sorry, Elide. I think I need to go and get some fresh air.”

Her friend nodded understandingly. She was grateful that she didn’t have to explain further. Elide was clever enough to know that Aelin needed a moment to calm her magic and didn’t take it personally that she needed to be alone to do it. 

“Take your time. I’ll catch up with you later,” she said softly, and Aelin could only muster a slight smile in return as she near-fled toward the gardens.

As soon as Aelin passed through the glass doors that led into the night, she felt the pressure beneath her skin ease, but there was somewhere specific she wanted to go. Somewhere more private.

She passed all the guests that had spilled down the steps and onto the grass and made her way through the dense hedges that lined the great lawn. The hedges opened into a maze, the narrow, stone path splitting off into secluded alcoves, dotted with benches and small fountains. Many of those lovely spaces were now being desecrated by party guests–not that Aelin cared what they did as long as they left her alone.

She ventured deeper into the maze, deep enough that she stopped seeing other people minutes ago, and finally found what she was looking for: an unassuming dirt path that split off from the main trail and took her through overgrown hedges. Branches scraped gently against her skin as she went. The gardeners never bothered with this path, though she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. 

When she reached the end of the trail, she breathed a sigh of relief. Nobody was there; she had it all to herself.

High above the sleeping city of Orynth was a small lookout wrapped in a railing of elegant stone balustrading. Aelin walked down the stone steps and around the bench that punctuated the space, and rested her elbows on the railing. 

She took a deep breath of the cold night air and gazed down at the city below, through the trees that made the lookout so delightfully private. She would stay here until she could look at Remelle without killing her, until she could return to the ball and pretend to be entirely unaffected by the female. 

It was only fair to Rowan that she not make a scene after all he’d done to tolerate her friendship with Chaol. Gods, Rowan didn’t even like Remelle, and yet Aelin’s blood was still boiling. She’d never felt like this before. 

Aelin continued her breathing exercises, steadying her body and soul until the presence of her magic faded from a scream to a whisper. 

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

The brush of branches alerted her to someone approaching, but the cold breeze that wrapped around her told her who it was. 

“I was hoping I’d have a chance to get you alone tonight,” Rowan said from behind her.

She peeked over her shoulder and found him at the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing. “Likewise, Prince,” she replied, her attempt at flirtation falling a bit flat. 

Her mate gave her a crooked smile nonetheless, and she turned back to the city–not that she was actually looking at it. 

A moment later, two strong hands slid around her waist, pulling her into his warmth. Rowan’s lips came down to graze the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. His pine and snow scent wrapped around her, and she arched back into him, sliding her hands along his muscled forearms. 

She let out a long contented sigh. “I’m surprised you were able to escape from Remelle.” 

His lips continued to trail across her skin, kissing along her neck. “So am I. I thought I was going to have to fly out a window.”

Aelin chuckled a bit but couldn’t ignore the pit in her stomach. “I hated it–watching you dance with her.” Rowan didn’t respond, so she went on, “I know it isn’t fair for me to complain considering what I’m putting you through with Chaol … but I still hated it.”

Rowan’s hands slid from her waist down to her hips as he grazed his teeth along her neck. She shivered, and he laughed softly, his breath warm on her skin. “Are you saying you were jealous?” he teased.

“Maybe. Is wanting to commit murder a type of jealousy?”

“It is in my experience.” 

Aelin managed a weak laugh before letting her eyes drift closed. She tilted back her head, leaning into his body, giving him better access to her neck–a silent request. He obliged, pressing kisses along her jaw and nipping at her ear. 

“Shall I remind you why murder isn’t necessary, princess?” Rowan whispered, tightening his grip on her hips. Her breath hitched at the words, at what he was implying, every sense narrowing in on the feel of his lips and hands. 

She arched her back again, trying to get closer, trying to feel more of him. When his hand slid down from her hip to the front of her thigh, her heart leapt. She gasped as he found the top of the slit that ran down the side of her skirts, his calloused fingers scraping against the sensitive skin there. 

His fingers travelled upwards, trailing lazily along her inner thigh, slowly moving higher–too slowly. He tugged her hips closer, the action coaxing a soft moan from her lips as she felt him hard against her backside.

Rowan’s answering groan had her toes curling. Her heart was pounding, her worries long forgotten, as desire swept through her, anticipation increasing with every stroke of his fingers against her skin. When he finally reached the apex of her thighs, she moaned, her hips bucking against his hand as he started circling his thumb against her. 

“You’re not wearing undergarments,” he growled onto her near-burning skin.

“They didn’t work with this dress,” she whispered between ragged breaths, words coming too slowly. She couldn’t think with him touching her like this. 

He let out a dark laugh, and she could almost feel him smirking as he worked her–still withholding what she so desperately wanted. A sigh of pure bliss left her as he moved his thumb, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more– needed it.

“Rowan,” she whimpered.

At the sound of his name on her lips, he dragged a finger slowly down her centre. The moan that escaped her was one she’d never heard herself make before. He repeated the teasing movement, letting out a groan of his own at the contact.

His other hand came up to cup her cheek, tilting her head back so that she had to look at him. Rowan’s pine-green eyes had gone dark–ravenous. 

Panting and writhing against him, she reached around to run her fingers through his hair. He hissed as she pulled the silver strands, and finally, when she was mere seconds away from begging, he slid a finger into her. 

Aelin cried out, but the sound was quickly silenced as he captured her lips with a deep kiss. She moaned into his mouth as he added a second finger, pumping in and out of her while his thumb pressed against that spot between her thighs. His tongue swept into her mouth, and Aelin thought she might just die from pleasure–that she might just burst into flames and set the entire world on fire. 

Rowan’s fingers started moving faster, harder. Her hips rocked against his hand, desperate for more friction, desperate for more of him. She gripped his hair, pulling him down to deepen the kiss. And when he groaned her name onto her lips, when his hand slid from her cheek down to her breast–

Release barreled along her spine, and Aelin gasped his name loudly into the night sky before them. He held her tightly through it all, fingers still moving in her as she shuddered with pleasure. 

When she was limp in his arms, knees weak, his fingers finally stilled. She struggled to catch her breath while the sounds of the world slowly flooded back in. 

Rowan held her like that for long moments, his own breathing ragged against her neck. Aelin didn’t know how to function after the enormity of what had just happened, didn’t remember why she was out here or what she’d wanted to do next. All she could focus on was her breathing and the feel of her mate pressed against her. 

Luckily, Rowan saved her from having to figure anything out, helping her find her bearings as he whispered onto her skin, “Still feeling jealous?”

She huffed a laugh and knew if she turned to look at him now, he’d have a smug, purely male smile plastered on his face. 

“A little,” she purred. “Perhaps you can show me again why I shouldn’t be.”

And to her satisfaction, Rowan obliged.

_______

Rowan’s heart was still pounding in his chest by the time he slipped back into the ballroom. 

Aelin had left the gardens five minutes earlier so as to not arouse suspicion, and he’d used the solitude of the walk back to calm the desire roaring through his blood. Despite the line he’d drawn in the sand earlier, it had taken everything to not bend her over the stone railing and throw his reservations out the window.

He wandered through the crowds, eyes landing on Aelin almost immediately. She’d been right to stagger their entrances. With the pink flush gracing her face and neck, it would have been obvious what they’d done had he walked in next to her. Honestly, from the way she looked, it was pretty obvious that someone had pleasured her just now, but at least nobody would know who it was. Well, nobody human. Anyone with supernatural senses would figure it out in a heartbeat. Those people just happened not to be loyal to the Westfalls.

But rumours were risky. Since he hadn’t bedded her yet, they could still probably get away with saying their scents were intertwined because of all the time they spent training together … but that wouldn’t be convincing for much longer. And when they finally did take that final step, there would be no doubts about the nature of their relationship. He supposed it was just another reason to wait until Chaol left.

Aelin was speaking with the brunette from before, but he wasn’t deterred. He hadn’t had enough of her yet–never would. 

Rowan slowly crossed the room, and Aelin bit her lip as she caught his eye. He was sure she knew exactly what that did to him.

The brunette followed Aelin’s gaze and gave him a knowing smile. For a second, it caught him off guard, but from the joy on his mate’s face, he decided he wouldn’t worry about her new friend knowing too much. 

But then the brunette’s eyes turned cold, and the two women turned their attention to something close by. 

Remelle. 

She was standing in a group of giggling Fae females, all of whom he realized kept sneaking glances at him as he approached. He was still a distance away, but he strained his ears to try and hear what bullshit she was spewing, what she was doing to upset his mate. 

“–he’s so handsome–”

“–have such beautiful children–”

“–a spring wedding would be–”

He couldn’t stop his growl as he pieced together the lies Remelle had told, as he realized how delusional she truly was. And when Remelle sent a cruel, triumphant smile in Aelin’s direction, he could have ripped her to pieces.

Aelin was fuming. Literally. He could feel her magic rolling off her, but she flicked her eyes back to him, and whatever she saw helped soothe the fury within. Despite himself, he almost smiled. She was proving his theory about her magic right.

Rowan exited the crowd that had gathered in the middle of the room, deliberately trying to avoid Remelle and her little group of gossips. He could feel her possessive stare raking over his body as he went, could feel her temper bubbling as he refused to meet her gaze. But he wasn’t about to let her show him off like a prized horse. 

He had almost escaped when he heard his name loud and clear. Rowan opted to ignore it. If he could make it to Aelin, he’d be free but–

A small hand wrapped around his forearm with surprising strength. “Rowan,” she repeated, a sharp, proprietary edge to her voice. Remelle tugged on his arm, a demand to look at her.

He stopped in his tracks, ready to shout in her face, but as he turned, the movement stiff, he found the entire group of females watching. Assessing. Judging.

“Take your hand off me,” he ordered quietly. 

Remelle just smirked, blue eyes full of ice. “Is that how you speak to me now?”

“I’d prefer not to speak to you at all.”

A cruel smile. “Good. Me neither,” she purred. “We can go back to my room and … not speak.” Remelle raised a finger and dragged it down his chest. “Surely there’s nothing keeping you here.”

He stepped away. “The answer will always be no, Remelle,” he said calmly. Firmly. A mature alternative to freezing her into a block of ice, Rowan thought.

“Why not?” A faux pout graced her features as she moved closer, lifting a hand to his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you actually prefer fucking that inexperienced brat–”

“Remelle!” a happy voice chirped from beside them.

Distracted by their confrontation, Aelin had managed to sneak up on both of them with a massive chocolate cake in her arms.

“Your highness,” Remelle greeted stiffly with a shallow bow, only just holding in her sneer. The female might not be a fan of Aelin, but she still knew her place in the presence of royalty–well, around everyone other than Rowan, that is.

Aelin moved so that she was standing next to him, facing Remelle with a convincing, friendly smile on her face. “Have you tried the cake?” she asked cheerily, holding the dessert out for her to inspect. Rowan had absolutely no idea what was going on, but he was excited to find out.

Remelle’s act of civility crumbled. “I don’t eat cake,” she spat. “Now if you excuse me, Rowan and I were having a private conversation–”

“You really should try it,” Aelin insisted. “It’s delicious. ”

“I don’t want to, your highness.” Remelle’s nostrils flared with anger as she spoke.

His mate frowned down at her cake. “So … you’re saying … no? You don’t want cake?”

“Are you deaf? I said no,” Remelle hissed. 

“Oh.” Aelin looked up at him, a helpless look on her face that Rowan saw through immediately. In a flash, her expression turned wicked. “Well, alright then.”

Quicker than her target could react, Aelin scooped up a fistful of cake with her bare hand and smushed it straight onto Remelle’s face. 

Rowan choked on a laugh.

For a moment, Remelle stood there, stunned and unable to speak, while Aelin continued to rub frosting and crumbling bits of cake around on her face.

Then came the screaming.

“What the fuck! Why did you do that? ” Remelle screeched, desperately wiping at her face, throwing chunks back at Aelin. The frosting barely covered the deep shade of red her cheeks had turned from anger. Rowan found himself doubling over with laughter.

Aelin smirked. “I thought you wanted cake.”

“I said no, you imbecile! ”

“Oh, I thought you didn’t mean that.”

Remelle’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Of course I meant it! What is wrong with you? ” She waved her hands at her face in emphasis.

Aelin hummed, looking up dramatically and pretending to think hard. “Well,” she started, pinning Remelle with a smug stare, “I noticed that Rowan kept telling you no and you ignored it, so I thought you enjoyed crossing boundaries.”

Remelle’s hands curled into fists, and she stomped a foot in a display of fury. “You bitch. I don’t care if you’re a princess, I’m going to–”

Another faceful of cake silenced the threat. Remelle gaped back at her, completely malfunctioning from shock. Rowan barked out another laugh.

“Oh gods, sorry. Was it still a no on the cake? I wasn’t sure,” Aelin chuckled, ignoring the death glare she was receiving, eyes flicking to something nearby. 

She passed Rowan the cake and put a hand on Remelle’s shoulder. “Don’t look so sad,” his mate condescended, “I’m sure a little wine will help wash it down.”

Remelle’s face turned confused, and it was the last moment of reprieve she had before Aelin scooped a glass off a passing waiter’s platter and dumped it over her head. Assaulted for a third time, Remelle screeched again, red wine staining her hair and soaking her dress.

Aelin beamed at her. “There. All better.” Then she released the shoulder she’d been holding, giving Remelle a little push that had her stumbling backward. “Goodnight, Remelle.”

The ferocious scream that filled the ballroom had everyone turning. With the attention of hundreds of people now weighing on her, Remelle blanched, her anger finally turning to humiliation. Eyes lined with frustrated tears, she turned on her heel and fled from the ballroom, her newly reddened hair flowing behind her.

It was the most beautiful thing Rowan had ever seen.

Until Aelin stepped in front of him.

“You now owe me your life,” she said with a smirk.

He chuckled. “It’s all yours. For what you just did, you can have whatever you want.”

"That's good news because I think you might have to ask Sellene to overlook this incident when it comes to the peace talks."

"Your terms are acceptable." 

She took the cake back from him, setting it down on a nearby buffet table and cleaning the cake from her hands with a napkin. Her friend from before was watching closely, just getting over her own fit of laughter. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Elide.”

The woman named Elide winked at her. “Can’t wait.”

Then Aelin was grabbing his elbow, guiding him to the dancefloor. 

They found themselves lost in the crowds of swaying couples. The lively, choreographed dances had ended for the evening; the guests were much too drunk and tired for complicated moves now. Rowan wrapped an arm around Aelin’s waist, held her hand in his own, and let them drift around in circles, their bodies pressed tightly together.

Aelin looked up at him, a mischievous smile on her face. “I had no idea you were capable of laughing like that. It was disturbingly out of character.”

He flicked her nose. “I happen to have a great sense of humour. You just aren’t usually funny. ”

She scoffed. “I’m always funny.” A pause. “Was it too much?”

“No, she deserved it.” 

Her face turned serious. “She more than deserved it, Rowan.”

He gave her a weak smile, and they fell into silence for a while, Aelin sliding her hand higher on his shoulder to graze the skin of his neck. His blood heated at the simple, intimate touch–so different than when Remelle had done it earlier. 

He cleared his throat. “So what’s this about you ditching training to spend time with your new friend Elide?”

Aelin’s face turned devious. “We have a plan for Lord Westfall.”

“And do I get to hear about this mysterious plan?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“And why’s that?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Because I can’t risk you ruining it with your famed gossiping, birdie.”

Rowan groaned, truly insulted by her words. “Aelin, this is unacceptable,” he whined. “You can’t call me birdie.”

She started laughing–proper wheezing laughs. “That’s the part of my statement that you have a problem with?” she said through her giggles.

“It’s a terrible nickname.”

“I know. That’s the point.” 

He rolled his eyes, sensing he wouldn’t win this one, and opted not to respond.

Aelin chuckled a little bit more at his dismay, then blew out a long amused breath. “No, you know what? You’re right,” she capitulated to his absolute shock. “It doesn’t capture all your … you know ... your–” she briefly lifted her hand from his shoulder to wave toward him.

“My what.”

“Your whole brooding warrior thing.”

Rowan scoffed.

“Birdie works for someone chipper and agreeable. You are neither of those things,” she explained before pursing her lips to hold in more laughter.

He shook his head slowly in disbelief but couldn’t keep the amusement from his eyes. “You’ll have to think of something else then.”

Aelin grinned at him, rolling onto her toes so that she was close enough to whisper in his ear. 

“Don’t worry, I will.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Aelin was back in the maze, navigating the hedges and hidden alcoves once more. When she’d first arrived, her cheeks had heated, every step a reminder of how Rowan had touched her the night before, but she’d only given herself a moment to swoon.

Today, she was here for another reason entirely.

At the crack of dawn, she’d slipped out of bed, regrettably leaving a very sleepy and very handsome-looking Rowan behind to wake up alone. Last night she’d danced until the music had stopped, her mate already having long retired to her room. By the time she found him again, he was asleep on top of the covers, looking like he’d intended to wait up for her, but exhaustion had won out. So despite how very much she wanted to touch him, to return the favour, she’d let him sleep. There would be time for fun once she completed this task.

Elide had met her in the guest wing and together, they were meandering through the hedges, looking very much like two ladies out for an innocent walk to discuss the gossip from the night before. They’d intentionally arrived at their destination early, but with Aelin in her Fae form, she would be able to hear when their target arrived.

Arm-in-arm, they circled around the hedges, maintaining a steady stream of meaningless conversation. It was essential that anyone who overheard them thought they were truly caught up in their vapid discussions.

“So, did anyone catch your eye last night?” Aelin asked, both for the plan and because she was genuinely interested. She’d never had a female friend to discuss these things with before, and Aedion was more than tired with her romantic updates.

Elide sighed. “Not really. I was hoping that coming to Orynth would give me a more interesting pool of candidates, but nobody jumped out at me.” Then she gave Aelin a mischievous smile, quietly admitting, “Your Rowan and his friend Fenrys were nice to look at, though.”

Aelin couldn’t help but laugh. Elide wasn’t wrong. “I know I shouldn’t notice that Fenrys is beautiful because I’m mated to another very attractive male, but … his face really is a work of art,” she whispered with a giggle. The sound surprised her a bit. She didn’t often giggle.

“And so tall. They are both so tall.”

“Is that a requirement?” Aelin asked, a playful eyebrow raised.

Elide turned a staggeringly beautiful smile on her. “Absolutely,” she declared. “I’m looking for the tallest man I can find.”

Aelin barked out a laugh. “Perhaps you should head to Doranelle then,” she joked. “Rowan told me there’s a male named Lochlan Salvito– something there who’s even taller than him.”

“Taller than Rowan?” Elide gasped.

“I know. I could hardly believe it either.”

Her friend grinned. “Perhaps I will take a trip sometime.”

The two of them chuckled, enjoying their gossip until Aelin heard a frustrated sigh in the distance followed by the rustling of parchment. She held up a hand and focused on the sounds. When she was certain that the right person had arrived, she nodded to Elide, signalling that it was time to begin.

Elide nodded back, an eager smile on her face, and they started making their way to where Lord Westfall was now sitting.

Aelin had tasked Aedion with figuring out his movements as soon as the lord had arrived. Every morning, Lord Westfall came out to the gardens and sat at the stone table in his preferred leafy alcove. It was a private spot, and he used it to handle his correspondences for the day.

What was convenient about his particular alcove was that it was only separated from another by a single row of hedges. So when Aelin and Elide arrived in that spot on the other side, he would be able to hear everything they were saying while believing himself to be hidden.

They approached it now, continuing their vapid chattering as they walked. She heard him shift through the branches as they sat down on their bench, but before he could decide they were annoying and pack up his things, Elide changed the subject, setting their plan in motion.

“So, do you think you and Chaol will have children immediately?” her friend asked in a mock timid voice. 

The sound of Lord Westfall’s quill scraping against parchment stopped. They had his attention.

Aelin hummed, ever the confused princess about to be married off to a foreign lord. “I hope so … ” she replied, making her voice small and hesitant. “But I’m not sure it will be possible.”

Elide grinned, but her voice was shocked. “What do you mean?”

Aelin let out a long sad sigh as if the subject were hard for her to talk about. In some ways, it was, but she pushed those feelings aside. “It’s just … with my Fae blood … ” she explained, letting her voice trail off, “it might take years for me to conceive.”

“How many years?”

For a moment, she let the question hang, a tragic silence falling over them. Then she threw a hand over her forehead theatrically, more in an effort to lift her own spirits than entertain her friend, and said, “ Decades .” 

Elide gasped dramatically as her shoulders shook with silent laughter. 

“The healers said that if I settle, I might be on my second husband before I finally bear a child.”

On the other side of the hedges, Lord Westfall sucked in a sharp breath.

It wasn’t a total lie. Aelin was destined to struggle with fertility because of her Fae blood. If she were to marry Chaol, then it was a real possibility that they’d never conceive. But she wasn’t going to marry him. Which was good because children were the farthest thing from her mind right now.

It was part of the reason why she hadn’t wanted to tell Rowan about this plan. She didn’t want to have to answer his follow-up questions. Didn’t want to find out exactly when he was expecting to have children. 

“I’m so sorry, Aelin,” Elide murmured, a hint of truth in her words. Then her friend’s voice turned contemplative. “What happens to Anielle if you two don’t produce an heir?”

As if she were shocked by the question, Aelin waited a moment before answering. “I–I don’t think anything happens,” she replied, the uncertainty thick in her voice. “Chaol has a younger brother–Terrin–so I think everything would just pass to him and his heirs.”

She could hear the lord’s heartbeat picking up through the hedges, could scent the anger now pounding through his blood.

If the marriage was a love match, that outcome might have been acceptable to some. But Lord Westfall wasn’t the type to be charmed by such things. No, Chaol was his firstborn, and so it was vital he continue the bloodline. And considering Chaol had told her that his father didn’t care for Terrin, there was no way that Lord Westfall would be okay with this– no way he’d allow Chaol to marry someone who couldn’t give him children.

“I mean–that could be okay … if you love him,” Elide tried, a weak attempt to console her distraught friend.

“Yes, maybe.” A long, wistful sigh. “I’m excited to be with him, even if I outlive him,” she lied through her teeth, “but I still wish it were possible with Chaol. Our children would have been so beautiful.” Not as beautiful as the children I’ll have with Rowan, a traitorous voice said in her mind. Aelin shut those thoughts down immediately. It was much too early to start getting excited about their future–to trust that they had one. Her jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.

Elide loosed a loud, shaky breath. “I can’t believe you’re going to be immortal.”

“Me neither.”

“Do you think you’d ever … bind your life to him? Live out a mortal life together?”

“No,” Aelin whispered and then let out a sensational sigh. “I love him”– lie, lie, lie –“but my duty is to Terrasen first. Even if I can’t provide Anielle with an heir, I still need to provide one for Terrasen, and I need to live long enough to succeed.” 

“So you think you’ll remarry after he passes?”

“I won’t have a choice,” she said firmly–the portrait of a royal placing duty over love.

They sat in silence for a minute, letting Lord Westfall process everything they’d said. His breathing was laboured, the scent of his anger shifting into something deeper–dread maybe? Then, speaking carefully, as if she wasn’t sure how Aelin was going to react, Elide drove the final nail into the coffin. “Do you think that maybe … you should marry someone else?”

Aelin forced out a fake choking sob. “ I don’t know what to do, Elide! ” she wailed through her non-existent tears. “I know it’s not a good match for either of us–I know we can’t give each other what we need, but I can’t live without him! ”

“Oh, Aelin,” Elide crooned. “Come here.”

But Aelin stayed where she was, imitating sobbing noises. Elide slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from howling at the sight and then stood so that she could pace in circles–an attempt to calm herself. 

Aelin slowly quieted her sobbing as if she were being soothed by her friend, and with the newfound silence, she checked in on Lord Westfall. Other than his racing heart and short breaths, he was totally silent–totally frozen by what he’d overheard.

Then, in a sudden burst of activity, she heard him pack up his stuff and start stomping back to the castle.

When the sound of his angry footsteps had faded completely, she let out a deep, shaky sigh, trying to dislodge the strange mood the conversation had put her in. Aelin didn’t like to think about these things. Her immortality and fertility were subjects she wasn’t quite ready to deal with. 

“Thank you, Elide,” she said, forcing a hint of wickedness back into her voice.

Elide gave her a searching look for a moment, clearly seeing through the facade, but seemed to know it wasn’t the time to pry. “Did it work? Was he upset?”

Aelin looked at her brilliant new friend, lips curving into a satisfied grin. “ Oh, yes .” 

And when Aelin finally returned to her rooms, she was met with a message that warmed her very soul.

Chaol had cancelled their lunch today.

________

When Rowan had learned that his mate would not be lunching with the scourge that was Chaol Westfall, he’d decided that training was back on. Aelin had whined a bit, clearly having convinced herself that she’d get another day off, but they were close to a breakthrough. Delaying it any longer would be unfair to her.

He had already arranged what was needed for the test he was going to give her today, though Aelin had no idea what to expect. The mystery had left her quiet and contemplative–other than when she occasionally begged for a hint. But it was crucial that she didn’t know what was waiting for her. If she did, then he wouldn’t even have been able to get her out of the castle.

 They hit the grasses of Theralis, and a figure appeared on the horizon. They kept running towards the centre of the plains where the person waited, and even with his mate already panting from the run, he heard her breathing become more laboured. Smelled anxiety flooding through her. Despite shifting into her Fae form, Aelin’s eyesight wasn’t as good as his, so she hadn’t been able to tell who it was right away, but as they grew closer, and she finally put it together, he heard her mutter, What the fuck.

He was definitely going to get in trouble for this.

Rowan wasn’t surprised she felt that way. Aedion had arrived here before them. Early enough so that Aelin wouldn’t panic too far in advance. Her cousin waved as they approached and smirked at her–a challenge.

When they drew to a stop before him, Aelin inhaled sharply. “What is this?” she said flatly, eyebrows high. It wasn’t really a question.

“This, Aelin, is your test for today.”

She glared at him for a moment and then turned on Aedion. “You agreed to this?”

“Please,” her cousin drawled nonchalantly and crossed his arms. “I volunteered.” His smile was absolutely feral.

Aelin turned back to Rowan, fury written on every line of her body. He almost recoiled at the look, the grasses crunching beneath his boots as he shifted under her glare, but he pressed on. “Today is going to be just like every other day. You’re going to release your magic–do whatever you want with it,” he explained. “The only difference is that Aedion is going to be here too.”

“Are you going to shield him?” she asked, her face paling as she spoke.

“No.”

Aelin’s eyes widened with fear and indignation. “And what happens if I lose control?”

“Then he’ll die.”

She sputtered out a horrified laugh and shook her head. It looked like she wanted to rip into him, to scream, and maybe even kick his face in. For a moment, Rowan was genuinely afraid she might. He didn’t know what he would do if the person he treasured most tried to kill him–he wondered if he’d just let her. But she just stood there, mouth hanging open, disbelief on her face.

“Aelin”–her eyes tightened–“you’re not going to lose control.” 

“How the fuck can you just say that? Of course, I could,” she spat.

He tried to ignore the frustration he felt at her tone, tried to keep his features reassuring–encouraging. He was already in enough trouble as it was. “Control has never been your problem.”

“Have you not been paying attention?” she asked incredulously. “I lose control all the time .”

“No, you don’t.” 

She just shook her head again and put her hands on her hips.

“The whole time I’ve been here, all you have done is control your magic. If anything, you need to let loose a little.” She looked ready to kill him for saying that, but he went on, “You consistently keep your magic at bay. The only reason it explodes out of you sometimes is because you have such a significant gift and you let it build up for too long–long enough that nobody would be able to control it at that point. Not even me.”

Aelin looked away from him, refusing to process his words. Rowan walked to her and carefully placed a hand on her blanched cheek, guiding her to meet his gaze. “You’ve been training for eighteen years, Aelin,” he murmured. “I know your previous instructors failed you, but you did learn. All this time you’ve been learning. Now you just need to conquer your fear.” 

He hoped his words would have some sort of impact, but she pulled her cheek from his hand indignantly and stared down at her feet, giving him absolutely nothing. It was the first time he hadn’t been able to get through to her. Perhaps he was pushing her too far, moving things along too quickly. 

Rowan looked over at her cousin, who was watching them closely, and gave him a look that basically said, What do we do?

Aedion read the question in his eyes and jerked his chin–a request to give him a moment alone with his cousin. Rowan obliged, walking away from his mate and giving them privacy.

Aedion took up the spot where he had just been, putting his hands on Aelin’s shoulders. Her cousin started murmuring to her, quiet enough that Rowan couldn’t hear, but whatever he was saying made her head snap up. She said something, a look of absolute fear in her eyes, to which Aedion replied with a gentle smile.

He hadn’t seen them interact like this before. They were obviously extremely close, but usually, they were engaged in an endless battle of wits. Rowan had never seen them speak to each other so softly, had never seen them share such a tender moment. It was perhaps the first time he had witnessed the true nature of their relationship–how much his mate actually relied on Aedion. And he was glad for her. He was glad to see how much the male cared for her.

He thought of Enda and how he had been a steady figure in his life, always pushing him when needed, or consoling him when he was miserable to the extreme, as his cousin would say. It would take a lot for Enda to give up on him, but even they weren’t as close as Aedion and Aelin. 

Aedion said something that had her huffing a small laugh, and he could see, even though she was fighting it, a smile forming on her lips. Her cousin said something else, and after a pause, Aelin nodded her head.

The male turned to Rowan and gave him a thumbs up. They were good to go.  

He made his way back over to the pair, and Aelin sent him a small, apologetic smile. Rowan wanted to tell her that there was nothing to apologize for, that she shouldn’t be ashamed of not wanting to hurt her cousin, but he just returned the smile. “Ready?” he asked gently, not wanting to spook her and ruin whatever magic Aedion had just worked.

Her hands were shaking, but she looked to her cousin, who gave her a final encouraging nod, and she steeled herself. “Yes.”

With that, the males backed away from her–just a short distance to give her room to work. And then she began.

For a moment, nothing happened. Her eyes were squeezed shut with concentration, and though Rowan could feel her magic simmering beneath her skin, she didn’t make a move. Usually, she would open her palm and channel her magic through there. It was a crutch, but he hadn’t thought it was worth correcting yet. Today, though, her hands remained at her sides, curled into tight fists.

Then, to his surprise, she started humming a quiet, uneven tune. He hadn’t heard the song before, but as she hummed, her face relaxed. Without opening her eyes or lifting her palm, fire sputtered to life in the air before her and started streaking around in circles, looping in time with the tune that she hummed. 

Rowan didn’t often gasp at things–he was a hardened warrior after all. But today he couldn’t stop it. He gasped. 

Though it didn’t have much form, this was the most concise use of her magic he’d seen. Usually, she just let her flames explode into the air above her. But today, the flames snaked and twisted in their chaotic circles. He was utterly shocked.

His magic was screaming to be released, to join hers in its dance through the air. For the first time in centuries, Rowan almost had trouble keeping it under control. He didn’t know what that meant and was far too shocked to think anything of it.

Aelin dared to open her eyes, and when she saw that her cousin was alive and Rowan was gaping at her, a bright smile bloomed on her face. She shifted from humming to wordless singing, her magic becoming more energetic as her song reached its crescendo.

As she sang out her last triumphant–if pitchy–note, she sent her flames shooting into the sky, watching them move like a kite in the wind. And then, after a deep breath, she exhaled loudly, and her flames gently sputtered out, the remaining sparks getting swept away into the clouds.

When Aelin was silent again, her cousin started clapping dramatically. “Rowan, I didn’t realize you were preparing my future queen to join a magic troupe,” he mocked, though the smile on his face was genuine. He was proud of her. 

Aelin, who hadn’t heard her cousin’s joke, sprinted over to them. “I’ve never done anything like that before,” she said joyfully through heavy breaths.

“Quite a change since the last time I saw you go up in flames,” Aedion agreed, patting her on the back supportively. “Your singing could use some work, though.”

Aelin clicked her tongue and punched him in the bicep, but seconds later, the jubilant smile was back on her face. Then she looked at Rowan, eyes bright–she was waiting for his approval, he realized.

He was still shocked. Despite his earlier speeches, he hadn’t actually expected her to do anything remotely close to what she had just achieved. He was almost speechless. But he needed to know, “What inspired you to use your magic like that?”

She rolled her eyes but beamed at him. “The tavern–the other night when that dragon flew over our table,” she replied. “I know mine was more of a blob than a dragon … but it was such beautiful magic. Not destructive or scary … just beautiful. I want to use my magic like that.” Then she finally noticed his bewildered expression, her face falling a bit. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. You were amazing,” he assured her with a laugh. “I’m just–I wasn’t expecting you to do that. You set your clothes on fire just the other day.”

His mate simply shrugged as if she hadn’t just demonstrated progress that should have taken weeks. Months.

“You should get used to Aelin surprising you, my friend,” Aedion chuckled, clapping him on the back. “She makes my heart fully stop beating at least once a week.”

Aelin rolled her eyes at the jab but laughed in spite of herself. 

“Clearly, we need to put your cousin in danger more often.” This time it was Rowan’s turn to get punched in the bicep. She opened her mouth, likely to reprimand him for his recklessness, but he beat her to it. “I wouldn’t have let him die, Aelin,” he clarified. “Obviously, I would have shielded him if you’d lost control. In fact, I’m a little offended that you believed me.”

Aelin’s cheeks pinkened, a mixture of anger and embarrassment swirling in her eyes as she felt the truth in his words. “I hate you,” she groaned, but there was no bite to it.

“Well, are we done here?” Aedion sighed a moment later, hands on his hips. “Can we go home now?”

“You go,” Rowan replied. Aelin raised an eyebrow. “We’ll catch up.”

Her cousin looked between them suspiciously but didn’t protest before starting back towards Orynth.

What Rowan wanted to say wasn’t a secret, but for some reason, he wanted the male out of earshot anyway. When he could no longer hear Aedion’s footsteps as he ran back to the city, Rowan turned to his mate.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said, sounding more like a teenager with a crush than an immortal warrior with centuries of training. Why was he nervous about this?

Aelin read the softness in his face and finally dropped her glare. She gave him a pleasant, open smile as she waited for him to speak.

Rowan took a breath. “I was wondering if you’d want to come to dinner with Enda and me tonight?” Then before she could respond, he rambled on, “Most of my family is in Doranelle obviously, but it would still mean a lot to me–

Aelin silenced him by placing a small hand on his cheek. “I would love to get to know your family better, Rowan,” she said softly. Then she laughed. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind a chance to redeem myself with Enda.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow in question–the two of them had barely interacted.

Reading the confusion on his face, she explained, “So far, Enda has only been witness to my most embarrassing moments. First, I burst into flames when you all arrived. Then he found me lurking outside your door in the middle of the night. And the other night, I was so drunk I didn’t even speak to him.”

“You didn’t really speak to anyone other than me,” he corrected with a smirk. The tips of her ears turned pink, but he saved her from explaining and said, “So tonight is fine? We could do it another time if you’d prefer.”

“Tonight is perfect. We can go after I train with Aedion and Chaol,” she confirmed, a smile returning to her face. “If you haven’t already decided, I know a great place in the city.”

He wrapped an arm around Aelin’s shoulders, and together, they started walking back to Orynth. “Sounds perfect.”

Chapter Text

Rowan had been instructed to meet Aelin near her father’s study. She hadn’t told him specifically where it was, only that he was to keep an out for a purple tapestry, which he realized would be easy to spot since everything else in Orynth was green. 

He didn’t know why they were meeting in a new location and had been worried that entering this wing of the castle would cause some problems with the guards, but so far that hadn’t been the case. The guards stationed outside of the king’s study didn’t even look at him or his cousin while they waited. He supposed it was a good thing–that they’d been told to expect two silver-haired Fae this evening. If the guards found the arrangement suspicious, they didn’t let on. 

The study was interesting to Rowan because he couldn’t hear what was happening inside. He supposed it could be empty, but if Aelin were not currently in there speaking to her father, why would she have instructed them to come here? So they must have soundproofed it with Fae in mind. A smart move, really.

Enda seemed to be thinking the same thing, shooting a puzzled look at the door. His cousin had been thrilled to receive his invitation for dinner tonight. Apparently, he’d been trying to give the two of them space but was desperate to spend more time with Aelin. He’d said that if she was going to be part of the family for a thousand years, then he deserved to know her better. It was an elegant way of saying he wanted to stick his nose into Rowan’s business.

So far, because of their situation, Enda was the only other person in the Whitethorn house who knew Aelin Galathynius was his mate. Technically, they’d written to Sellene shortly after arriving, but Doranelle was so far away that it was unlikely the letter would reach her for a few weeks. 

It wasn’t that Rowan didn’t want them to know. He was unbelievably proud to have Aelin at his side, but his cousins were meddlesome. They were lovely people, but they were so fucking meddlesome. Once they found out that he had mated, he would never hear the end of it. Worse, neither would Aelin, and he wasn’t sure she was quite ready for that. So for now, he was happy to bask in the little bit of privacy they still had. 

The clicking of a lock brought his attention to the study’s door. Even though it had just opened a crack, he could suddenly hear the murmuring of male voices within. His theory about soundproofing had been correct.

Aelin fully pulled the door open so that she could slip outside, but before she could close it behind her, Rowan caught a glimpse of something that surprised him.

Fenrys was inside, speaking with Rhoe, an animated smile on his face. Rhoe nodded vigorously, laughing as he did it, and before Rowan could hear enough to piece anything together, Aelin had the shut door.

She was already wearing her heavy black cloak–the one she used for sneaking into the city–and the hood was up, leaving her face dramatically shadowed. Aelin stepped into the hall and gave him a teasing look.

I’m not going to tell you, she seemed to say, her mouth curled into a mischievous smile.

Rowan loosed a breathy laugh. He didn’t know when she’d decided that she wasn’t going to tell him any of her plans, but apparently, he was on the need-to-know list.

Do I at least get to find out about what you did with Elide this morning? he shot back.

Her grin faltered. Maybe.

He didn’t know what to make of that reaction but supposed that was something, at least.

Enda coughed pointedly. “Do you realize … you’re just staring at each other?”

“We’re talking with our eyes,” Aelin replied as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

His cousin just raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear on his face.

“Really, we can have full conversations,” she insisted, perhaps worried that Enda was now coming to the conclusion that she was insane. “I think it’s because of the mating bond.”

Enda’s eyes guttered.

Rowan’s heart sank as he watched emotion roar through his cousin. Aelin couldn’t have known about his situation; it wasn’t her fault. But the look on Enda’s face was more than enough to show her that she’d said something wrong. 

“Shall we head out then?” Enda said, his polite courtly mask slipping on.

Aelin opened her mouth to likely apologize or cheer him up, but with a glance at Rowan, she seemed to understand that it was best to leave it alone. 

“Yes,” she said, her voice bright to lighten the mood. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’re going to be taking a secret tunnel down into the city.” 

“There’s actually a secret tunnel?” Rowan asked incredulously. “I thought your version of sneaking out was just walking through the front doors with a hood on.”

Aelin stuck out her tongue. “It’s overkill most of the time, but it happens to let out around the corner from the restaurant we’re going to, so it makes sense to take it tonight.”

“And where is this secret tunnel?” Enda blurted. Aelin looked a bit surprised at his cousin’s enthusiasm, but Rowan wasn’t. Enda loved castle secrets–always had. He was certain that if he were to take Enda to the library of Orynth, his cousin would spend the whole time pulling suspicious-looking books from shelves, hoping to open a secret door. 

Aelin smirked. “You’re looking at it.”

“Can you just tell us–”

“No, Rowan. Let me guess where it is,” Enda said dismissively before scanning his eyes over the room and sending a wave of his magic probing through the air.

Rowan groaned. So much of his childhood had been wasted waiting for Enda to solve riddles and find alternate exits to perfectly good front doors. It was especially silly, considering they could both shift into birds and just fly out a window. But Aelin seemed to be enjoying his search, so Rowan would endure.

“It’s behind that tapestry, isn’t it.”

Aelin just grinned. She walked over to lift up the purple tapestry, revealing a simple wooden door. “You’re a natural,” she mused. “Perhaps we should have you test the castle defenses some time–let us know which passages are too obvious.”

Enda beamed and made for the door. “I can think of no greater honour, your highness.”

________

Aelin led them down the secret tunnel, torch in hand as they made their way into the city. Rowan had suggested she light the way herself, saying she could probably handle that now, but she hadn’t wanted to push her luck for the day. 

The restaurant they were aiming for was actually quite close to the castle, so the walk through the tunnels wasn’t very long–only about twenty minutes. They made small talk along the way, Aelin asking Enda how he was enjoying Orynth, how the negotiations were going–that sort of thing. She shouldn’t really have brought a foreign dignitary down one of their secret passages–especially not one that was currently involved in peace talks with her kingdom, but because of Rowan, she deemed it to be okay. 

She trusted Rowan enough to know he wouldn’t lead an attack on Orynth, and from how he’d described the Whitethorn family, she didn’t think it was likely anyone would betray him by hurting his mate. They were a tight-knit group, apparently.

Aelin couldn’t help but be a little jealous if she was being honest with herself. She had plenty of cousins across the sea in Wendlyn, but she barely knew them. And even if that hadn’t been the case, she wasn’t sure they could achieve the same level of love and loyalty that Rowan’s family had. It was impressive for a royal family to be so harmonious.

A small, dangerous voice suggested that one day she might be part of that family. Her heart fluttered at the bright future her mind conjured, but she set it aside for now. They had a long way to go before she could claim the entire Whitethorn family. 

A faint light appeared in the distance before them, and the stone floor beneath their boots turned muddy. She snuffed out her torch and slid it into the iron sconce fixed along the tunnel wall so that she could retrieve it for the journey back. Her magic recoiled a bit as she touched the iron, but she mastered her discomfort and headed next to the iron grate that blocked the tunnel entrance. The door opened easily and deposited them between thick bushes that obscured the tunnel from passersby. If anyone did happen to spot it behind the shrubbery, they’d just assume it to be some sort of sewage tunnel.

Aelin shimmied through the bushes, Rowan chuckling softly behind her as he followed, and stepped out into an alleyway. The main street ahead wasn’t busy, but she still kept her cloak tight around her face as she led them around the corner and down another back alley. She could practically feel the males frowning behind her, but she wasn’t deterred by their skepticism as she approached a heavy black door and knocked four times.

They were only waiting a moment before the door cracked open, revealing a plump older demi-Fae male with a thick black mustache and a luminous smile. “Celaena,” he said in welcome, wiping his hands on his apron and opening his arms for a hug,

“Phaendar,” she grinned, returning the hug. “I hope I’m not troubling you too much.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. You are my favourite customer,” he assured her. “I’ve reserved your usual table.” He stepped aside, holding the door, as Aelin and her companions squeezed into the small hallway that led into the kitchens. His eyes widened a bit when he saw Rowan, but he mastered his fear quickly enough–he was a professional after all.

Phaendar was the owner of this restaurant and a cornerstone of the city. He was one of the first of her people that she had befriended when she’d started sneaking out. He knew who she was, of course, but always made sure that she was able to dine in privacy and never commented on her occasional guests. It didn’t hurt that she paid triple for everything she ordered.

Aelin waved at the chefs as they passed through the kitchens–they knew her too. All of Phaendar’s staff were discrete enough that she felt comfortable showing them her face. She stopped to say some hellos and how are yous before they were led through a side door that opened onto the restaurant’s lovely back patio.

The patio was surrounded by a wall of hedges, decorated with dots of bright magic that lit the space thanks to the magic wielders Phaendar employed. To her relief, there were lots of open tables tonight, scattered across the red brick floor–not that they would be sitting at them. Toward the back of the patio, there was a private area, separated from the main space by more shrubbery. Usually, it was reserved for large parties, but Phaendar always sat her there if he could. It was one of the only places she could throw her hood back in public and dine in peace.

They followed their guide in the private dining area–also lit by pretty magic lights–and went to sit at the end of the table furthest from the entrance. Rowan pulled out her chair for her–a move that made her feel both romanced and surprised. If they had been alone, she might have made a joke about her warrior-prince treating her like a fancy lady.

She was a fancy lady, but she didn’t know Rowan could recognize such things.

When they were settled, Aelin threw back her hood and started shaking out her tangled hair. Rowan gave her a pointed look like he found something funny but wouldn’t comment while Phaendar was there. She ignored him.

“Would you like the menu tonight, or shall I bring out the usual spread?” Phaendar asked her.

“The usual, thank you.” Tonight, they were at her mercy, and she wasn’t about to let her mate order a bunch of things that didn’t even include chocolate.

“Very good,” Phaendar replied, then bowed to Aelin and retreated back to the kitchens.

She grinned at Rowan and Enda, waiting for them to say something. To her annoyance, Rowan just said, “What happened to your hair?” He chuckled as he lifted his fingers and started detangling it himself.

Aelin groaned. “It got all knotted from the run back to Orynth this afternoon, and I couldn’t find my hairbrush.” He just continued to laugh as he finger-combed the long strands while she pouted. 

Phaendar returned seconds later, a bottle of wine in hand, and poured them each a glass before setting it down on the table. When he was gone again, Enda said to her, “How’s it going with Lord Westfall, Aelin? Rowan tells me you enacted some mystery plan this morning.”

She stilled. Aelin had been hoping that Rowan would forget to ask again. She had not accounted for Enda.

Aelin forced out a strained laugh and turned to her mate, who had just finished fixing her hair. “Fenrys was right. You are a gossip.” Rowan rolled his eyes, and she patted his leg affectionately. “It’s going really well, actually,” she began, keeping the quiver out of her voice. “I think we really spooked him this morning.”

“What did you do?”

Oh, gods. This was happening. She was actually going to tell them. 

She took a deep breath and looked directly at Enda, determined not to meet Rowan’s eye while she spoke.“Elide Lochan and I took a stroll in the gardens, and made sure that Lord Westfall accidentally overheard us discussing how I might not be able to provide Chaol an heir because of my Fae blood.” 

Enda straightened. “Even though you’re human?”

She swallowed. “My mother had enough Fae blood that she almost died having me … I expect the risk would be higher for myself, considering– you know. ” 

Rowan stiffened at the words, his face slipping into a careful facade of calm. Bad sign, bad sign, bad sign. She didn’t even know if he wanted children, but it was much too early for them to have discussed such things anyway. This whole topic was being addressed too fucking early.

Aelin turned back to Enda, who was glancing between the two of them sympathetically. She cringed under his gaze, the question forming in his eyes, and implored him not to force them into the baby conversation. She held back the urge to say, Shut the fuck up, Enda.

But Enda did not shut the fuck up.

“Do you want to have children?” he asked softly.

Oh, dear.

Rowan shot his cousin a look of warning. Aelin wondered if he could hear her heart pounding. If she looked as suffocated as she felt. She took a long, deep breath–an attempt to dispel the awkwardness, and gave him the simple truth. “Yes, I do.”

Aelin thought Rowan might relax at that, thought he had been worried that she didn’t want children at all. But he seemed to only deflate further at the admission, and she realized that maybe it was the threat to her safety that was upsetting him. 

He must have known that she had to have children–it was her duty to provide an heir after all … but perhaps he wouldn’t care about children if her life was on the line. In some ways it didn’t matter at all because it was way too early to be talking about this.

“That’s good news,” Enda chuckled. “My father, Ellys–Rowan’s uncle–keeps nagging everyone to have children. He’ll be delighted when you two conceive.”

Aelin choked on her wine. 

She gasped for air between coughs, but before either of the males could act, she lifted a hand–a signal that she was fine. She just needed to cough it out. 

Holy gods.

Rowan had warned her that his cousins were meddlesome, but she hadn’t quite understood how meddlesome they might be until now. She wasn’t ready to have children, and she was certainly not ready to have this conversation with Rowan. As much as she adored him, she’d barely known him for two weeks. 

As her coughing subsided, she looked up to see him giving Enda a look that promised violence. Her mate cleared his throat and managed to quietly mutter, “That’s years away.”

Gods, she hoped he meant that.

Enda’s face was lined with guilt. At least he felt bad about his meddling.

Aelin slammed down a wall to hold in her panic and slapped a grimace-like smile back on her face. “What about you?” she began, trying to move the conversation away from herself. “Do you want children? Or have them, perhaps I should say?”

He relaxed at the question. “No children yet, but I think I’ll be adopting when that day comes.”

She knew it was a dangerous question given the riskiness of Fae births, but she asked anyway. “Why adoption?”

Enda laughed. “Don’t look so sheepish, Aelin. My mate and I just won’t be able to conceive because we’re both males.”

Aelin exhaled with relief as she realized the question hadn’t seemed to touch on a sensitive topic. No traumatic story or way too personal fertility issues. Enda was just gay. “I didn’t know you were mated,” she said, encouraging him to speak more.

Enda’s face fell. 

She remembered how he had looked earlier when she’d explained how Rowan and she could communicate with their eyes because of the mating bond.

Fuck. She’d managed to find the sensitive topic.

This whole thing was a rutting disaster.

Rowan squeezed her hand as his cousin explained, “I met my mate a long time ago.” She bit her lip–and not the sexy way. “The bond doesn’t snap into place immediately for everyone. Sometimes it takes a while for things to … click,” he said to her surprise. She hadn’t known that. “To spare you a long story, we aren’t together currently.”

Aren’t together?  

Aren’t.

Together?

Aelin’s heart stopped. Enda had just confirmed her worst fear. Could Rowan leave her? Could he decide the bond wasn’t enough and that she wasn’t worth sticking around for?

Enda seemed to read the panic on her features and offered her a sad smile. “It’s worth the wait, Aelin,” he murmured. “I don’t want to be with anyone else … it’s worth the wait.”

She nodded stiffly. Aelin didn’t want to wait, even if it was worth it in the end. She didn’t want to wait for someone who would turn away from her now. 

Fortunately, their tense conversation was interrupted by the bustle of Phaendar and his waiters bringing in platters of food. The usual was a generous mix of every meal the restaurant offered. There were breads and stews and cooked meats, and later, desserts. It always succeeded at impressing her guests, and since there was usually some left over, Phaendar would pack it into a container for her to take home. Not that she didn’t have access to good food in the castle, but Phaendar really did have superior chefs. She’d thought about poaching them at one point but had ultimately decided that she didn’t want to ruin her favourite little restaurant. 

When all the food was accounted for, forming what was essentially a buffet on their table, Aelin took the chance to use eating as an excuse for silence. She needed to put some distance between herself and their previous conversation. 

After she had some food in her stomach and her anxiety had settled, Rowan seemed to sense that she was ready to start talking again. He initiated a new conversation–switching back to topics that didn’t make her feel like throwing up. 

They breezed through more small talk, Aelin asking Enda about his Fae form (it was a peregrine falcon) and eventually ending up on the subject of the male’s childhoods. 

Rowan had told her that his parents had died before he reached his second decade, but she hadn’t heard much of his adolescence amongst his cousins. Enda was correcting that now by dredging up the most embarrassing stories he could remember, much to Aelin’s delight and Rowan’s dismay.

“Rowan was always destined to become a warrior–I mean, look at him.” Enda waved a hand toward his cousin in emphasis, who rolled his eyes. “But when we were very young, he rebelled against it for a year. Whined and sabotaged all of his training for months.”

Aelin’s laugh was loud from surprise. He didn’t look embarrassed–just grumpy, which somehow made it funnier. If she hadn’t been holding his hand, she imagined his arms would be crossed tightly in a display of indignance.

“Why?” she said between her laughs.

Enda gave her a wry smile. “He claimed he didn’t want to be a warrior anymore.” Sensing her next question, he explained, “Rowan wanted to be a vendor in the market. He told us he was going to sell meat on a stick.”

“Meat on a stick,” she repeated slowly, biting her lip to hold in her guffaw. When she could no longer contain her laughter, could no longer stop her shoulders from shaking, she roared, “But you don’t even care about food!”

“No, he doesn’t. He always just reaches for whatever’s easiest–even if it’s bland or disgusting.”

Rowan groaned. “I like food just fine,” he said sternly. “I simply try to be practical about it.”

“Okay,” Aelin replied, her voice thick from laughter. “What’s your favourite food then?”

When Rowan didn’t answer immediately, she looked to Enda, whose face had transformed into a smirk. “Guess.” 

Aelin thought for a moment and then started chuckling. “It’s meat on a stick, isn’t it?”

Her mate didn’t deign to respond, but Enda held no such reservations. “Yes,” he confirmed, his shoulders shaking with laughter like her own. “To this day–and from the very same vendor that inspired him as a child.”

“It still exists ?” Aelin asked incredulously.

“Of course. Doranelle is almost exclusively home to immortals. That vendor has been a staple in the market since before either of us was born.”

She turned to Rowan and determined that it was time for him to stop frowning. Squeezing his hand, she said, sincerely, “You’ll have to take me there one day.”

He maintained his serious facade but squeezed her hand in return, and she noticed when the corners of his lips twitched upwards. “We’ll see.”

Enda’s eyes flicked between them, something warm in his expression. “What about you, Aelin? Did you ever want to be something other than a queen?”

She hummed. It was a difficult question because she wasn’t sure she’d ever really wanted to be a queen. “I wanted to be a healer,” she murmured. Rowan’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. 

Enda’s smile was nothing but compassionate.“That’s an unexpected choice for the Firebringer.”

A shrug. “It didn’t matter anyway. I don’t have much water magic … and queens don’t become healers.” Aelin couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping down to the table. She looked at her hand, interlocked with Rowan’s, as he stroked his thumb against her skin.

“Do you want to be queen?”

It was a soft question, spoken not by a foreign dignitary but by the concerned family member of her mate. She slid her gaze back to Enda, and though she didn’t look at Rowan, she could feel his eyes on her, reading her face. “I want to do my duty to Terrasen,” she answered, reducing millions of dreams and doubts and fears down to a few short words.

She was met with an uncomfortable silence as the males read between the lines.

“We’ll work on your water magic next,” Rowan promised after a moment, bringing the hand he was holding up to kiss it softly.

Aelin gave him a small, grateful smile. Did he know what that meant to her? It wasn’t just an opportunity to indulge in a childhood dream. It was a chance to do something that was truly for her–to use her magic not for destruction but for beauty. A way to be more than a queen or a Firebringer, even if only for a while.

They were such simple words, but she knew he understood–perhaps better than anyone ever had. The force of that realization nearly swept her away. And for the first time, Aelin thought she might understand what it meant to have a mate. She didn’t have the wherewithal to respond, so she hoped her feeble nod was enough to convey what she was feeling instead.

Before she knew it, the desserts were delivered, and they fell back into pleasant conversation. As Aelin dove into the cakes, she bombarded Enda with questions, him doing the same, and finally gave poor Rowan a break from their laughter. 

Rowan didn’t speak much, but when she’d look at him, his eyes were always glowing with joy. She knew why. Knew he was happy to see her and his cousin getting along, knew how important this had been to him. 

They spent the rest of their evening getting to know each other, and when it was finally time to go back to the castle, Aelin felt something small and warm spark to life inside her chest. As if the mating bond hadn’t just given her an opportunity for romance, but for a life. A life with Rowan and friends and family and meat on a stick. 

It felt a lot like hope.

She was scared to get used to the feeling.

________

The dinner had gone well–even if a large portion of the evening had consisted of Aelin and his cousin ganging up on him. It had meant everything to have her there, though Rowan was upset with Enda for making that comment about children. He was still cringing at the memory. 

And then there was what she’d said about her Fae blood … 

He’d always wanted children, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted them enough to put Aelin’s life in danger. Of course, any Fae female would face such risks … but other Fae females weren’t his mate. Rowan couldn’t bear to think about it–if something happened to her.

Not that they’d have much choice with Aelin being queen. She needed to provide an heir for Terrasen, and he knew her well enough already to know that she would die trying. The thought made him grumpy the whole journey back.

He and Enda had parted ways with Aelin to return to the guest wing and were about to split off into their own rooms. Rowan was going to fly back to his mate tonight, but he’d gotten into the habit of returning to his own rooms first so that the castle staff would occasionally see him doing it. They’d be less suspicious if he was always turning up where he was supposed to be. Not that it mattered much when Aelin’s scent was all over him. Half the staff was probably in on it by now. If there was one thing Orynth seemed to be good at, it was discretion on behalf of their princess’s antics.

Rowan reached his door, ready to return to his mate for the night, but Enda caught his attention by clearing his throat. 

“I’m sorry about what I said to Aelin.”

Rowan turned to find his cousin looking at him apologetically, hands clasped awkwardly in front of him. 

“About children,” Enda clarified.

“It’s fine.”

“But it upset her.”

Rowan sighed. It had upset her. And she’d almost choked to death from shock, which he had not appreciated. There was no way they’d be having children any time soon, even if they wanted to, but it had still unnerved her. “I think … she’s just struggling with the commitment.”

Enda’s face shifted with surprise, but mercifully, he didn’t push. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

He knew Rowan well enough to know that he wouldn’t get much more out of him, and he knew better than anyone that the mating bond wasn’t enough to guarantee success. Rowan and Aelin still needed to build a relationship. She still needed to decide that she wanted to keep him, no matter how well things were going so far. 

“I picked up the–uh–thing you asked me to today,” his cousin said after a beat of silence. 

Rowan’s stomach dropped. “Can you hang on to it for now?”

Enda just gave him a sympathetic look. “Of course.”

Rowan’s smile was grim–the best farewell he could offer right now. He pushed through the door into his room. He didn’t shift immediately, opting instead to flop face-down on the bed for a few minutes and stew in his insecurities.

He still had no idea what Aelin wanted. On the surface, it seemed like she wanted him. She’d told him he was her favourite person, after all. And every time she kissed him, he knew she felt it too–whatever this intense thing between them was. But when it came to the big things–the things that would actually require commitment, like marriage and children, she balked. He didn’t even blame her; she hadn’t known him long. But they were mates, and he was ready to give her everything whenever she was ready. Seeing her hesitate ... he couldn’t help but worry if she was balking, not because of the timeline, but because of him.

And now, he was too afraid to ask. 

So he wouldn’t.

Instead, he let out a loud groan, channeling all of his frustration and stupid worries into the sound, and got off the bed. There was nothing to be done about any of it now. He would go to Aelin and make a night of ignoring his problems.

Quickly, he changed into more comfortable clothing, forgoing his hidden weapons, and shifted. He arrived at Aelin’s room in no time. She’d left the balcony door open for him as usual, and as he swooped down to land, he saw her lying on the bed in another one of those ridiculous nightgowns.

Fuck.

Rowan realized as he shifted that all of his resolutions were about to go up in flames. They hadn’t had any proper alone time together since they’d snuck off into the gardens at the ball, and he’d been left reeling from the experience, wondering what would happen when they finally did. They’d opened a door, and now it couldn’t be closed. From the smirk on Aelin’s face and the way she was prowling towards him, he had a feeling he knew exactly what was about to happen.

She didn’t even greet him before grabbing his shirt and pulling him down into a passionate kiss. Her lips crashed against his, and that was it. He was a goner. 

Already caught up in the frenzy of it all, he desperately ran his hands over her curves, only separated from her skin by the thin layer of silk. Aelin’s tongue was in his mouth before he even had a moment to register it. He let out a groan as she pressed her body against his, sliding her hands up and around his neck. Rowan was drowning in her, and he didn’t want it to stop. He didn’t care about anything but Aelin as he hoisted her up and carried her to the bed.

Aelin’s legs wrapped around his waist as he went, and when he laid her down gently amongst the pillows, positioning himself above her, she let out a small whimper. Her hands moved from his neck to the hem of his shirt, stroking against his skin as she started pulling the fabric up and over his head. 

Rowan broke the kiss just long enough to toss his shirt to the side before leaning back in to run his tongue along that spot on her neck that she liked. She moaned his name, the sound of it setting his every sense on fire.

No, he definitely did not want to wait.

He rolled his hips against her, letting her feel his desire and coaxing more soft moans and whimpers from her beautiful lips. Rowan slid a hand along her side and down to her thigh, pulling her closer. 

Before he knew what was happening, that leg was pushing down against the bed, rolling them until she was straddling his hips. He couldn’t stop the growl that escaped him as he drank in every inch of her body above him. Aelin’s eyes were wild and dark with lust as they surveyed his bare torso. And then she bit her lip. 

He needed to be inside her now.

Rowan ran his hands up her thighs, slipping underneath the soft silk of her nightgown. As fantastic as it looked, he wanted bare skin. But before he could go any further, before he could start lifting the garment over her head or rip it to pieces, she grabbed his wrists and pushed them away. 

Her eyes were glazed with desire as she met his questioning stare, but her mouth was still twisted into a smirk. She leaned forward slowly, the soft curve of her breasts distracting him as she moved, and nipped his ear. His eyes closed at the sensation. “Have you forgotten?” she whispered against his skin. “We’re waiting.”

Why the fuck had he said that?

Before he could beg her to forget they’d ever agreed to something so stupid, Aelin was pulling away again. And as she moved down his body, trailing kisses along his skin while she went, it struck him what she was planning to do.

The movements of her lips stopped just before the edge of his pants, and she dragged her gaze up to look at him. There was nothing but mischief and power in her turquoise eyes–she was enjoying seeing him like this. He didn’t care. She could do whatever she wanted with him.

But as she moved to unfasten his pants, he couldn’t help himself from checking–

“Aelin–you don’t have to,” he breathed. He really hoped she would, though.

She just chuckled, her hands pausing as she pressed more biting kisses along his abdomen. He bit back a moan as her tongue flicked against his skin. “What?” she replied coyly. “Would you prefer me to use my hand?”

He almost laughed–would have if he could think about anything other than her mouth being so close to him. “No,” he ground out.

Aelin smirked at him again and restarted her work on his pants. He shifted his hips to help her remove them, and when the length of him sprang free, she let out a soft moan, her eyes widening ever so slightly. A small, petty part of him was still coherent enough to be satisfied with her reaction. But that satisfaction was quickly forgotten when Aelin took him into her hand. 

“Aelin. ” His voice was rough as she stroked him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she slowly, teasingly, lowered her head. She held his gaze, her eyes still smirking as she stuck out her tongue and licked him from base to tip.

Rowan loosed a loud groan at her touch. Aelin pulled away slightly and huffed a small laugh that had her breath fanning across him. Then she ran her hand along him a few more times, keeping him in suspense before finally lowering her mouth. 

“Fuck,” he barked out at the contact. The feeling of her lips and tongue sliding along him was unlike anything he’d ever felt. He didn’t fully understand how it could feel so different with Aelin, but it definitely did. A second was all he had to consider it, though, before the movement of her tongue vanished all capability of rational thought. 

He needed to touch her somewhere, anywhere, and Aelin moaned loudly as his fingers fisted in her golden hair. He forced his grip to remain gentle–he didn’t want to hold her there. 

She picked up her pace, sucking harder, as she moved her hand and mouth in tandem. Whatever worries he’d had before didn’t matter. Not when Aelin’s touch felt so gods-damned right. 

Rowan mumbled her name and patted her shoulder in warning–he was so close. But she just flicked her eyes to his, a final confirmation that she wanted this, and kept going. And when she took him deeper, moaning around him as she moved, the sight of it sent him over the edge. 

He groaned her name as release tore through him. When he finally stilled, Aelin slid her lips off of him, that arrogant smile returning. She climbed up his naked body and collapsed against his side. Rowan was still breathing heavily when she laid her head down on his shoulder, her own chest rising and falling against him. They stayed there for long moments, holding each other as he pressed soft kisses to her face.

When he could finally make sense of things again, he reached a hand to her thigh, slipping it under her nightgown–

“No,” she said, leaning up to run her canines along his jaw, “tonight was about you.” He wanted to protest and say that that was silly–that he needed to touch her, but she chuckled and went on, “Besides, I don’t think I’ll be able to abide by the no sex rule if you touch me right now.” 

All he could do was huff a laugh and kiss her. Aelin’s lips were soft against his own before she lowered her head back to his shoulder and hummed happily, her eyes drifting closed. She held him tightly for what felt like a blessed eternity, their heartbeats returning to normal. It was a shame that she wasn’t naked as well, but he supposed it gave him something to look forward to–

“Have you ever hunted wolves?”

Rowan frowned for a moment. “Why?” he said suspiciously, not answering her question.

Aelin opened her eyes and propped herself up onto an elbow so that she could peer down at him. A wicked grin slowly spread across her face, and he braced himself.

“Because that’s what we’re doing tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

“Whitethorn, you’re blushing.”

“I am not.” Rowan didn’t do such things.

A snicker. “You are. You do it every time the princess looks at you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was no way he was blushing. That hadn’t happened to him since his youth. 

Fenrys just laughed with wicked amusement from his horse nearby. “You’re not going to make a very intimidating king if you’re always flustered when she’s around.”

“I’m not flustered,” he spat, praying this conversation would end quickly. “I am very close to cutting out your tongue, though.” Rowan couldn’t stop his growl as he spoke. He was not blushing.

A mock gasp. “King Rowan, such horrid things you say.”

Rowan ignored his statement, urging his horse forward, away from the idiot. They were a small distance behind their companions, so nobody should have overheard Fenrys’s words, but he was done talking about this. Rowan did not blush.

To his dismay, Fenrys was at his side again in seconds, clearly ignoring the hint to shut up.

“What has she done to you?” the male chuckled, an eyebrow raised.

Rowan’s thoughts drifted back to the night before, and he swallowed. Twice. He didn’t want Fenrys to know exactly what Aelin had done to him. 

The woman in question twisted slightly to look behind her, meeting his gaze from her horse once again. She’d been slyly sending him heated glances all morning. Biting her lip, batting her eyelashes, sizing him up in a way that made his heart race. This time was no different. 

Rowan couldn’t help how he reacted when she was looking at him like that. When she looked like that. His skin heated with every glance and–

Fuck. Maybe he was blushing.

Aelin swept her eyes over his body one last time, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. With a wink, she turned back around to focus on the journey ahead.

True to her word, Aelin had refused to divulge whatever plan she’d concocted. All he knew was that Fenrys was involved somehow and that it was happening now. He didn’t know what role he was going to play, only that he was there to supposedly hunt wolves, along with Rhoe and the Westfalls. He had tried to get information out of Fenrys but apparently, the male was already loyal to the princess of Terrasen–not that Rowan could really judge him for that.

They’d ridden to the Oakwald forest, each armed with bows and arrows, and were soon to split up into groups of two. Each group would have one of the Fae (Aelin was included in this) so that they could use scent to track the wild beasts.

It was a bizarre way to hunt wolves. Typically one would use traps or dogs … not bows. Not that Rowan needed any weapons to get the job done. But knowing Aelin, they weren’t really there to hunt at all. This was further evidenced by the fact that Fenrys was in a disgustingly cheerful mood. He didn’t get like that unless something catastrophic was about to occur.

Chaol had also seemed a bit suspicious at the methods but had ultimately been too preoccupied to mention it. The whole journey from the castle down into the Oakwald, Aelin had entertained Chaol with exaggerated giggles and friendly banter. Rowan, on the other hand, had spent the entire journey imagining ways to shoot Chaol through the throat and pass it off as a hunting accident. 

He was pretty sure he wouldn’t actually do it. 

Pretty sure.

It was hard to formulate much of a plan when Aelin was distracting him every few minutes with her suggestive expressions. He was positive she knew what she was doing. Every look promised more. More of what they’d done last night, more of her hands, her lips, her tongue–

“You’re blushing again.”

Rowan snarled, and before Fenrys could react, a harsh gust of wind knocked him from his horse. The fool hit the ground with a yelp, and Rowan whispered so that none of the people who had turned to watch the commotion could hear, “One more word about this, and I’ll gut you.”

Fenrys just rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “I’m fine,” he called, waving to the rest of their group. “I, uh, slipped.” Then, getting back on his horse, he turned to Rowan and muttered, “What is it with you Whitethorns and using your magic to bully your friends?”

“You are not my friend,” Rowan whispered angrily.

A quiet laugh. “Please,” Fenrys scoffed without an ounce of offense on his face, “I’m one of your best friends.”

“You are not my best friend,” he hissed.

“Really? Then who is?”

Rowan shook his head, too irritated to reply. He didn’t want to talk about this. 

“Is it Enda?”

He still didn’t respond.

“Oh, Rowan,” Fenrys said slowly, a massive smile spreading across his face. “Is it Aelin? Is Aelin your best friend?” The male chuckled and mockingly brought his hands to his cheeks. “Awwww. That’s so cute–”

Rowan had smacked Fenrys across the back of his head before he even realized he was doing it. Fenrys’s eyes widened, swimming with challenge, and suddenly they were hitting each other, trapped in a battle of swearing and awkward punches. It was hard to reach between their horses, but Rowan managed. They continued like that, somehow not drawing the attention of others, until the rest of the party came to a stop in front of them.

They pulled apart, the promise to resume later hanging heavily in the air between them, and joined the group in a large circle.  

“Alright,” the king began. “Lord Westfall here was kind enough to point out that our wolf population has gotten a bit out of hand.” The Westfalls both looked a bit sheepish at the words, but neither commented as Rhoe went on. “I thought that since we were so lucky to have such an expert in our midst”–a wave at the lord of Anielle–“we should take advantage of it.”

Rowan could tell by looking at the lord that he wasn’t cut out for the task, but he just sat there looking proud, completely unwilling to reveal his lack of expertise. Rowan didn’t have much to go on, but that alone was starting to give him a sense of Aelin’s plan.

Rhoe smiled encouragingly at everyone. “As per Lord Westfall’s recommendation, we will be using bows and arrows–a new method for many of us I’m sure, but I have full faith in his judgement. I bet it’s most effective.” Lord Westfall blushed–the only sign of uncertainty he’d show and Rowan wondered if the lord realized he was being mocked. It didn’t seem like it. 

“Fenrys and I have already agreed to pair up,” the king said, earning a proud smile from the blonde male. “I find him most entertaining.”

“Are you sure you can handle this, Fenrys?” Rowan whispered rudely, his voice quiet enough the humans couldn’t hear. “You’ll be hunting your kin after all.”

The male ignored the taunt. “You’re just upset because you can’t partner with your best friend.” 

Aelin’s eyes shot to Rowan as they bickered, overhearing them with her Fae ears, and she smirked. For a second, he pathetically hoped she might ask to pair up with him. But that couldn’t be the case because each group needed one of the Fae–

“Lord Westfall, would you like to be my partner?” she said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “I’d love to have the opportunity to get to know my future father-in-law.”

Even though it was definitely part of her plan to humble the man, Rowan despised that Aelin had referred to Lord Westfall as her father-in-law. He schooled his features into neutrality nonetheless. Or tried to anyway. 

An awkward silence descended over the group as Lord Westfall delayed his answer–studying Aelin with judgement.

The look on the lord’s face told Rowan that he’d never heard such a disgusting proposal in his life. He gave Rowan a strange, longing sort of look but eventually nodded tightly. “I am still not sure that a hunt is any place for a woman, but if you insist on being here, your highness, then you will likely be safest with me.”

Rowan snorted. Aelin was the most powerful person here. But that didn’t stop Lord Westfall from giving Rowan one last disappointed look–one last wistful glance at the far more suitable male partner he could have had. 

Aelin shot him a quick look of reproach before turning a charming smile back on the lord. “I couldn’t agree more.”

But then Rowan realized what this meant. He was left with …

Chaol.

His heart leapt. Perhaps a hunting accident would be possible after all.

Aelin caught his eye again. Remember your promise, she seemed to say. 

It caused him physical pain to resist rolling his eyes, but he shot back, Of course, m’lady.

Her lips twitched ever so slightly, holding back a smile. You should call me that more often.

And what would I get in return? He had to fight a smile of his own.

I can think of some things.

But then she was looking back at Lord Westfall, initiating polite conversation. Rowan almost growled with frustration as he lost her attention to that insufferable man. She had way too much power over him.

With that, they split off, heading in three different directions to cover more ground, and Rowan was suddenly alone with his nemesis. Chaol trailed behind him for a while, his heart pounding a little bit quickly, but eventually, he found some courage and brought his horse up next to Rowan’s.

“You’re very heavily armed,” he observed, a chuckle and something else that Rowan didn’t like in his voice. “I didn’t realize hunting wolves required so many weapons.” 

Was that ... sarcasm?

Rowan didn’t deign to look at him, even as his blood boiled at the tone. “It’s always good to be prepared, boy,” he replied coldly. He didn’t actually think Chaol was a boy, but Rowan had been given so few opportunities to be condescending to his enemy’s face. This was a chance he wouldn’t waste. “Though, I don’t think you could carry all of this.”

Chaol’s shoulders slumped a bit at the insult. Good.

But to Rowan’s great displeasure, he recovered quickly. “I hope Aelin survives my father,” he mused.

“Aelin is an amazing woman. She can handle herself.”

“You would say that,” Chaol muttered, something shifting in his voice. Rowan finally looked at the man. Chaol was watching him carefully, his face a mix of fear and determination and–entitlement? It was entitlement.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Chaol’s throat bobbed, but he didn’t back down at the threat in Rowan’s words. “It means, Prince Rowan, that I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“What.”

“You’re in love with her,” he said bluntly, completely unaware of who he was talking to. “You’re always gazing at her longingly, trying to be around her–like that night at the tavern, and when you danced with her at the ball.” Chaol took a pause and a deep breath before continuing on, “But she’s not interested in you. She belongs to me.”

Rowan barked out a cruel laugh that had Chaol flinching. “Aelin doesn’t belong to anyone,” he hissed, unable to hide that the subject had touched a nerve. She was his, but she didn’t belong to him.

“I’m going to marry her,” Chaol stated as if it refuted what Rowan had said. “You need to let it go.” 

And suddenly, Rowan didn’t care about the promise he’d made to Aelin. He was going to kill him. Slowly. Rowan was going to rip out his tongue so that he would never be able to say her name again and skin him–

A scream pierced the tense silence that had fallen over them.

“That was my father,” Chaol panicked, suddenly looking to him for help. But Rowan didn’t care about Lord Westfall. 

Aelin was with him. His mate was with that worthless man. 

The fear that rushed through his veins was almost enough to rip his heart clean out of his chest. It had him slipping into a horrifying, murderous calm. It didn’t matter that he knew Aelin had some sort of plot going. It didn’t matter that Aelin may well have been the cause of that scream. He had to get to her.

Rowan had shifted, abandoned his horse, and was flying above the trees before Chaol could even understand what was happening. He heard shouts for him to wait, but he didn’t care. Not while Aelin needed him. 

______

Aelin had just about had it with Lord Westfall by the time they got to a grassy clearing between the trees. The insufferable man had spent their entire twenty minutes together explaining to her why a hunt was no place for a woman. She’d had no choice but to nod along pleasantly. Normally, she would have told him exactly what he thought of his stupid opinions, but she couldn’t risk him running off before her plan was set in motion.

As their horses trotted into the clearing, Lord Westfall maintained his lecturing. He hadn’t made any attempt to be quiet, despite the fact that they were hunting. Stealth wasn’t required for her plan, but gods above did the man not know what he was doing.

“–that’s why in Anielle, it’s encouraged that women only wear dresses. It’s far more civilized.”

Aelin glowered at the back of his head. The plan had been to make him take the lead, but he’d fallen into that position all on his own with a comment about how he wouldn’t have a woman absentmindedly leading him into a den of beasts. It really shouldn’t have surprised her how blatant his opinions on women were, considering what he’d had the nerve to say publicly at the dinner party with the Fae, but somehow … it did.

The lord hadn’t faltered once since splitting off from the group. Not in his spewing of bizarre old beliefs or his completely undeserved confidence. Apparently, he had so fully committed to the idea that he was a master hunter that he was willing to die before admitting his ineptitude.

Their horses approached the centre of the clearing, and Aelin pulled up to a stop. “Lord Westfall,” she whispered. “I heard something–over there.” She pointed to the tree line.

He stopped his horse and turned in his saddle to glare at her. “It’s a forest, you silly girl. Not every sound is–” but he paused. A branch snapped. And then another.

The lord’s throat bobbed, his heart starting to race, but a look of cruel conviction found its way onto his face. He dismounted his horse–for what reason Aelin could not discern–and pulled his bow from his back. “Stay on your horse, Princess. If the beast attacks, I won’t have you damaging your womb by running.”

Damaging … her womb … by running?

She wanted to trample him with her horse for such a stupid statement, but she resisted as he began making his way toward the tree line. He nocked an arrow as he crept through the grass, making unbelievable amounts of noise–though, perhaps he didn’t know that without Fae hearing. The scent of his fear washed over her, but he didn’t waver in his foolish resolve to face the problem head-on. Lord Westfall just drew his arrow back while she watched him move. 

Aelin saw it before he did–the massive white wolf stalking out of the darkness of the trees. He couldn’t see it, not with human eyes–

“Lord Westfall! ” she yelled in warning.

Her words were a trigger, snapping the tense silence into chaos. The giant wolf leapt from the trees, running straight for Lord Westfall, teeth bared. He screamed as he loosed his arrow, but he hadn’t drawn it back far enough–nor did he aim it, and the arrow flopped into the grass in front of him.

There was nothing she could do to stop the wolf from colliding with the lord. Nothing she could do to stop his next scream as the wolf closed its jaws around his boot and started dragging him off toward the trees.

Later he might wonder why the wolf didn’t pierce his skin–why it left his ankle uninjured, but right now, he was too busy screeching orders at Aelin. 

Kill it! 

Shoot it! 

Do something, idiot girl!

Only Lord Westfall could still deliver an order with condescension while begging for his life.

When the scent of his fear turned deeper, and the orders turned into hopeless whimpering, she urged her horse forward. She sped across the clearing, aiming straight for the wolf. It dropped Lord Westfall at the sight of her, loosing a vicious growl of warning, causing her horse to rear back in fear. But she stayed in her saddle, reigns in one hand while she lifted the other to the sky.

With a cry of her own, she unleashed the fury of her magic on the world.

_____

Rowan flew low enough that Chaol could follow him through the trees if he wanted, but beyond that, the man was on his own. 

His heart pounded in his ears as he desperately searched for Aelin, following the pull of the very thing that bound them together. The trees were too dense to spot her yet, even with his hawk eyes.

Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?

He wasn’t wondering long. 

One moment, the forest was chirping with its usual sounds, and the next, it was silent. Totally and utterly silent as a wave of terrifying, monumental power swept over the trees, the shock of it nearly knocking him from the sky. 

That silence only hung in the air for a moment–the calm before the storm. And then all hell broke loose.

Cobalt flames, so bright they were hard to look at, erupted into the sky ahead of him. 

There she is.

Rowan almost vomited with relief. He harnessed the winds, pushing himself faster until a clearing was beneath him, and he could see Aelin erupting like a vengeful god.

He shifted as he landed nearby, close enough that she could see him but not close enough to interfere. And he wouldn’t interfere–not when he saw the white wolf standing over Lord Westfall’s quivering form. 

Aelin hadn’t aimed her flames at anyone. She was just unleashing them into the sky in a fearsome display while the lord’s eyes widened with terror. 

He hadn’t seen Aelin’s magic before. 

The white wolf’s eyes were wide too, as it started taking slow, hesitant steps back. Anyone that didn’t know better would assume the wolf feared her, but Rowan knew well enough that its eyes were wide with wonder. 

Lord Westfall curled up into a ball, covering his head with his hands and murmuring prayers. Between those prayers, he moaned a weak order over and over.

Kill it. Kill it. Kill it.

Chaol Westfall burst from the trees on the other side of the clearing, an expression of terror much like his father’s spreading over his face. He gaped at the maelstrom of blue fire swirling above them.

“Begone, beast, ” Aelin yelled with dramatic flair. But the wolf did no such thing–picking up Lord Westfall again by the scruff of his jacket and continuing to retreat backward. 

Tears were streaming down the Lord’s face as he yelled, “ Help me, you bitch! ”

The white wolf’s eyes narrowed at the words–as did Rowan’s, but Aelin was unaffected. In a move that felt like gravity itself shifted, pulling them all towards her–so much so that Rowan found himself taking a step closer–she sucked her magic back inside. The cobalt storm swirling in the sky shrunk and shrunk and shrunk until it was coiling around her hand–a tempest ready to strike. All of that power condensed into one unstoppable, killing blow.

She drew back her hand, and real terror flitted through the wolf’s eyes as she sent the ball of flames hurtling toward it. The White Wolf of Doranelle dropped Lord Westfall with a yelp, and darted to the side, dodging the magic and fleeing back into the trees. 

Her flames cut through the clearing, leaving everyone unharmed until they collided with a stand of dry, dead trees. The trees went up in flames immediately, unable to withstand the heat of her magic, and Lord Westfall let out another terrified scream. He scrambled backward, managing to get to his feet, and sprinted over to Rowan, hiding behind him.

Rowan looked at his mate, waiting for her to do something, but she was frozen, her mouth hanging open. This wasn’t part of her plan.

So quietly, he almost didn’t catch it, she whimpered his name–a plea for help. Without a second thought, he pulled the air from the end of the clearing, suffocating the flames as he walked toward her. It required more of his magic than he anticipated, the strain causing a bead of sweat to slide down his forehead. 

Gods, her magic was something else. Even as it welcomed him, inviting him to fuel the flames rather than stifle them, it fought back. But Rowan ignored that invitation–that urge to give in to not only the thrall of his own magic but Aelin’s too. Ignored it until the flames were nothing but smoke and ash raining down from the sky. 

He walked over to her horse, reaching up to help her dismount. She looked like she wanted to protest, but they both knew the odds of her toppling out of the saddle right now were high. Rowan kept a steadying arm around her shoulders after her feet touched the ground, only to be replaced by an angry Chaol moments later.

Chaol pulled Aelin into his arms, shooting a look of warning at Rowan, but a muscle clenching in his jaw was all the emotion he’d show. “What happened?” the man demanded.

Aelin let out a breathy laugh, exhaustion weighing heavily on her. She finally answered between ragged breaths, “Lord Westfall just had a bit of a fright.”

“A bit of a fright? ” the lord repeated hysterically, coming up to join the group. His clothes were torn and covered in dirt, his hair dishevelled from being dragged through the grass. “I was just attacked by the largest wolf I’ve ever seen in my life!” His face turned purple as he spoke. “And then you nearly burnt the whole forest to ash, you crazed imbecile!”

Rage flashed across Aelin’s face, but it was gone a second later. “I saved your life.”

“And then nearly ended it yourself!”

“I’m surprised you needed the help considering all we heard of your hunting prowess,” Rowan cut in coldly. Aelin’s turquoise eyes turned grateful. He knew she preferred to fight her own battles, but she was flagging right now–too tired from drawing up her magic so quickly.

It seemed to do the job of reinvigorating her. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of–being afraid of wolves,” she said to Lord Westfall, her voice full of mock sympathy. 

The man’s face managed to turn so purple that Rowan was tempted to check that he was still breathing. “You b– ”

“Father, ” Chaol said sharply, taking Rowan by surprise. “Aelin has just saved your life. You will speak to her with respect.” Rowan rolled his eyes at the chivalry but opted not to comment. 

Lord Westfall was giving his son a look of absolute loathing, and Aelin placed a hand on his shoulder–an attempt at consoling her false father-in-law. “Shall we get you home? Perhaps put on some tea?”

The lord’s face became murderous. Enough so that Rowan found himself reaching for his magic, ready to protect his mate against retribution. He had never seen someone look so humiliated–had never seen anyone hate a person as much as the lord now hated Aelin.

“Do not condescend to me, girl,” he spat, shaking off her hand. He advanced on her, a finger now pointed in her face, and Rowan found himself stepping between them but–

King Rhoe and Fenrys (now back in his Fae form) had emerged from the trees, horses rushing forward. Lord Westfall dropped his hand at the sight of Terrasen’s king, clearly not wanting to be executed for upsetting Rhoe’s daughter.

“Fireheart, are you alright?” Rhoe said as he slipped from his horse and pulled her out of Chaol’s arms. Rowan hadn’t heard anyone call her Fireheart before.

Aelin visibly relaxed at her father’s touch (or perhaps the absence of Chaol’s) and nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“What happened?” the king demanded. He was a good actor, considering he was definitely in on this plan.

Chaol jumped at the chance to speak and regaled them all with an epic retelling of Aelin’s heroics. Lord Westfall seethed the entire time, but there was nothing he could do about it. Despite his hatred and humiliation, as far as he knew, Aelin truly had saved him. 

When Chaol was finished, he turned to Aelin, adoration plain on his face. “Thank you for taking care of my father.”

Her face turned serious. “One always looks after family.” Then she gave both of the Westfalls a pointed look of devotion. It was so convincing that even Rowan almost fell for it. 

Everyone turned to Lord Westfall, waiting. The look of conflict on the man’s face was priceless. He was clearly torn between manners and murder, but after a long pause, he said, every word strained, “Thank you for your help, your highness.” 

Aelin just smiled innocently at him. 

“You’re very welcome.

______

“If your plan was to get out of the engagement by having Lord Westfall murder you, I think you’re going to succeed,” Rowan chuckled. 

Aelin snorted. “He already hated me. I’m just helping him do something about it.” 

“I could have known–about your plan.”

“Sorry,” she cooed. “I don’t know much about your acting skills yet, and your reaction needed to be genuine enough that Chaol didn’t get suspicious.”

Rowan just grumbled something unintelligible. Aelin giggled at the sight as she swirled her glass of wine. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, still glowing from the memory of Lord Westfall’s humiliation. “His face was priceless, Aedion,” she said to her cousin, “I wish you could have been there to see it.

“I’m sure it was a sight to behold,” he reassured with a grin. “Though I’m tempted to increase your security detail.”

She smacked his leg reproachfully. Her cousin had settled into the pillows on her bed like he owned the place and was drinking his weight in wine. She and Rowan, who was perched in an armchair nearby, had just finished updating him on the evening’s events. “You know I hate that idea.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Rowan agreed to her surprise, placing his own wine glass down on the small table beside him.

“What?”

“Well, I’m not always around,” he replied matter-of-factly, “and I don’t think we’ve seen the full extent of how unhinged the Westfalls are yet.”

For a moment, Aelin saw red. “I can protect myself,” she spat indignantly. “I don’t need the two of you hanging around like guard dogs. Or anybody else for that matter.”

Rowan’s lips tightened into a thin line, but he seemed to realize he’d be in trouble if he pushed the issue further. Her cousin knew it too–this was only the millionth time they’d had this fight.

After a long pause, Aedion made a thoughtful sound, his face twisting with confusion. He pushed himself up to sit against the headboard and asked, “What did you mean by unhinged?”

A good question. She’d almost missed that in her anger. 

Rowan’s eyes darted anxiously between the two of them, then he picked up his wine and took a long sip. A pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable. 

“Rowan,” she pushed, “did Chaol say something today?” 

He met her gaze again, guilt on every line of his face. “I don’t want to get in the middle of your friendsh–”

“Of course you do!” she said with a disbelieving laugh. “You love getting between me and Chaol! So don’t stop now. Spit it out, you buzzard.”

“Buzzard?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes. Buzzard. Now speak.”

Her mate pursed his lips, clearly weighing the pros and cons of potentially pissing her off more. She raised her eyebrows expectantly. Well?

He sighed and discarded his empty wine glass. “Chaol seems to have noticed that I’m … interested in you and told me to back off.”

Aelin’s already raised eyebrows somehow moved even higher. “He knows?”

“Not exactly. He thinks it’s one-sided. He said you don’t return my feelings and that you belong to him because he’s going to marry you.”

“He said that I belong to him?” She threw back the rest of her wine and started stomping around the room. “ What. The. Fuck?” she bellowed, each word punctuated by another stomp of her feet. 

“And we’re the ones you call territorial bastards,” Aedion muttered.

“ Shut up,” she snapped. “I know he wants me, but to go around telling other people that I belong to him–he said he wanted to do better! This isn’t better.” Rowan opened his mouth to speak, but Aelin wasn’t done with her rant. “He said he wasn’t going to try and control me again. I don’t belong to anybody .” 

“That’s what I told him,” her mate replied firmly.

For a second, those words made her pause. Rowan was giving her such a meaningful look–showing her that he would never think of her as something to be possessed. It warmed her heart ... until it didn’t anymore, and the rage swept back in.

“Was everything a lie?” Aelin waved her hands in front of her in emphasis as she spoke. “Why would he do that? Why would he apologize and say he wanted to be my friend if he didn’t mean it?”

The males remained silent. She looked at Rowan for an answer, but he refused to meet her stare, his face carefully neutral. So she spun on her heel and glared at Aedion instead.

He chuckled. “Do you really need an answer to that?” Aelin glared at him–a silent order to elaborate, but she only got a smirk in return. “You know why, Aelin,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Aelin groaned in frustration and plopped back down onto her bed in defeat. “Men are so gross,” she grumbled, putting her head in her hands. She heard the two of them laughing in agreement, neither one bothering to refute her claim. Typical.

“What do you want to do about it?” Rowan asked eventually.

She pulled her face from her hands and met his gaze. “I don’t know,” she sighed, “maybe nothing.” It came out like a question, and his green eyes tightened ever so slightly. “If I call him out on it, he’ll know that we’re close enough to talk about … stuff like this.” 

Rowan frowned, obviously thinking of a way to argue with her, to convince her to kick Chaol to the curb, but he came up short. His brow creased with frustration and his frown turned into an outright scowl.

“I think I just have to pretend that I don’t know and tolerate him as best I can.”

A snort. “That’s bullshit,” her mate concluded.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“We could kill him,” Aedion offered.

“I like that idea,” Rowan said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “Just today, Chaol nearly died in a hunting accident.”

Aelin glowered at them both, completely unamused by their jokes. “Nobody is dying.” 

Her cousin sighed loudly as if she were taking away his favourite toy. “Fine,” he drawled. “A hunting accident is a good idea, though. I could bring him with me tomorrow and put him in danger. You just say the word.”

“What do you mean?” She hadn’t heard anything about Aedion going hunting tomorrow.

“I just got the order a few hours ago,” he explained. “I’m going on a three-day trip to one of the villages nearby. They’re having ghost leopard problems.”

Aelin’s heart sank at the words. Ghost leopards hunted people–her people. “Has anyone been killed?” she asked solemnly.

“Surprisingly, no,” Aedion said in a strange voice. “In fact, that is sort of the problem.”

Rowan cleared his throat. “You’re going to hunt a ghost leopard because it isn’t hunting people?”

“The reports are … weird. Villagers say that the ghost leopard shows up regularly, roars and chases people around a bit, but hasn’t actually attacked anyone.”

“That’s really strange,” she agreed with a frown. She’d never heard of a ghost leopard coming up against people and not trying to kill them.

Aedion nodded. “And here’s the really interesting part,” he said, his voice filled with intrigue, “one person claims they saw the ghost leopard dragging off a sack of apples.”

“Dragging off a sack of apples? ” Aelin repeated incredulously. “A ghost leopard?”

Her cousin just shrugged. “It’s not acting normally, so myself and some other members of the Bane are going to check it out.”

She took a moment to consider his words–how odd Aedion’s new quest was. “As long as you don’t bring it back with you,” Aelin eventually said with a laugh.

“What? You don’t think it would make a good pet?”

She gave him a wry smile. “I wouldn’t mind having one around, but we both know you’re petrified of them. I’m surprised you’re even allowed to go on this mission–”

Aelin was interrupted by a pillow to the face. 

There was a beat of silence. She blinked at Aedion, and then–

“You’re going to regret that,” she growled before jumping into motion.

The cousins devolved into pillow-fighting barbarians, hissing and tickling and wrestling. A few punches were even thrown, but they’d had a long-standing agreement since they were children to never go for the face so Rowan didn't need to intervene. Her mate just stayed where he was in his armchair fighting off a smile and rolling his eyes occasionally like he didn’t find the whole thing incredibly amusing.

When the battle was won, Aedion emerging victorious and Aelin complaining that Rowan should have defended her honour, the rest of the evening fell into a pleasant pattern of small talk and wine-drinking. It was only when a familiar calloused hand touched her cheek that Aelin realized she’d dozed off with her cousin at her side. 

“I’m going to head back to my room,” Rowan whispered.

They were hideous words, but she knew he was trying to give her time with Aedion before he left–even if they were just sleeping. “I’m sorry,” she offered weakly.

Rowan smiled. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Then he leaned in and kissed her softly. It was over too soon. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Aelin hummed happily at that and gripped his shirt to pull him back down for another kiss. He chuckled but obliged, and when he retreated, she almost blurted out something catastrophic–something so ridiculous and terrifying and entirely premature that even she was shocked. She pushed those warm, confusing feelings back into their box, hoping Rowan didn’t notice the way her heart was pounding, and smiled like nothing had happened.

“Goodnight.”

Chapter Text

Aelin woke up alone the next morning, her cousin already having crept out of her room to go hunt his ghost leopard. It was a small mercy because she wasn’t ready to see anyone. 

After what she’d almost said to Rowan last night, almost blurted out without ceremony or respect for the consequences, she hadn’t been able to get to sleep for hours. Aelin had just stared up at the ceiling, awake in her bed, trying to find the exact moment she’d ended up in this dangerous situation. It had been useless, of course, but that hadn’t stopped her from driving herself mad, nitpicking every kiss and look and word.

There was no way she could deal with this yet, no way she could give him that much power over her. It had only been two weeks, for fuck’s sake. She couldn’t even think the words, let alone say them. But as hard as she tried to seal them away deep within herself, she just couldn’t. The whole thing had put her in a horrible mood.

At least Rowan wasn’t there to see it. She wasn’t training with him until later, but she still knew the whole day would be forfeit to hell, no matter how much time she had to shake off her nerves.

Aelin rolled over in her bed, able to fully spread out like a starfish for the first time in days. She used to love sleeping like that but now … well, she preferred to be wrapped tightly in Rowan’s arms. Her anxiety wasn’t the only reason she’d slept poorly last night.

She stayed like that for long minutes, thinking and worrying as long as she possibly could before she had to get up. Unfortunately, she hadn’t scheduled any time for moping today and was due to meet Elide for breakfast in twenty minutes. She couldn’t cancel because her friend would be leaving for Perranth right after.

Maybe it was a good thing. Breakfast was being served in Aelin’s sitting room, giving them the opportunity for a truly private conversation. Maybe she could get some advice.

Or maybe that would just be letting one more person see how vulnerable she was right now. One more person who could take that information and crush her with it.

Aelin pushed herself up to sit and took in the damage. Aedion had left bottles of wine all over the surfaces of her room, but otherwise, things were mostly intact. Her cousin often left a trail of destruction behind him when he drank, so this was a win.

She groaned as she swung her feet off the bed and dragged herself into her closet. Elide better not be expecting much in terms of a beautiful outfit because today, Aelin was not going to deliver. The drab grey tunic and black leggings she pulled from her closet were the best she had to offer. She’d considered throwing out this particular outfit countless times–Aedion told her to burn it every time she wore it. It really did nothing for her, but it was so gods-damned comfortable. And today that’s all she cared about. 

A simple braid completed the look, though Aelin was still bitter that her green ribbon was missing. She’d asked the staff to keep an eye out for it, but it hadn’t turned up. Nor had her hairbrush, though she’d already replaced it. 

The servants arrived moments later, karting in platters of breakfast foods for her and her friend to pick through. When the sitting room was filled with the scent of fresh baked goods and a cup of tea was in her hand, Aelin slumped down onto the sofa and loosed an uncivilized moan of frustration up at the ceiling.

A sharp laugh behind her had her snapping to attention, almost spilling her tea all over her lap. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Elide chuckled, an eyebrow raised.

Aelin’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Elide was standing in her doorway, and she looked amazing. Her dark hair was swept up into an elegant braid that circled her head, and she was wearing a lovely black dress that did wonders for her breasts. Suddenly, Aelin was regretting her ugly blob of a tunic. Not enough to change, though. 

“I had a terrible sleep,” she said, offering a half-truth. The best lies were always mixed with the truth.

Unsurprisingly, Elide was unconvinced. “People have bad sleeps all the time, but they don’t all look like this.”

Perhaps making an intelligent friend had been a bad idea. It was going to be hard to seal her feelings away in a box if Elide could pick the fucking lock.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she moaned.

A snort. “I don’t believe that for a second. If you didn’t want someone to notice that something was wrong, you wouldn’t be dressed like that.”

For some reason, the words stung slightly. Aelin knew the outfit wasn’t great, but she didn’t think it was that bad–

“If you tell me what it is, we might be able to fix it,” Elide ordered, coming to sit on the couch next to her. 

Aelin set her tea down between the baked goods on the low table before them and pulled her knees to her chest. She considered the offer. Spilling her soul was the last thing she wanted to do, but Elide just saw too damned much. She wasn’t going to be able to hide it from her. Hell, the woman had probably already figured it out with her supernatural powers of observation.

She sighed loudly in defeat. “I–um–”

Good start, Aelin.

“I really–” she tried again and failed. A pause and a deep breath. “I really like Rowan.”

Elide’s brow furrowed. “And?” When Aelin didn’t elaborate, her face scrunched up with confusion. “We already knew that, didn’t we? He’s your mate. Of course, you like him.”

Aelin groaned. “No–I really like Rowan.”

Her friend just blinked at her. “And that’s a problem?”

“Yes!” she snapped. “Obviously!”

Elide frowned at her–not from her tone but from the lack of logic to Aelin’s words. “I don’t … understand.”

Aelin’s shoulders drooped, and she leaned her head back against the sofa. “I like him too much,” she clarified. The words were met with silence, so she went on, “What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Understanding bloomed on Elide’s face, and she brought a comforting hand to Aelin’s shoulder. “Why wouldn’t he?” she asked gently.

Aelin didn’t want to think about the answer to that question. Didn’t want to think of all the reasons people had given up on her in the past. All the times she’d been called impossible, hopeless, insane, monstrous, uncontrollable, and whatever the fuck else people said about her while gossiping over a pint. Heck, Rowan had been sent here because of those rumours.

She shook her head, refusing to answer. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted quietly. “I can’t give him everything yet. I can’t give him that power.”

Elide pursed her lips as she thought through the confession. “Aelin,” she began, her voice soothing, “‘I only saw him the one time, but I saw enough to know that he adores you.” Aelin wanted to protest but didn’t get the chance. “Telling him that you … like him isn’t giving him power over you. It’s just sharing a part of yourself that I think he very much wants to see.”

Aelin cringed at the words. She hated mushy, sentimental shit like this. It always pulled at something inside her chest, making her feel things she hadn’t consented to feel. Elide wasn’t necessarily wrong, but at the end of the day, she didn’t know what was going on in Rowan’s head. Disturbingly accurate observational skills be damned.

“I embarrassed Lord Westfall yesterday.” Her voice was hoarse as she changed the subject. It was the coward’s way out, but she couldn’t stand one more second of having her heart in the open for Elide to see.

Her friend’s face turned amused, though there was something like disappointment in her eyes. Luckily, she didn’t push the issue further as she started digging into the breakfast foods. “Well, that’s a story I’d like to hear.”

So Aelin recounted the events of the previous evening, how she’d frightened and humiliated Lord Westfall with her dramatic rescue. How he hated her more than ever.

“Do you think it’s working?” Elide asked.

She hummed as she considered. “I’m not sure,” she admitted with a frown. “There’s no way he thinks I’m a suitable wife at this point–he hates me so much, and the only thing I can give his son is a boost in rank … but they’re still here.”

“Were you expecting them to flee?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Aelin chuckled. That reminded her of the bet she’d made with Rowan. Her mate owed her some money. 

“Maybe they’re just waiting out the month? Anielle is pretty far. They might want a bit more time to rest before they have to head back.” 

“Maybe …” Aelin shook her head. “I’m just worried that Lord Westfall’s hunger for power goes beyond whether he likes me or thinks I can provide children. If he doesn’t care about that and just wants Chaol to have a position in Terrasen’s court, no matter the cost … how do I fight that?”

Elide swallowed a bite of her scone. “Have you considered just telling Chaol that you don’t want to marry him?”

“No,” Aelin scoffed. “That wouldn’t work at all. He doesn’t have a choice in this.”

“Doesn’t he?” Elide countered. “He’s a man. His father can’t actually force him to marry you, and if you told him how you felt, maybe you could get him to call things off for you. Then Lord Westfall would blame his son and not Terrasen.”

Aelin hadn’t thought of doing that. Of trying to convince Chaol to break the engagement for her. Just yesterday she would have considered it–when she thought Chaol genuinely cared about her feelings but now …

“I don’t think Chaol would be willing to do that.”

“Because he’s too afraid to go against his father?”

“Partly,” she sighed, “but also because he isn’t the man I thought he was. I don’t think he would be willing to withdraw his claim on me.”

“What do you mean?”

Aelin took a quick sip of tea and met her friend’s dark eyes. “Yesterday, he told Rowan that I belonged to him.”

Elide’s face twisted with disgust and surprise, but she joked, “And he’s alive? ”

“Yeah,” Aelin laughed. “I was surprised too.”

Her friend chuckled. “The Westfalls certainly know how to live on the edge, don’t they?”

“They most certainly do.”

“Well, if that plan isn’t going to work,” Elide said after a moment, “then maybe you need to change your tactics.”

Aelin straightened. “I’m listening.”

Elide’s smile turned wicked. “Instead of trying to make them think you’re an unsuitable match, maybe you need to make Chaol look like the unsuitable one.”

“How would that help?”

“You’re trying to get them to call off the engagement so that Lord Westfall doesn’t retaliate, right?” Aelin nodded, so Elide went on, “What if Chaol got caught doing something so disgraceful that even Lord Westfall couldn’t blame you for rejecting him?”

“That’s–” a pause “–an amazing idea. What the fuck Elide?”

Her friend just laughed at the vulgar praise. She wouldn’t have even considered such a plan until now, but after what Chaol had said to Rowan, after how disrespectful he had been, treating her like an object to be owned … she could do it.

It didn’t have to be anything life-ruining. Just something bad enough that it was too scandalous for the royal family of Terrasen to tie themselves to him. He’d still be able to find some lord’s daughter to marry, but a queen, well, a queen would be off-limits. 

“You’re a fucking genius,” Aelin said, repeating her praise with a grin.

Elide preened. “I didn’t want to brag.”

Together they laughed and devoured their breakfast foods, Aelin feeling so much lighter now that she had a new idea of how to deal with the Westfalls. When their breakfast was finished, they exchanged hugs and drawn-out farewells and agreed to write to each other regularly. 

As Elide got up to leave, she looked over Aelin one last time. “Will you promise to change out of that terrible tunic before Rowan sees you in it?”

Aelin laughed at the insult, though the words reminded her of their earlier conversation. She deflated a bit, but kept a bright smile plastered on her face.

“Maybe.”

_____

“So, umm, how are you doing today?” Rowan asked hesitantly.

They’d just finished up their training for the day, and Aelin had been … well, it hadn’t been a good session. Whatever had allowed her to recreate the golden dragon the other day, shapeless as it had been, was not present today. Instead, training had consisted of his mate shouting curses and occasionally sending angry sparks flying from her hand. She’d barely been able to produce any magic at all. Rowan had intended to move onto more controlled exercises, to start training her in precision, but they’d have to try again another time.

He could tell something was very wrong. Aelin’s magic was volatile and connected with her emotions, after all. But even if he hadn’t seen her utterly fail with her flames today, her appearance would have been evidence enough.

It wasn’t possible for him to think she was anything other than beautiful. She was stunning, no matter how dishevelled she looked. But that tunic was just … very different from her other clothes. Rowan didn’t really care about clothes, but Aelin did, so it was bizarre to see her in something so unflattering. Though he’d never admit to it, he almost hoped today was one of those days where she accidentally set her clothes on fire.

“I’m fine.” Her voice was sharp, but the tips of her ears had turned pink.

He frowned at her. “If there’s something you want to to talk about–”

“I’m fine, you buzzard,” she insisted, cutting him off.

He still wasn’t sure about the new nickname, but he let it slide knowing that more important things were going on. Aelin was stifling something, he could tell. Rowan didn’t know what it was, but whatever was bothering her, whatever she was choosing not to face, was pushing her magic down as well.

Aelin met his gaze, her turquoise eyes glimmering with something he couldn’t place, and let out a long sigh. “I just had a bad sleep.”

He scanned her face. She certainly wasn’t lying about that. The dark circles that had started fading since his arrival had come back with a vengeance. At least the hollows of her cheeks were filling out a little since she’d started eating properly again.

She blushed some more while he looked her over, a million emotions flitting across her face. What had happened to her?

“Did I–” he tried. “Did I do something wrong?”

Aelin’s eyes widened, and she let out a strange laugh–as if she found something surprising or … ironic, maybe? “No,” she assured him with a chuckle. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it?”

Her face tightened, and she lifted a hand to fiddle with her messy braid. “I’m just … there’s a lot going on right now.”

“With the Westfalls?

“With everyone.”

Rowan couldn’t help the way his stomach twisted at the words, but she’d said he’d done nothing wrong–

Aelin pulled him from his worries with a gentle hand on his face. Her eyes were soft as she ran her thumb along his cheekbone. “There’s nothing you need to worry about,” she murmured, pulling him down so that their foreheads touched.

He relaxed as much as he could with her reassurance but couldn’t help the crooked smile he gave her as he confessed, “I’m always going to be worried about you, I think.”

She loosed a breathy laugh. “I know what you mean.”

“Are you saying you worry about me, Aelin Galathynius?” he teased, sliding an arm around her waist.

Aelin rolled her eyes but didn’t protest as he brought their bodies close together. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her. It wasn’t a heated kiss. It wasn’t fast or deep, just gentle. Soft. Rowan tried to pour as much affection into it as he could, an effort to vanish whatever was troubling her. 

But when he pulled back, somehow, he’d made the problem worse. Aelin’s eyes were lined with silver, swimming with that same mystery emotion from before.

“I didn’t realize I was such a bad kisser,” he joked, trying to lift the mood. He’d given up hope that she was going to tell him what was bothering her, but he could still try to cheer her up.

The joke seemed to have worked because Aelin’s eyes lit up with a familiar wickedness. “You’ll improve.”

He scoffed, but she rolled onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. She buried her face in his neck and let out a sigh. 

Suddenly her heartbeat had picked up, beating wildly in her chest.“Rowan?” she said, her voice small and muffled. 

“Yes?”

“I–” A long pause. “I’m glad you came to Terrasen.”

Rowan smiled against her hair and tightened his arms around her waist. He had a feeling that wasn’t what she’d wanted to say but wouldn’t push her. There would be plenty of time for whatever was on her mind later. Whenever she was ready.

“Me too.”

_____

Aelin knew she probably should have cancelled all her training for the day, but somehow, she found herself drifting down to the courtyard to train with Chaol anyway. Even though Aedion wouldn’t be present, they’d agreed to spar together nonetheless. That had been before she’d realized Chaol was a closeted misogynist, but she couldn’t bring herself to call it off. She was angry. And angry Aelin liked to thwack people with sparring sticks.

If she was being honest, she was mostly angry at herself. There wasn’t a lot of logic to the feeling. It was just the reality she found herself in. The medley of feelings she had for Rowan was drowning her, and she felt totally helpless. Feeling helpless made her angry. 

When he’d kissed her like she was the most precious thing in existence, she’d almost broken down completely. He was too much. Too lovely and attentive and caring. And she was a coward. A fucking coward.

So instead of facing her fears, she would take her feelings out on Chaol.

The man in question was waiting when she arrived in the courtyard. He smiled as she approached, already having fetched the sparring sticks, and held one out for her to take. Aelin accepted the offering with a tight-lipped smile. She hoped they could keep the small talk to a minimum; she wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be nice.

“Rough day?” Chaol asked with a chuckle.

Aelin knew what she looked like. Everyone she’d seen today had commented on it in their own way, after all. Rowan hadn’t mentioned it directly. He’d just tried to ask her how she was, had kissed her, and tried to take care of her. The charming beast. She frowned at the thought and the man in front of her. “What do you mean?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

He looked her up and down with a half-smile. “Not your best look is it?”

Aelin glared but didn’t deign to answer his question. She was dressed poorly, but she was also in her Fae form. She hoped his comment was in reference to the former. “How’s your father?” she forced herself to ask.

Chaol smirked. “He’s about as well as you’d expect. Angry and embarrassed. I’m not sure if he’s more upset that he needed to be saved from a wolf or that it was a woman that saved him.”

Despite herself, despite the fact that Chaol wasn’t exactly a champion of women’s rights, Aelin chuckled a bit at the news. “At least he’s alive to worry about such things.”

“Indeed,” Chaol agreed, chuckling himself. Then his face turned serious. “That was quite a display–your magic, I mean.”

Aelin stiffened. She didn’t want to have this conversation right now. “Shall we get on with training then?” 

Chaol gave her a look of concern that seemed genuine enough, though it shifted to concentration when she raised her wooden sparring stick.

Aedion and her would often train with real weapons, but they’d switched to sticks when Chaol had started joining them. She hadn’t known what his skill level would be, and having him face her cousin with an actual blade felt risky. Aedion didn’t hold back.

Today, neither would she. 

Aelin lunged for him. She didn’t want to start with slow exploratory moves. She didn’t really even want to bother warming up. All she wanted was to lose herself in battle.

Chaol met her blow for blow as she attacked but couldn’t stop her from forcing him backward. There wasn’t much finesse to her moves–Aedion would cringe to see her fight so sloppily, but it allowed her to put all of her strength and frustration into every swing. 

Her opponent went to sweep out her legs, and she jumped to dodge the blow. A burst of pain appeared on her thigh–her dodge hadn’t been quick enough to clear the attack completely–but she didn’t care. She just growled and brought her stick over her head as if it were a wood axe aimed at Chaol’s head. He stepped out of the way, parrying the attack with a confused frown on his face. But there wasn’t time for him to ponder her barbaric technique as she swung again.

This felt good. Maybe she hadn’t even needed Chaol. Maybe she could have just taken her sparring stick and hit it against a rock until she felt better. 

She poured all of her fear and vulnerability into each swing, loosing battle cries as she moved. Every impact of her stick against Chaol’s became a hammer, each swing beating her worries back and down into that place where she couldn’t feel them anymore.

Chaol shot forward, aiming his stick at her side, and she smiled. Aelin was going to win. Faster than he could see, she sidestepped his attack and brought her stick down on his own with every ounce of immortal strength she could muster. It split in half with the impact, splinters flying around them. 

He dropped the broken sparring stick to the ground, a look of horror spreading across his face. From his perspective, it probably didn’t seem fair that she had a Fae advantage–not that Aelin was worried about such things. Chaol had said he wasn’t going to try and tame her Fae side, and even if that had just been a lie to get her back into bed, she wasn’t going to hold back. Not anymore. 

Aelin’s smile didn’t falter as she looked him over. Gods, she felt so much better. “Want to go again? I can grab another sparring stick for you,” she offered through ragged breaths.

Chaol gapped at her for a moment, but his face warmed as he met her smile with one of his own. He laughed, and after a moment of hesitation, raised an eyebrow suggestively. “I’m not sure I’ll survive another round with you.”

Her throat tightened at the way his tone had added innuendo to the words, but she forced out a chuckle. “Suit yourself.”

“Wait,” he said, stepping forward to catch her wrist before she could turn away. “I was just joking. We can spar again.” An odd contemplative expression descended on his face, and he added, “I wouldn’t mind more practice against a Fae opponent anyways.”

Aelin raised an eyebrow. She supposed she could understand that, but for some reason, it made her stomach clench. 

Nonetheless, she pushed the feelings away and nodded. More sparring would help her clear her head, and hopefully, by the time she returned to Rowan this evening, her stupid feelings wouldn’t bother her at all.

_____

Rowan arrived at Aelin’s rooms a little earlier than intended, but he figured she wouldn’t mind. Since he’d started staying with her, they’d fallen into a comfortable companionship, and gone were the days where he felt like a guest in her room. He didn’t hesitate to fly through the balcony doors and walk into her bedroom.

Aelin was nowhere to be seen, but he didn’t need to look for her. He could hear the sound of draining water in the next room–the end of a bath. Hopefully, that meant that her sad grey tunic had been discarded for the day. 

He wasn’t sure what to expect from her tonight. She’d told him she would be training with Chaol this evening, and he wouldn’t be surprised if that had worsened her mood. Rowan was prepared for a long cozy evening of wine and moping and whatever else Aelin wanted to do. There were more interesting ways to help her forget her worries, but she likely wouldn’t be up for them tonight. 

It was those thoughts that had him flopping onto the unmade bed and settling in amongst the rows of pillows. He couldn’t understand why she needed so many, but Aelin seemed to like it, so he didn’t comment. If Rowan could sleep as a hawk on a branch, he could certainly get used to extra pillows.

The door to the bathroom cracked open, and steam flooded out as Aelin appeared, dressed in her usual silk robe. Her golden hair was wet and clinging to her form, and Rowan thanked the gods to see that the grey tunic was nowhere to be found. 

He thanked the gods again when she smiled at the sight of him spread out across her bed. The smile was still a little strained but was much improved from earlier. Then she started limping towards him, her long beautiful legs–

Wait. Limping?

“It’s nothing,” she assured as Rowan near-jumped off the bed. Aelin paused in the middle of the room, letting him approach her. From the look of irritation she was now giving him, he knew his face had probably slipped into some sort of vicious expression, but he didn’t care. Not when his mate was hurt.

He looked her over, scanning the offending leg for injury. “What happened?”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “It’s really nothing. Chaol just got in a good hit while sparring earlier.”

Chaol.

“Oh, don’t look like that,” she chuckled, pulling him from his thoughts of vengeance. “I’d wager he has five times as many bruises as I do right now.”

Rowan couldn’t stop himself from cracking a small smile at the words. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to kill him.”

A laugh. “He’ll live. And he consented to the pummeling.” Then her face turned serious, and she took his hands, holding them between their bodies. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she mumbled, her gaze falling to her feet.

He dropped one of her hands to lift her chin. It was a struggle to decide what to say. Her turquoise eyes still had a hint of that strange emotion from before but he knew that if she wanted to tell him about it she would have. “Are you feeling better?”

Her mouth tightened, but she said, “Yes.” Then she smirked. “Hitting Chaol with a sparring stick really lifts one’s mood.”

“I can imagine,” he replied with a laugh. Honestly, he imagined hitting Chaol all the time. 

Rowan dropped his hand from her chin and slid his arms around her waist. Aelin’s breath caught as he pulled her close and leaned in to whisper against her neck, “You know, there are other less violent ways to take out your frustration in the future.”

Her heartbeat picked up at the words and picked up some more as he tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. From the shiver he felt go through her body, the gesture had had its intended effect. As enjoyable as the other night had been, he couldn’t shake that feeling that she’d one-upped him. He wanted to pay her back, see what sounds he could get her to make when he used his teeth and tongue.

Rowan pulled back to look at her briefly, to meet her now hooded eyes before leaning back in to kiss her, starting slow. Aelin went pliant in his arms, her lips soft as he parted them with his own and slid his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, the sound spurring him on, making him want more. Rowan gripped her hips, yanking her closer against his body, but–

She flinched.

He drew back immediately to scan her face. She moaned, a sound of frustration rather than pleasure this time, and tried to kiss him again, but he couldn’t ignore what had just transpired.

Aelin gave up on kissing, finally opening her eyes to meet his questioning stare. She rolled those eyes as she said, “You just touched my bruise. It’s okay–I’m fine to keep going.” The arms she had around his neck tightened, an attempt to pull him back in.

“Can I see it?”

“Really, it doesn’t matter–”

“Aelin, I can heal it if you show me,” he said. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Let me take care of you.”

Yet another unreadable emotion flitted across her face, but he held her gaze, staring her down. For all she complained about his territorial nonsense, she wasn’t really any better. But much to his surprise, she let him win this battle of wills, capitulating with a short, “Fine.”

Rowan scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. He thought she might complain, but this time she just giggled in surprise at the action, and he grinned down at her. “So you do like to be carried like a damsel once in a while.”

Her cheeks flushed at the memory of her drunkenness, but the joy didn’t leave her face. “Only when things are dire,” she conceded with a wry smile.

 Rowan set her down so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed and knelt down in front of her, gently placing his hands on her bare knees. The silk robe cut off mid-thigh, revealing the glorious length of her legs, but he forced himself to look up at her, to meet her gaze as he asked, “Where is it?”

Aelin gently pulled back the layer of silk covering her injured leg. His eyes tracked each enticing inch that she exposed, wanting to leave a trail of kisses up and along her thigh, but then he saw the bruise.

“Wow.”

She grimaced. “I know.”

Rowan didn’t have anything else to say as he found himself torn between rage and surprise. A small part of him was actually sort of impressed that Chaol had the skill to land a blow like that on a Fae opponent. The bruise on her thigh was the size of his hand and had already turned a deep purple. No wonder she’d found it difficult to walk on. 

He gently brushed his fingers over the injured skin, and Aelin jumped. “Sorry,” he murmured, drawing up his healing magic and leaving his hand hovering over the wound as he got to work. 

Her cheeks turned pink. “No–it’s not–” She took a breath. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Rowan swallowed and looked back down at the bruise, now illuminated by his magic. He really should be focused on healing her, but as the bruise faded, he let his hand come down to rest on her thigh anyway. Aelin gasped at the touch, and he flicked his gaze back up to her face. Her lips were parted, short, shallow breaths passing through them, and he moved his hand so that his thumb could caress the inside of her thigh.  

They stayed like that for a torturous stretch of time–her eyes darkening with each pass of his thumb against her skin. When the bruise was nearly gone, Rowan knew he wasn’t done touching her. He pushed himself up so that he was no longer sitting back on his heels, pressing his body against hers. His hand trailed closer to her inner thigh, now joined by the other sliding up along the opposite leg. Aelin let out a small whimper as his hands neared her centre, the sound electrifying. The scent of her desire washed over him, but he didn’t let it snap his ever-fraying control, didn’t let himself get totally lost in the feel of her. If he let himself get lost, he might forget what he wanted to do.

His hand skimmed along the front of her thighs and up to her stomach, still hidden from view by her robe. She moaned, and he knew it was both from pleasure and frustration that he’d skipped over the apex of her thighs. Suddenly, her fingers were in his hair, pulling him into a savage kiss which he returned with equal fervour. He dragged his palms along her body–teasing her but also testing boundaries–he didn’t want to do anything she wasn’t ready for.

Aelin, however, was having none of that. She broke away, lips already pink from how ferociously she’d kissed him and stared him down. His hands paused over her hips, and he waited, letting her show him what she wanted. Slowly, as her uneven breaths ghosted across his face, she withdrew her hands from his hair and found the tie of her robe. 

His blood heated as he watched her fingers move, pulling at the silk, totally unhurried. In one long, taunting motion, she undid the bow holding the delicate fabric together. She didn’t uncover herself but gave him an expectant look–she was leaving that part for him. 

Rowan wasted no time obliging the silent request and slid his hands up her torso, watching the silk fall away as he went. When she was bare before him, he took a moment to look at her–appreciating every curve of soft skin. The sight of her breasts peaked, her skin flushed, almost left him speechless. As it was, he managed to breathe out, “Gods, Aelin.” 

He dove in, kissing a breast as he pushed the robe from her shoulders. Aelin’s legs wrapped around him tightly, her chest rising and falling against him as she pulled his shirt up and over his head. Rowan groaned when their bare skin touched for the first time, ignoring the uncomfortable strain in his pants. Her fingers found his hair again, and she moaned loudly as his tongue flicked against her skin.

Then he was moving, trailing kisses down her body as he gently laid her back on the bed. Her legs released him from their hold, and when his lips passed her stomach, a soft gasp escaped her lips. Rowan hooked her legs over his shoulders, pinning her hips in place with an arm, and started peppering kisses along her inner thighs. He drew out his movements, taunting her for long moments before Aelin’s patience snapped and the fingers she still had in his hair tightened, encouraging him to move on.

He chuckled at her greediness but gave her what she needed, finally moving to where she wanted him. 

“Rowan, ” she cried out at the first touch of his mouth, his tongue. Her hips started moving against him, and he felt Aelin lose control completely. 

Rowan knew he was good at this, but it still made his heart race to see her arching into his touch–to hear his name like a prayer on her lips, interspersed with moans and sighs. She pulled his hair, holding him against her harder as his mouth explored her skin. His tongue dipped into her, and he thought he could stay like that forever.

He wondered if it was the same for her–if it felt different with him, as her touch had to him. From the way her skin was heating, becoming hot enough that he’d started using his magic to shield against her, he could only assume that it did.

“Please,” she moaned after long moments. “Please.”

The rarely seen manners both surprised him and spurred him on. Easily, he added a finger, groaning against her as he worked her to her high.

Aelin’s cries of pleasure grew louder and louder until, finally, she was quivering around his fingers, pleasure rippling through her as she came undone. 

When her hips stilled and her arched back relaxed against the bed, he pulled away just a little–just enough to start kissing his way back up her body, her legs falling to the side as he went. Her eyes were closed as her heartbeat came down from its rapid pace, and her golden hair was spread out across the messy sheets–completely dry now from the heat of her magic. Rowan loved seeing her like that, wanted her exactly like that when he finally claimed her.

Those lovely eyes cracked open, still hazy with pleasure, and she pulled at his shoulders, bringing him up to kiss her. The kiss was slow and sloppy, Aelin too tired to do much more. He hooked an arm under her and maneuvered them into the centre of the bed. 

“I should get injured more often,” she breathed as she settled against his chest. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her mouth was curved into a small satisfied smile as he continued to run a hand along her naked body, pressing kisses to her neck. 

“Is that right?”

A chuckle. “Yes. It was very … therapeutic.”

Rowan loosed a dark laugh but halted when he saw that her face had become serious again. Aelin didn’t say anything as she cupped his cheek, guiding him so that they were face to face. Her throat bobbed, looking more vulnerable and open than he’d ever seen her, and gently she placed a kiss on his lips. 

“You’re my favourite person,” she whispered as she pulled back.

And though he knew it wasn’t what she had been holding back–wasn’t what she needed to say or what he needed to hear, it still warmed his heart. He smiled, both at her and the drunken memory and once again gave her the truth.

“You’re my favourite person too.”

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, Aelin discovered that the best way for her to avoid her new feelings for Rowan was to lose herself in him entirely. It was counterintuitive, but it worked wonders. Whenever she saw him, she let herself be consumed by every smile, every affectionate word, every kiss until she could barely remember her own name–never mind her anxieties. Worked like a charm. 

Each day, the start time of their training became later and later as they lounged around in bed, pushing the boundaries of temptation. There was no way they could go on like this, but she didn’t mind one bit as long as she wasn’t panicking about how much it meant to her or about whether he felt the same.

That morning Aelin awoke pressed against Rowan’s bare torso, an arm thrown over his waist. She tightened her grip on him, soaking in his strength, his warmth. Finding him next to her every morning was always a pleasant surprise–a shock to find that he was real and not just an impossible dream that her imagination had concocted. And her dreams contained a lot of Rowan.

 Her prince typically woke up earlier than she did, but he never disturbed her. He just stayed snuggled up in bed with her until she finally managed to crack her eyes open. It really was the perfect arrangement. How the hell she used to sleep alone, she did not know.

Rowan noticed her stirring and lifted a hand to stroke her hair while she nuzzled him, humming happily. Aelin kissed the shoulder that her head was resting on and slowly opened her eyes, blinking away the sleep. It took a moment for the world to come into focus: her mate’s sharp jawline, the sunlight creeping through the window beyond him, the book in his hand–

The book in his hand?

Nooooooooooo.

Aelin shot up in bed, startling both herself and her mate with the abruptness of the action. Even Rowan jumped a bit in surprise. But she couldn’t bring herself to care about the morning heart attack she’d likely just given him. Not when he was reading that.

Rowan sat up in bed, a hint of panic on his features as he placed the open book face-down in his lap. “What’s wrong?” 

She just stared at him, a mix of horror and accusation coursing through her, and her mate’s brows furrowed as he waited for her to speak. After a beat of awkward silence where Rowan had clearly started wondering if she’d gone insane, she swallowed, praying that she wouldn’t blush as she spoke. “You were reading my book.”

Understanding formed on his face, a wry smile replacing his confused frown. “I was,” he said simply.

“You’re not supposed to read that,” she snapped, swiping the incredibly inappropriate romance novel from his hands. She couldn’t believe that this was the one her mate had picked up off her nightstand. All of her books were explicit, but this one put them all to shame. Aelin was no maiden, and even she had blushed furiously while reading it–probably a lot like she was right now.

He laughed as she clutched the book open against her bare chest in horror as if she could erase it from his memory. “Am I meant to sit here staring at the ceiling every morning until you wake up?”

“Yes!” she blurted. Aelin’s ears burned. Actually, everywhere burned. “How long have you been reading it?”

A shrug. “Since you were hungover that morning before the ball. You slept for hours.” He smirked, completely unbothered by her embarrassment. “It’s not really my type of book, as you might imagine, but I’ve almost finished suffering through it.”

“You’re almost finished? ” she repeated incredulously. 

Rowan snatched the book back from her. “Yes, I was just at the part where the handsome prince–”

Aelin smacked the book from his hands, stopping him from uttering what she knew was going to be an unbelievably lewd sentence. It clattered to the ground, the sound making Aelin cringe–she took no pleasure in abusing books. 

Rowan gave her a look of mock dismay. “Now, I’ve lost my place.” And then he made an expression of absolute dread and groaned, “I’ll have to start over again.” 

To illustrate his point, he started reaching over the side of the bed to retrieve the offending book. In a burst of panic, Aelin launched herself at him, tackling him back into the pillows. She attempted to pin him down with her body, but the strategy was wholly ineffective. Rowan was far too big for her to wrestle with and win. Before she could act, she was wrapped in his arms, being rolled onto her back, and giggling wildly as he tickled her sides. 

Aelin laughed hysterically, both genuinely and against her will. She tried not to surrender to the barbaric form of torture but soon found herself patting his shoulder and roaring between laughs, “I yield! You can read the book.”

Rowan pulled back, a triumphant glint in his eyes, and flicked her nose. “Good. I want to know how it ends,” he teased. 

She laughed and smiled up at him as she gasped for air. The tickling had really gotten the best of her. Her mate tried to roll off of her, but she wrapped her legs around his waist and held him in place. “Where do you think you’re going?” she whispered, bringing a hand up to his neck.

Rowan chuckled, leaning in to kiss her briefly, and then, “I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed considering we’ve done many of the things in that book.”

Her cheeks flushed at the words–at the memories now warming her core and also at the real reason this book was so different from the others. “Have you gotten to the part where … ” Aelin didn’t want to say it.

“What part?”

“The … part.”

“The part?” he repeated slowly. She gave him a meaningful look that she hoped conveyed the inappropriateness of the part. Rowan’s eyes flared ever so slightly as he watched her bite her lip, finally grasping her meaning. Then, as if he were afraid to ask for more, he let out a slow, hesitant, “No?” 

Pursed lips were all that stood between Aelin and all-out cackling. “You’ll know it when you read it,” she said cryptically, her voice thick with restrained laughter. “And for the record, when you do read that scene … I don’t want to try that.”

“Noted,” he chuckled. 

Having had enough of conversation, Aelin dragged his face down and captured his lips with her own. She lost herself in the kiss, just as she had for days now. It didn’t take long for it to become heated–for her back to arch and his tongue to sweep into her mouth, making her moan in that new, unexpected way she always did for him. 

Though she liked kissing him at all times of the day, the morning was definitely her favourite. There were lots of things she enjoyed about Rowan in the mornings–like how his hair looked when it was dishevelled from sleep. But her favourite thing was how carefree he was. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that he showed her a side of himself that nobody else got to see. When they’d dined with Enda, his family and closest friend, he’d been relaxed yet still somewhat … guarded. Not like the playful male she had in her bed right now. With Aelin, he was different. Softer. And she considered herself very lucky to see it.

The moment was only ruined by the fact that Rowan was wearing pants–a travesty if there ever was one. At least they were thin enough that she could enjoy one of her other favourite things about Rowan in the morning.

“You know,” she said as his mouth moved to her neck, “I think you owe me an apology for the tickling.”

“Do I now.”

She dragged her fingers through his silver hair, pulling on the strands–a hint at exactly how she thought he should repent. “Mm-hmm.”

A wicked smile was all she got before Rowan disappeared beneath the sheets. 

_____

Rowan was having a wonderful morning, and he was certain that nothing could ruin it. Now, he’d been certain of many things in Terrasen only to later be unexpectedly bowled over by absurdities, but he still felt good about today.

The last few days had been the happiest of his life, and it was all because of Aelin–her crude jokes, her giggles, her soft touches. Everything about her was intoxicating. He had been utterly swept away by her, and there wasn’t a single thing he’d change. 

It was becoming harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning, and Aelin putting on clothes was simply criminal. He knew that part of it was the mating bond, but he had to wonder if they’d ever bother to get out of bed again once they finally took that last step–if maybe they’d just stay holed up in her room for weeks. Maybe their room by then?

Watching Aelin slide out of the sheets this morning was sad, but the lingering flush on her cheeks and neck somewhat softened the blow. He longed to cross the room and carry her back, but she’d already pulled on her silk robe–a sign that any attempts at seduction would fail. Aelin was ready to start the day–not that Rowan understood such things right now. 

She leaned over the bed to kiss him in farewell, and his heart clenched. They weren’t going to be apart for long. He just had to fly back to his rooms to change, and then they’d be on the plains training as usual. Aelin’s magic had recovered after that strange emotional day, and though she hadn’t yet been able to form anything more specific than a blob, those blobs were at least getting smaller. It was a promising step toward fine control, and Aelin was thrilled with it. 

He’d discovered that she responded best when her magic was channelled into something beautiful. It had been that night at the tavern that had allowed him to start piecing it together–how she’d beamed at that golden dragon. They hadn’t discussed it yet, but he knew that after being feared for so many years, after being told that all she could do was destroy, she was looking for something different. Something pretty, as she had said. Today, they would continue working toward that goal, letting her explore the ways her magic could inspire and mend rather than devastate. 

Though it was a bit too early to touch her water magic, it was absolutely the next thing on the list. They didn’t have much to work with, but he was determined to help her do something with it, even if it was just healing minor cuts and bruises. He could already imagine the look of joy that would be on her face after she healed her first wound, and he was resolved to make it a reality.

And with Aedion returning today, the cousins resuming their regular training schedule the following evening, Aelin was already doing plenty of fighting. She didn’t need to spend every waking minute honing herself for death. Just because she was the Heir of Fire didn’t mean she had to be a tool for destruction.

Rowan dragged himself out of bed, Aelin long having disappeared into her closet. Maybe he’d just bring some of his clothes here so they wouldn’t have to be apart so much in the future. Maybe he could steal one of her drawers–she certainly had more than enough space in her closet. Though, that was a conversation he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to have.

Rowan pulled on his discarded shirt and trudged to the balcony to shift. He did his best to ignore the way his throat tightened whenever they went their separate ways and glided around the castle on Terrasen’s familiar winds.

His room came up quickly while he was lost in thoughts of Aelin’s soft skin and those sounds she’d made when–

There was someone in his room. He was still too far away to determine who it was, but with his hawk eyes, he could see a figure moving behind the sheer curtains. Rather than landing, he circled around, trying to get a better look. The silhouette of the figure moved toward his bed and disappeared. Perhaps they’d sat down?

Rowan swept down to a ledge that sat perpendicular to his window. He didn’t know why he was so suspicious. It was probably just Enda waiting to berate him for sneaking around so much–his cousin had a key after all. But still, he waited, slowly hopping closer from ledge to ledge until he was almost on the windowsill itself. A gentle breeze of his own making rustled the curtains just enough that he got a glimpse of his intruder. It wasn’t Enda.

Rowan wanted nothing more than to groan, cursing the vocal limitations of his hawk form. It just made him want to groan even harder. This was not what he needed today. Or any day for that matter. Today was supposed to be his perfect day. 

In an uncharacteristic wave of irresponsibility, he turned right around and flew back to Aelin’s rooms. Rowan wasn’t going to deal with any of it. Not today–not on his perfect day.

And hopefully, by the time he returned later, Remelle would no longer be waiting in his bed.

_____

Aelin was still puttering around her rooms when Rowan returned. He shifted and slipped through the balcony doors making lots of noise so that she wouldn’t startle when she saw him. 

Her head popped out of the bathing room, fingers in her hair, mid-braid. “Rowan?”

“I’m back.” Since he wasn’t quite sure how to explain himself just yet, he just scowled and plopped down into the armchair. 

Fingers still weaving through her hair, Aelin stalked over, laughing down at him and his misery. “I can see that. And you’re all broody now.” 

Rowan scowled–which he supposed was evidence that he was in fact, brooding–earning himself another laugh. She climbed into his lap, briefly trailing her fingers in circles on the nape of his neck before returning to her braid. He relaxed a bit. Even when he was annoyed, he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, from gripping her thighs and shifting her closer. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you back?”

Rowan groaned and let his head flop back against the armchair. “If I go back there right now, it will likely end in bloodshed.”

“And are you going to tell me about it, or are we just going to hide in my rooms all day?” his mate mocked, raising her eyebrows. 

It was a tempting offer, actually. If he could just avoid Remelle long enough–

A snort. “You’re actually thinking about it, aren’t you–about hiding?” Aelin tied off her braid with a black ribbon and shook her head. “Spit it out, buzzard.”

There was a chance he was about to sign Remelle’s death warrant, but he loosed a tight breath and said, “Remelle is there … waiting for me.” He couldn’t stop his pained expression, couldn’t stop his nose from scrunching up with disgust as he spoke those words. 

“What.” 

Aelin’s face was neutral, but her scent was changing rapidly. Rage was pouring in, coursing through her blood, gaining by the second, despite how calm she remained in appearance. Her fingers fisted in his shirt–the only sign of that anger. “Why would she do that?” A dangerous, quiet question.

He eyed her carefully. “I’d wager it’s the latest move in her mission to get me into bed.”

Aelin clicked her tongue and pushed off from his lap. “She’s in there right now?” she confirmed sternly, pacing in front of the fireplace.

Rowan nodded. “Seems like she’s intending to stay awhile, considering she settled into the bed.”

“She’s in your bed? ” He wasn’t imagining the way the gold of her eyes brightened when Aelin spun around to look at him. “Who the fuck does she think she is?”

Before he knew it, she was stomping out of her bedroom, heading for the main door. Rowan knew then that today would not be about inspiration and mending. Today was a destruction day. From the tightness of her body, he honestly wondered if she might start breathing flames.

“What are you doing?” Rowan asked, leaping from the armchair if only to prevent Remelle’s blood from being splattered on the walls. He grabbed her arm gently, making her pause. 

Aelin was fuming. “I am going to remove her from your room.”

His lips tightened in an expression that was somewhere between a cringe and a grimace. “And … is that the best idea?”

“It’s a fucking phenomenal idea,” she snapped. “You’ve made it clear you aren’t interested, and yet she keeps harassing you anyway. It’s completely unacceptable.”

“It’s not a big deal–”

“It is a big deal,” she insisted. “If Chaol had broken into my rooms in an unwanted effort to seduce me, the guards would be marching him to the dungeons right now.”

Aelin was right, of course. Remelle’s behaviour was unacceptable. The female had been deliberately taking advantage of the fact that Rowan wasn’t allowed to punch her in the face … 

But Aelin could. 

The vision of it warmed his heart, but that didn’t mean she should–

His mate had already pulled her arm out of his grip and was bursting through the door and into the hallway. 

“Shit,” he said to himself.

Remelle was about to be turned to ash.

_____

Turns out, when Aelin defends his honour, she moves fucking fast.

Rowan hadn’t been able to run after her when she’d erupted out of her rooms and into the hallway–he couldn’t be seen leaving her rooms. So instead, he’d popped back out onto his trusty balcony and taken to the skies. 

The obvious destination had been the guest wing, and he’d checked there first, slipping through an open window in the hall. But when he’d arrived, Aelin, Remelle, and the doorknob he was certain his room used to have were already gone.

He’d prowled around the halls for a short moment, following scents and the very thing that linked him and his mate together, but it had all been unnecessary. To find Aelin, he’d only needed to follow the sound of the screaming.

Rowan set off at a run, furious shrieks leading him down a strange forgotten hallway that terminated in a heavy wooden door. The weight of the door was irrelevant, though, because it had already been thrown open, letting the ever-warming summer sun spill into the castle. The scene that unfolded before him as he sprinted across the threshold and into a small courtyard was truly unexpected. 

Enda was standing just ahead of him, shoulders slumped, totally motionless as he watched. Watched the most one-sided brawl Rowan had ever seen. He slowed to a stop beside Enda, likely feeling just as useless as his cousin clearly did right now.

“Why … haven’t you intervened?” he asked as Aelin dragged Remelle by the hair through the courtyard toward a small gate between the hedges. 

There wasn’t a flame to be seen, but that didn’t stop the battle from raging on. Both of the females were screeching with rage, Remelle swiping at her captor with sharp, manicured nails. Small scratches marred Aelin’s cheek, but she didn’t seem even remotely bothered by the injury, too busy manually removing the female from her kingdom. 

“ENDA! ” Remelle bellowed, clutching at her hair, trying to free it from Aelin’s iron grip. “Get this half-breed beast off me! ”

His cousin just stood there. Just stood there as Remelle repeated her order to him. In shock, perhaps? Then Aelin yanked a bit harder, and Remelle howled with fury. 

“Why are you doing this?! ” she screamed into the sky as if the gods themselves were punishing her.

“Because you”–a tug–“are a terrible ”–another tug–“person! ”

Remelle elbowed his mate in the side, making her gasp. “I haven’t done anything to you! ”

Aelin let out a cruel laugh despite the elbowing. “You have been harassing my mate for one hundred years, you bitch! ”

Rowan looked over at Enda. The male’s face was worn and resigned. His cousin raised his thumb and a finger to the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t see the point,” he breathed, finally answering Rowan’s question. “Two weeks of peace talks … ruined.”

“I’m sure that if the cake incident didn’t fuck things up, this won’t either,” Rowan offered weakly.

“I didn’t know he was your mate! ”

Aelin growled and released her captive, turning to face her head-on. “Yes, you did,” she hissed. Then she was stalking forward, advancing on Remelle, a finger pointed in her face. “But that’s not the point.” Finally–terrifyingly, Aelin’s eyes turned to flame. “When someone tells you they aren’t interested, you leave them alone. You don’t break into their room and wait in their bed! ”

As the screaming continued and Aelin resumed her dragging, neither female noticed the gate opening–but Rowan did. The movement was almost soundless, as was the woman with mousy brown hair and grey eyes that widened when she noticed Aelin and Remelle. She was clutching a massive cloak to her chest and her feet were bare, though she didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable, considering it was obvious the cloak was her only piece of clothing. He had never seen the woman before, but he’d know that scent anywhere. 

Before he could wonder what on earth she was doing sneaking into the castle, Aedion walked through the gate noticeably missing a cloak, followed by two men he’d briefly met while training with the Bane. The Ashryver prince didn’t even look shocked to see Aelin brawling with a diplomat. In fact, he looked ready to pull up a chair and cheer her on–until he seemed to remember his charge.

The woman in question had a similar expression on her face, though. She wasn’t scared or surprised–she was entertained, a smirk on her face as she studied the quarrelling females closely. Aedion left her to watch with the other soldiers and made his way over to Rowan and his cousin. 

“Aelin, I taught you to be better than this! ” Aedion yelled as he approached. “Put her in a chokehold–it will be more effective! ” 

Enda let out a gasp of horror–shocked to see Aelin’s cousin giving her advice rather than de-escalating the situation. In truth, Aelin wasn’t really fighting, though. Remelle was punching and kicking and scratching, but Aelin was just dragging her along. And Rowan had a feeling that pulling Remelle by the hair was exactly how his mate wanted to do this.

The females were almost at the gate now, the mystery brunette that had returned with Aedion sidestepping them as they crashed past.

“Get out of my gods-damned mother-fucking kingdom! ”

“ENDAAAAAA! ” 

Crossing his arms, Aedion asked them with a chuckle, “Why haven’t either of you intervened?”

“I don’t … want to,” Rowan admitted, mesmerized by the violence. Despite his earlier goals of helping Aelin explore peaceful uses for her magic, watching Remelle get physically removed from the castle was … fun. He cleared his throat. “I’m not much of a courtly gentleman anyway. Really, Enda should have stopped this.”

“I–” his cousin stuttered.

Aedion just laughed. “Well, when she’s done taking out the trash, could you please grab her and meet me in the dungeons. Kyllian over there will escort you.”

“Why would we need an escort?” Rowan asked, only half paying attention. He couldn’t take his eyes off Aelin.

“Bit suspicious, isn’t it–the princess and a delegate from Doranelle slipping off into the dungeons together?

“Right … ” he replied, drawing the word out. He was barely listening–Aelin had almost pushed Remelle through the gate. He wanted to memorize every second of it.

Remelle stumbled over the threshold, managing to land one last pathetic swing at Aelin’s ribs. “I’m leaving! ” she screamed.

"Yeah, that was the point!”

"Enda! ” Remelle screamed again. “ I’m going back to Doranelle right now!”

Aedion looked back at his cousin affectionately and shook his head. “And I thought coming in through the side gate would be boring,” he murmured. Then he was off, walking back to the unknown woman who was still observing Aelin and Remelle like a predator. Aedion put a gentle but authoritative hand on her shoulder and guided her into the castle. 

“And if I ever find out you’re harassing anyone else in the future–touching them without their permission, breaking into their room, anything –I will melt you. ” Aelin threatened as Remelle’s figure disappeared beyond the hedges. The female just let out a whimper of rage in response.

Finally, Enda came to his senses. “I think–I think I’m going to send Remelle home.”

“I think that would be wise,” Rowan agreed. And for a glorious moment, he realized it might be the last time he ever saw Remelle again.

Today was a perfect day. 

_____

“You’re such a territorial Fae bastard,” her mate whispered as they walked down the stone steps into the dungeons, Rowan healing the scratches on her cheek as they went. 

Aelin had never liked the dungeons for obvious reasons, even though Terrasen was quite mild with how it treated its prisoners compared to other kingdoms. Ten years ago, her great uncle Orlon had reformed much of their justice system before he’d passed, and the crown had gone to Aelin’s father. There were few things about Terrasen that Aelin was more proud of. They rarely used torture anymore, reduced the sentences for petty crimes, and improved the living conditions in the main prison outside of Orynth. She’d never been there herself, but she knew that access to regular food and clean blankets was not something every kingdom could boast about its prisons. 

The dungeon was located in the catacombs of the castle–sort of a remnant from before the reforms. There were no windows, obviously, and the place felt like death in that way that all damp underground places did. Luckily, nobody was kept there for long–it was mostly just used for temporary holdings before people were either released after a fair trial or moved to the main prison. Currently, her father oversaw those trials, and one-day Aelin would too.

A shiver ran down her spine as they rounded another dark corner, lit only by Kyllian’s torch as he led them to their destination.

Aelin smacked Rowan on the arm–more in an effort to dislodge her own discomfort. “I didn’t drag her out of your room because I was being territorial.” He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, maybe a little,” she admitted, quietly enough that their guide wouldn’t overhear, “but mostly, I did it because she had no right to treat you like that. Or anyone else, for that matter. And don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

Rowan’s answering grin was feral. “I’m just surprised that you didn’t burn all her hair off.”

“I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction … or to go back to Doranelle and tell everybody I use my magic like that.” Her mate’s face fell a bit, a hint of sadness in his eyes, but she didn’t want to dive into that topic right now. 

“So why are we here?” she asked, loudly now so that Kyllian could hear too.

“Rowan didn’t tell you?” their guide asked with a quick glance over his shoulder.

Aelin looked at her mate expectantly, and he gave her a sheepish look. “I didn’t actually ask,” he revealed. “I was too distracted by your brawling.”

She clicked her tongue but smiled, and Kyllian chuckled gently before explaining, “There’s someone that Aedion wants you to meet.”

It wasn’t much of a revelation. Aelin had assumed they were coming to the dungeons to meet somebody, but she could be patient. Well, usually she couldn’t, but she knew they were likely only about two minutes out from their destination. She could be patient for two minutes.

Correct in her estimate, they rounded a final corner that revealed a solid iron door guarded by Elgan, a captain in the Bane. Aelin and Aedion had known the man for years–he had even been the one to train Aedion when he’d first joined the legendary legion. At a glance, the man was grizzled and harsh, but it was only a front for the kindness within.

“Your highness,” Elgan greeted with a bow.

She grinned. “What has my dear old cousin gotten me into now?” 

A laugh. “I think it’s better if the whelp tells you himself.” Aelin couldn’t stop her amused chuckle–she never ceased to be charmed by Elgan referring to Aedion as a whelp. He pulled open the door revealing a small, dimly lit room. 

And sitting in the centre of that room, causing Aelin’s very heart to nearly explode out of her chest from shock, was none other than Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.

____

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

Other-Aelin smirked at her and crossed her arms. She was seated on a bench along the wall, looking surprisingly comfortable for the situation she was in. Not that anybody was going to hurt her, but the imposter didn’t know that. 

Her mimic was obviously naked other than the borrowed cloak she had wrapped around her. But there was no doubt about it; she looked exactly like Aelin.

Aedion’s laugh brought her out of her shock a bit, and he pushed off from the wall to stand by her side. Rowan stepped into the room, stopping at her other side, and Elgan closed the door behind them.

“Our ghost leopard,” Aedion offered simply, amusement in his voice. 

She looked at her cousin, eyes wide. What the ever-living fuck was going on?

Then she heard her own voice speaking from across the room. “I don’t actually go by ghost leopard, but yes, that would be me.”

Aelin glanced back at herself, disturbed to see that though this person looked like her, the expression on their face was all wrong. Aelin, yet not.

“You’re a shifter,” she breathed.

Aedion chuckled. “Indeed. She’s committed some minor crimes, but I thought you might want to meet her first–thought she could be useful.”

Aelin just stared. Perhaps the information would be easier to digest if the shifter wasn’t currently wearing her form. Only Rowan’s gentle, reassuring hand on the small of her back made her finally realize how uncomfortable she must look.

He realized his mistake immediately and withdrew his hand, but the shifter had already caught the moment of affection, had already calculated their relationship, and then she was changing. 

It wasn’t like when the Fae shifted. There was no flash of light, and it was slow. Aelin watched in horror as what was once her body stretched and contorted until a perfect copy of Rowan was standing before her in all his broad-shouldered glory. 

Aelin barked out a short laugh. Her mate was lucky that the shifter’s cloak was big enough to uphold his modesty. 

Other-Rowan grinned back at her. “I thought you might prefer this one,” the shifter purred, looking meaningfully between her and her mate. Aelin laughed again–hard–as did Aedion, while Rowan groaned at her side. The shifter had kept Aelin’s voice.

The shifter looked at Rowan sympathetically. “I’m sorry, I haven’t heard you speak yet.”

Aelin and Aedion were in hysterics, tears streaming down both of their faces as they struggled to breathe through their laughter. Rowan was scowling, clearly torn between speaking so that the shifter could correct the impersonation and remaining silent so that the shifter wouldn’t be able to replicate him perfectly.

Ultimately, pride won out, and he asked Aedion, “So this is who’s been terrorizing your villagers?”

“Oh, I love your accent,” the shifter interrupted, now using Rowan’s voice, though the inflections were all wrong. It wasn’t broody enough to match her mate perfectly. Other-Rowan gave the real Rowan a once over, eyes lingering a bit too long. “I’ve never been with a Fae male.”

If Aelin had been drinking wine, this would have been the moment to spit it out. She could have sworn some sort of emotion flashed across Aedion’s face at the words, but it was gone before she could make it out.

Her cousin let out a pained laugh and turned to Rowan. “Yes, this is Lysandra,” he said. “Lysandra, allow me to introduce you to Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle, and my cousin, Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, future queen of Terrasen.”

“Such fancy names you both have,” Lysandra said with a wicked smile, still in Rowan’s form. Then she was moving, sliding back onto the bench with feline grace. No bowing or decorum. Just a woman unimpressed by status.

Aelin decided that she liked Lysandra immediately.

“What’s your true form?” she found herself asking.

Lysandra chuckled. “People always ask me that when they find out.” Then she was shrinking and contorting once more. Aelin couldn’t deny that the sight made her stomach turn. When the movement stopped, a slight woman with brown hair was sitting before her. She wasn’t a stunning beauty, but she was pretty enough with her grey eyes and their mischievous glint.

“Bit plain, isn’t it?” Lysandra drawled, holding out an arm and examining it. “I don’t use it much these days, but it’s me–in a sense.”

“What sense would that be?” Rowan asked.

Lysandra smirked at him. “I’m a shifter, Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle. It’s in my very nature to be more than one thing. This is merely the form I was born with–a canvas, if you will.”

Such a different way of living. Aelin could only imagine what it would be like to have such a power–all the uses for it. Uses that she was starting to spin into ideas and plots.

Aelin wandered over to Lysandra, taking a seat beside her on the bench. Rowan visibly tensed but she ignored him, too enthralled by the shifter. “I take it you prefer your ghost leopard form?”

“I’m not sure prefer is quite the right word, but yes, I enjoy it. I like to change things up every few months.”

“So you were actually living as a ghost leopard in the mountains until now?”

“Most of the time. I was starting to grow bored with it, hence why I kept going into the village. I had a craving for human food.”

Aelin raised an eyebrow. “Like a sack of apples, maybe?”

Lysandra grinned. “Yes, exactly like that.”

“And how on earth did my cousin convince you to come with him?” Aelin asked incredulously. Lysandra was too powerful to be coerced by Aedion. Talented as he was, his sword would do very little against a woman that could shift into a bird and fly away–or worse something large enough to eat him. Without powerful magic of one’s own, Lysandra would be hard to contain.

“Believe it or not, cousin, I was just my charming self.”

Aelin snorted. “Right.”

“It’s true. When I realized she wasn’t an actual ghost leopard, I asked her to come back with us.”

“You just … asked?”

Lysandra shrugged. “I was in the mood for a change and thought this could be interesting,” she elaborated. Then she pointedly looked around the room with a frown. “Not sure about the accommodations, though.”

Rowan laughed at the shifter’s joke and the disbelief on Aelin’s face. Clearly, his mood had improved now that his duplicate was gone.

Aelin turned to her cousin. “What crimes has she been accused of?” She didn’t miss how Lysandra’s cool and collected facade faltered a bit at the words.

“Well, she didn’t actually hurt any of the villagers, and we don’t have laws against being scary, so it’s just theft, really.”

Aelin could work with that.

“If you’re interested in wiping that record clean, I’d like to make a deal with you,” she said to Lysandra.

The shifter’s eyes tightened. “Let me guess. I take care of whatever silly princess-drama is currently plaguing you, and then you throw me back onto the streets when you’re done?” She huffed. “No, thank you. Just send me to prison–at least they’ll feed me.”

“Actually,” Aelin began with a wicked grin, “if you help me with my princess-drama, I’ll provide you with room and board until the job is done, and pay you handsomely enough that you’ll never go hungry again.”

Lysandra straightened. “That is … interesting.”

“I thought you might say that.”

“And you’ll pardon me for the theft?”

Aelin hummed. “Well, my father will, but yes. I can guarantee it,” she promised, shooting out her hand.

The shifter regarded Aelin’s outreached hand for a moment–a last chance to reconsider the deal. For a second, she worried that Lysandra might just say no, turn back into a ghost leopard and eat them all. But her shoulders relaxed, her face becoming determined, and she took Aelin’s hand, giving it a shake. 

Aelin tried not to let out a sigh of relief.

“I’ll get her accommodations in the city,” Aedion said, starting toward the door.

“Nonsense,” Aelin scoffed. “Lysandra will be staying in the castle with us.”

Her cousin raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure if anyone’s told you, Aelin, but shifters are more effective when they go unnoticed. If you move a stranger into the castle, every servant and courtier will have heard about it by morning.”

Aelin got to her feet and straightened her clothes nonchalantly. “Nobody is going to notice a thing,” she reassured him, walking to where Rowan was now leaning against a wall. She sidled up next to him and crossed her arms.

“And why’s that?”

“Because,” she said, an impish smile spreading across her face, “a room just opened up in the guest wing.”

Chapter Text

Rowan had thought he’d seen the last of Remelle. In some ways, it was true–Remelle had hired some guards and left for Doranelle last night. But knowing that still didn’t stop the way seeing her face made his blood boil.

Lysandra had settled into the role rather quickly. Yesterday’s brawl had allowed the shifter to study Remelle closely, and when she’d shifted into the female’s form, trading her own features for pale blonde hair and those cold blue eyes, the sight of it had sent a chill down his spine. So much like Aelin and yet lacking all her warmth.

The shifter had moved into Remelle’s rooms the night before without incident. Nobody noticed that the Lady had been replaced. It seemed the staff made a point to only enter her rooms when she wasn’t around. Aelin hadn’t had to ensure anyone’s silence save for those who had witnessed her fight, her parents, and Fenrys. Not that anybody missed the real Remelle enough to be bothered by the switch.

Rowan was certain that his mate had already finalized her plan for Lysandra, but as usual, he was to find out about it whenever it would take place. It certainly kept him on his toes, a pit of dread in his stomach–though he had to admit that he was starting to look forward to Aelin’s surprises.

If he was lucky, she’d get on with the plan today and save him from his miserable fate.

Lawn bowling.

Orynth had been hit by a rare heatwave, and to take advantage of the hot summer sunshine, the king and queen had organized a day of fun for everyone. All of their foreign guests were present, as well as most of Terrasen’s courtiers, everyone now scattered across the great lawn taking part in an assortment of activities. Rowan had yet to experience any fun, but people kept assuring him it was there.

He didn’t really enjoy games but had been dragged into lawn bowling by Fenrys, who had convinced him it would be a great joy to defeat Chaol in the sport. And it would have been a great joy were Rowan any good whatsoever.

Doranelle didn’t really do lawn bowling. It wasn’t that he’d never heard of it, but he hadn’t played it before until today. Today, the day Rowan had learned he was fucking terrible at the sport. 

His aim was perfect, but he kept throwing the bowls too hard. He’d knocked the jack out of bounds almost every single time, meaning they kept having to restart the round. The obvious solution was to roll it more gently, but every time he failed to do so, he just got more pissed off. Pissed-off Rowan lacked finesse. 

It didn’t help that rutting Chaol was excellent at lawn bowling. His team was decimating Rowan’s. The man had mostly been humble about it, saying he’d been playing his whole life, but Rowan had caught the glint of arrogance in his eyes. Apparently, their battle for Aelin’s heart was being played out through a fucking garden sport, and Chaol Westfall was the undisputed champion.

About halfway through, Rowan had tried to start cheating–using his magic to slow and guide the bowl. But Enda–the traitor –had called him on it, saying it wasn’t fun when he cheated. Rowan didn’t feel the least bit bad about mentally disowning his cousin.

At least Aelin wasn’t paying close attention. She was lounging around beneath a canopy with the shifter–fast friends apparently. His mate had looked over at him sympathetically a few times, and he’d heard her giggle a little bit at his failures, but for the most part, she was enthralled by whatever the shifter was saying. If anybody found the sudden friendship between the two females bizarre, they didn’t comment. Perhaps they were too busy witnessing Rowan’s humiliation. 

“It’s your turn, Rowan,” Chaol sniggered, pulling his attention back to that humiliation. Rowan just glared at him. Fortunately, Chaol took a step back at that glare, his heartbeat picking up ever so slightly. It was a small mercy to know that he could still be frightening.

He stole a glance at Aelin–she was watching him again. In fact, everyone was. Fenrys handed him a bowl and winked. “You’ll definitely get it this time.”

Rowan rolled his eyes but took the bowl. If he could just avoid hitting the jack out of bounds, the round would be over, and he could go back to not hating himself.

“Just stop throwing it so hard,” Enda supplied as if it were not the most obvious thing in the world. Rowan’s eyes flared with annoyance, and the snitch grimaced. “Sorry, you probably know that.”

Aedion, their fourth team member, chortled. “You could literally just drop it on the ground in front of you, and it would still be your best throw of the day.”

“Would it help if I demonstrate the proper form for you again?” Chaol asked, basking in the light of Rowan’s shame.

He almost couldn’t stop his growl as he shook his head stiffly. “No, I’ve got it.”

“You’ve not got it, Rowan,” Fenrys mocked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so completely not get something.”

“Can you all just shut up?” he hissed, suddenly feeling suffocated by the heat of the day as rage coursed through him. He tried to draw up his magic to cool his roaring emotions, but he knew it was pointless while the game went on. 

Rowan stormed past his teammates, only narrowly restraining himself from shoving his way through Chaol Westfall, and dropped the bowl at his feet. It rolled a few feet and stopped–laughably far away from the jack, but at least they wouldn’t have to restart the game.

The sound of clapping had him turning on his heel.

“You took my advice,” Aedion cooed over his clapping, a massive grin on his face. “I’m touched.”

Rowan just sighed and walked off to the canopy housing the buffet. He knew he was being childish and possibly the biggest sore loser the universe had ever witnessed, but he was beyond caring. Today he had been bested by Chaol Westfall. He was going to need some wine to come to terms with that.

______

Aelin held in her laughter as Rowan stomped away from his teammates. The sight of him flustered and overcome with petty rage was just so funny. She wanted to at least appear supportive, though, so she gave him a sympathetic smile as he plopped down on a couch under a canopy across the way from hers. Rowan returned the gesture, his own smile tight, and started drinking wine directly from a bottle he’d picked up. A servant rushed up to him, a look of horror on their face as they offered him a glass instead, but Rowan just shook his head and continued his drinking. She wished she could go and tease him, both mocking and soothing him simultaneously, but it would have to wait until they were alone.

“The Fae are quite proud, aren’t they?” Lysandra chuckled, scanning her eyes over the group of Fae males.

Aelin snorted. “It’s not pride–it’s territorialism,” she explained with a chuckle of her own. “I don’t think Rowan hates losing itself. It’s losing to Chaol specifically that he finds humiliating.” Upon bringing Lysandra into her service, she’d explained everything. 

“Oh, I wasn’t just talking about Rowan.” Lysandra smirked. “It’s all of them–Aedion clearly loves to be watched while he succeeds.”

“Yes, well, Aedion is a haughty brute.”

Her friend barked out a laugh. Aelin had been very much enjoying the shifter’s company. Since she was posing as Lady Remelle, Lysandra could attend all sorts of events without anyone batting an eyelid. They’d all agreed it would be best if Remelle no longer went to the peace talks, but everything else was fair game. 

Aelin was already grateful for the shifter’s presence today. It was, of course, useful for Lysandra to be here today–to observe everyone closely–but Aelin enjoyed her company regardless of their planning.

“He’s different than I expected,” Lysandra said after a long moment, eyes fixed on Aelin’s cousin.

Aelin raised an eyebrow.  

“I’d heard of him of course,” her friend clarified. “All of you, actually.”

“Only bad things, I hope.”

The shifted grinned. “Lots of bad things. People talk about the Wolf of the North–even in Rifthold. He and the Bane are feared. Respected, yes, but feared too.”

“The only thing you have to fear from Aedion is how obnoxious he is,” Aelin joked, shooting a fond look at her cousin.

Aedion noticed the women’s attention on him and gave them a cocky grin, preening under their gaze. 

“See,” she laughed.

Lysandra grinned and leaned in as if to whisper a deadly secret. Her eyes darted around, checking that the coast was clear, and then revealed, “He was so frightened when he met me that he cried.”

“He CRIED–” A hand slapped over Aelin’s mouth, cutting her off, but not before the outburst drew the attention of some of the people around them. Even Rowan was frowning at them, clearly now straining to overhear their conversation.

“ Shhh, ” Lysandra hissed, her hand still on Aelin’s face. When she deemed it safe to release her, the shifter pulled back, an apologetic look on her face. She may not have been impressed by titles, but she still seemed to realize that she’d just manhandled a princess.

But Aelin wasn’t bothered. “And here I was thinking you came to Orynth because of his macho-general act.”

Lysandra giggled. “No. When he saw me in my ghost leopard form, he just sort of broke. I knew he was there to hunt me, and he held his ground, but there were tears streaming down his face the whole time,” she explained. “It was just so … sweet. I shifted back into my human form to make him feel better.”

This was the single greatest thing Aelin had ever heard. She could picture her cousin so clearly–being brave, quivering in his boots while he pointed his sword at his greatest fear. “He’s always been petrified of ghost leopards,” Aelin chuckled.

Lysandra huffed a laugh but then rushed to say, “Don’t tell him I told you, though. I promised I’d take his secret to the grave–something about his reputation in the Bane being at stake.”

“Ugh, Lysandra, you can’t just reveal something like this and then tell me it’s a secret,” Aelin whined. “What if I just tell Rowan?”

“No, you can’t tell him either.”

Aelin sighed. “Fine. You’re keeping plenty of my secrets, so I suppose it's the least I can do.”

Lysandra nodded as if to say, Damn right it is. “Speaking of those secrets, how is that going?” she asked, eyes darting pointedly to Rowan.

“I already told you about the stuff with Chaol–”

“No, not the politics and shit. The fun stuff.” Lysandra leaned back in, a feral grin on her face.

Aelin could feel the blush spreading across her cheeks. Gods, she hoped Rowan wasn’t listening. “It’s really good,” she admitted, cracking a sly smile.

“Have you fucked him yet?”

Something caught between a choking sound and a gasp was Aelin’s only answer. “Lysandra– ”

“Sorry, I forgot you’re a princess,” the shifter mocked. “Have you consummated your fairytale love story yet?”

Saying it like that was worse. Aelin’s face was beet red–she could feel it. And even though she knew it was a bad idea, she found herself needing to sneak a glance at Rowan to see if he was listening. She turned her head to look and– oh gods, he was listening. 

Her mate was looking right at her, pure amusement on his face.

Aelin forced herself to ignore him, forced herself to look at Lysandra again. Using the quietest possible whisper, she answered, “No.”

“No? ” Lysandra repeated incredulously before spinning around and looking straight at Rowan, making no attempt to be discreet whatsoever. His eyes widened a bit, and he sunk down in his chair, apparently, less amused now that the shifter was studying him closely while she spoke.

“Tell me you’ve done something, ” she hissed, still looking right at him. “It would be a crime not to enjoy all of that.”

Aelin grabbed Lysandra’s arm, pulling her back. She just smirked at Aelin’s embarrassment. “Yes, we’ve done some things,” she whispered, desperate for Lysandra to drop the subject. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed about these things, it was just that she didn’t want to be gossiping about it while her mate was right there eavesdropping. “We just haven’t done that .”

Her friend hummed and raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Have you seen it?”

“Seen what–oh. Oh … Yes.” 

“Is it big?”

Yes. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

Lysandra clicked her tongue. “Fine, I suppose I’ll just have to work with my imagination.”

Though Aelin wanted to puke as she spoke her next words, she needed to take some petty revenge. “Why don’t you use that imagination of yours on Aedion instead?”

“Oh, I have,” the shifter snickered to Aelin’s disappointment. Lysandra was not to be embarrassed. “Why do you think I let him off for the crying incident?”

Aelin chuckled and gagged simultaneously. “I think I’m ready to talk about something else now.”

“You castle-folk and your delicate sensibilities.” Her tone was mocking, but something in her eyes told Aelin that the shifter was more charmed by Orynth than she was letting on. Mercifully, Lysandra let the subject drop, moving onto more mundane things–things that didn’t make Aelin feel like bursting into flames.

The women watched as Chaol roped people into another game of lawn bowling, Lord Westfall even deigning to join his team. Lysandra eyed them carefully as they interacted, a predator studying her prey. 

“You know, since Rowan has abandoned his team, I think I shall offer myself as a replacement,” Lysandra said coyly. She rose to her feet and smoothed a hand over her dress.

Aelin grinned. “I think that would be prudent.”

The shifter gave her one last wicked smile before weaving her way out of the canopy and onto the lawn. Aelin was slightly surprised to see Lysandra go straight for Aedion, tapping on his shoulder. Her cousin beamed down at her new friend, nodding and handing her a bowl so that she could go first. Aelin would have to ask him about that later.

Alone again, she snuck a glance at Rowan. He was already looking at her, and though they were a distance apart, separated by chairs and couches and tables of desserts, she could read the words in his eyes. 

Want to sneak off into the maze again? We can consummate our fairytale love story.

Even though she knew he didn’t mean it, Aelin blushed. Remembering their last visit–how he’d followed her through the hedges, the way he’d touched her–

She shook her head subtly, eyes darting pointedly to all the people around them. I don’t think we’ll get away with that today.

Can’t know until we try.

Aelin sucked on a tooth. It’s too risky. Besides, I’m not sure this is going to work now that I know what a terrible lawn bowler you are, she shot back.

His lips curled upwards. Then give me a chance to prove my worth in other ways, your majesty.

Heat pooled in her core at the offer. She bit her lip as she considered, enjoying the way his darkening eyes flicked to her mouth. Leave five minutes after I do.

Rowan grinned knowing he’d won, and she nearly lost herself in his smile. Gods, she adored his smile. And his stupid face. And the rest of him too.

Aelin was about to stand up and make her way to the hedges when a soft voice pulled her from her lust-addled reverie, making her jump. 

“Fireheart,” her mother said in greeting. Evalin smiled warmly and sat down across from her.

“Mother–” She shifted awkwardly in her seat. “Hi.” 

A laugh. “I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.”

“No … no, I was just lost in my thoughts.” 

“I’m glad,” Evalin said gently. “I was hoping to spend some time with my daughter today.”

Aelin gave her a tight smile and replied, “I’m all yours.” She glanced over at Rowan, but he’d already walked back onto the lawn and was striking up a conversation with her father.

Evalin followed her gaze and chuckled. “I think he’s the worst lawn bowler I’ve ever seen.”

To Aelin’s surprise, a flash of irritation shot through her at the words. She found herself saying, voice curt, “I don’t care about his lawn bowling skills.” 

For a moment, she wondered whether the mating bond was just making her overly defensive … But Lysandra had ruthlessly mocked Rowan earlier, and Aelin had laughed along with her. Why was she so upset?

“No, of course not,” her mother replied, guilt flashing across her features. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Aelin just nodded and pursed her lips, looking back at the lawn and her friends. With Lysandra on their team, they finally had a chance at beating Chaol’s team.

“How are things going–with Rowan?” Evalin asked quietly as to not be overheard.

With equal quietness, she responded, “Really well.”

“Do you see it progressing into anything?”

Looking down at her hands, now curled in her lap, Aelin considered. She was utterly bewitched by Rowan–that didn’t need considering. But for some reason, she felt protective of the details–of the realization she’d had last week. In the past, she would tell her mother everything, but Rowan was hers. Just hers. 

Maybe she was simply in a weird mood, but the wall she’d erected between herself and her mother was a tangible thing–a heavy presence in her chest. “Yes,” she settled on answering, “but it’s still early.”

Evalin’s smile was genuine, if not a little disappointed. She knew her daughter was holding back, but she didn’t push. “And how about your training? Aedion told me you can conjure small flames now.”

Gods, had it been that long since she’d spoken to her mother? Aedion had watched her train a week ago. “Yes, we’ve even been working on a display for the solstice. Rowan’s an excellent teacher,” she declared, turning back to study her mate, now laughing with her father.

Evalin reached over and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “He certainly is. But don’t give him all the credit. You had it in you all along.”

As soon as the words left her mother’s mouth, rage flowed through her like lava. Aelin knew it was meant to be supportive–flattering even–but she couldn’t stop herself from snapping, “You didn’t seem to think that when you suggested the iron tonic.”

Evalin’s mouth fell open with shock–and honestly, Aelin’s did too. She’d never spoken to her mother this way. But now that she had, now that those words had escaped her, the truth of them was overwhelming. 

Of course, Aelin had agreed to take the tonic, feeling helpless and without options, but her mother had been the one to suggest it. She was the one who had handed Aelin the little silver flask that Rowan had eventually destroyed. For months, Evalin had watched her waste away as she poisoned herself with iron. Aelin hadn’t even realized how bad things had gotten until she had explained her situation to Rowan and witnessed the horror in his eyes.

“He deserves more credit than anyone else,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to the ground. It was true. Rowan was the only person who’d made a difference, the only one who hadn’t given up on her. Yet. 

Aelin didn’t dare to glance back at her mother–not while she was still bristling from the revelation. She gazed out over the lawn and found Rowan already looking back, features heavy with concern. 

This wasn’t the place to have this conversation, and Aelin needed time. She let out a long sigh. “Sorry,” she mumbled, still too conflicted and ashamed to see what was on her mother’s face. 

“It’s … okay,” she heard Evalin say, voice barely a whisper. 

Aelin launched to her feet. “I’m going to go for a walk.” And then she was storming off into the hedges without any of the heat or excitement she was hoping for.

_____

As soon as Aelin had fled whatever tense conversation she’d been having with the queen, Rowan knew he had to follow her. 

He’d tried to wait five minutes to avoid suspicion but in the end, his impatience got the best of him, and he ventured off into the maze shortly after, already knowing exactly where to go. 

When he arrived at the lookout, Aelin was just as he’d found her last time–leaning over the railing, gazing out at Orynth. The private space was beautiful in the daylight, filled with flowers he hadn’t noticed before. A thrill went through his blood as he remembered his first visit here, but he put it aside, knowing Aelin didn’t need that from him right now. 

Aelin didn’t startle as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned into him, letting out a sad sigh but said nothing. He wouldn’t force her to speak before she was ready. Rowan would wait as long as she needed, and if she decided she didn’t want to talk at all, that was okay too. So they stood there for long moments, just watching over the city together. 

“I’m mad at her,” his mate finally said.

Rowan nuzzled her neck. “Why?”

Aelin twisted slightly to look up at him and shrugged in his arms. “I guess … before you got here, I didn’t really question the iron tonic–or any of the other things we did to deal with my magic. But now … ” she trailed off.

“But now you’re realizing that it didn’t have to be like that,” he supplied gently. It was a precarious line he was walking. Rowan certainly had some opinions on the subject, but he didn’t want to criticize Aelin’s family to her face–that wouldn’t do him any favours.

But his mate’s eyes sparked at the words, relief on her face. She twisted in his arms, resting her head on his chest. “Yes.”  

A solemn silence fell over them. They didn’t need to say more, both seeming to just know that they understood each other, understood what Aelin had been through and what that meant for her now.

He could have stayed like that forever, running a hand over her golden hair, savouring her warmth, but a sound pulled him from the moment. “Someone’s coming,” he murmured.

Aelin frowned and tilted her head to the side. “I can’t hear anything.”

Rowan gave her a crooked smile. Even in her Fae form, her ears weren’t as sensitive as his. Arms dropping from her waist, he made his way over to the hedges on silent feet, trying to get a scent on their intruder. Much to Rowan’s consternation, it was familiar. 

“It’s Chaol,” he whispered, making his mate’s eyes widen. “What do you want to do?”

Aelin looked around, rushed and panicked–looking for an escape route, he realized. She bit her lip, guilt lining her features. “He can’t find us together.”

Rowan groaned internally. “I don’t want to leave you alone out here with him.”

A snort. “I think I can handle Chaol Westfall.”

He just looked at her. 

“Fine. Stay,” she said with a roll of her turquoise eyes. “But he can’t see you.” Then she was pushing him–where to, he didn’t know. To save her the trouble of figuring it out, he shifted and flew into a tree just in front of the lookout. It was dense and leafy, and he’d be able to watch from a branch. If Chaol did anything questionable, Rowan could kill him in a myriad of ways without even leaving his perch.

Aelin smoothed her hair and dress in a last moment of panic–not that she needed to–she looked perfect. Then she was leaning back over the railing again, winking at Rowan through the branches, before the arrival of Chaol Westfall had her turning to greet him.

____

“Oh good. You’re alone,” were the first words out of Chaol’s mouth. Aelin turned to evaluate him and saw that he looked genuinely relieved–as though he’d been holding his breath and could finally let it go.

She felt her brow furrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Chaol looked around hesitantly and came to sit on the bench before her. He rested his hands on his knees, still looking a bit uneasy as he scanned their surroundings. “I saw Prince Rowan follow you out here.”

The look of dread on her face wasn’t feigned. Did he know?

“I haven’t seen him,” she managed to croak out.

Chaol nodded to himself. “Good.”

Confusion rang through her. “Why?” She moved to sit next to him on the bench.

He met her gaze finally, some strange emotion in his eyes. “I just–” a pause “–worry about you being out here alone with him.”

A blistering wrath tore through her, and she nearly choked on the disbelieving laugh that rose in her throat. “What do you mean by that?” she asked carefully after a moment. “I train alone with him every day.”

He couldn’t really be implying … he couldn’t mean that–

“Aelin, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but he’s … drawn to you.”

“Drawn to me.”

Chaol flinched, realizing that she was going to make him explain himself in no uncertain terms. “He’s obviously attracted to you and–and Aelin, he’s a ruffian.”

Aelin huffed a laugh. A ruffian. “You can’t be serious,” she chided, eyebrows raised. “He’s a prince.”

“It’s just what I’ve noticed.”

She scowled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was getting hard to keep her voice from turning into a hiss. “Rowan has only ever been a perfect gentleman around me.” A total lie of course. Rowan had been staying in her bed for weeks, and trailing his lips over every part of her body, but Chaol didn’t need to know how much Aelin enjoyed those less than gentlemanly moments.

“I just want you to be safe.”

She crossed her arms. Who the fuck did he think he was, implying such things about her mate–her mate who had already changed her life for the better in so many ways. “I am perfectly safe around him,” she near-growled. In fact, Aelin was pretty sure that there was no one safer for her to be around. “Besides,” she went on, trying to distract from how personal this conversation had turned, “I’m more than capable of protecting myself against any man foolish enough to challenge the Firebringer.”

Chaol clasped his hands and gave her a pained look. “You think you could take Rowan?”

The question made Aelin pause. Not because Chaol had any sort of point, just because she hadn’t actually considered it before. “I don’t know,” she answered matter-of-factly. It was the truth.

Her stupid companion nodded as if she’d given him what he wanted to hear. “He isn’t afraid of you, Aelin.”

She sighed. Obviously, Rowan wasn’t afraid of her. That’s what made him so gods-damned special. “I know, but it’s not like that. Rowan is … my friend, and he’s been good to me.”

“Okay,” Chaol conceded, clearly still skeptical. “Just let me know if he gives you any trouble.”

Aelin didn’t deign to acknowledge the silly offer. “You haven’t spoken about this to anyone else, have you?”

“No, I wanted to ask you about it first.”

Chaol didn’t seem to notice, but her shoulders slumped with relief. “Let’s keep this conversation between us then,” she said as calmly as she could. “I don’t appreciate unfounded rumours being circulated about my friends.” It was as close to a threat as Aelin could get. She was showing her hand but Chaol’s speculations were unacceptable, so consequences be damned.

But her suitor nodded, and she reached over to take his hand, using touch to seal the deal. “Thank you, Chaol.” He looked down in shock, cheeks heating ever so slightly. “Should we head back?” she suggested lightly.

 Chaol’s eyes slid back to hers, filled with hope and lust, and Aelin knew that she had him. He swallowed and mumbled, “Yes, let’s do that.”

As they stood to leave, the sound of leaves rustling had them both turning to a nearby tree.

“A white-tailed hawk,” Chaol stated, ignorantly watching as Rowan took off and started circling overhead–no more than a predator looking for its next meal. “I didn’t know you had them in Terrasen.”

Aelin chuckled. “Yeah, they’re pretty common around Orynth.”

Little did Chaol know, Terrasen didn’t have any white-tailed hawks at all.

Chapter Text

Aelin was still angry with Chaol the next day as he sat in her sitting room, waiting for her to join him for lunch. He had been stopping by her rooms for a while now, always patient as she freshened up in her bathing room after magic training.  

Today, she could barely focus as she detangled her hair with her new, inferior hairbrush. The audacity of his words–the accusations he’d privately levelled against Rowan still had her shaking with rage. Her mate hadn’t taken it much better. 

Rowan was certain that Chaol didn’t actually believe any of the things he’d said to Aelin yesterday. He was positive that the concerns were just more lies–a way for Chaol to drive a wedge between them. They agreed that he didn’t know they were involved, but it was clear that he considered Rowan an opponent nonetheless. And apparently, the man was determined to eliminate that threat.

Aelin finished brushing her hair and rebraided it in a huff. She couldn’t believe that she had to go out there and have lunch with him. Couldn’t believe she’d have to smile and nod and look him in the eye. If everything went according to plan, she wouldn’t have to do it much longer, but she was just so fucking tired.

Tired of Chaol disappointing her. Tired of not being able to touch Rowan in public. Tired of the games and the lies and the plotting. Aelin wanted it to be over, and she was determined that in two days it would be. 

Training this morning had been brutal. Rowan was helping her work on something specific for the plan she’d been formulating with Lysandra, and it had taken far more energy than she was used to expending. She hadn’t told him the greater reason for it–only that she wanted to put on a display for the summer solstice. But she knew he was suspicious.

No longer looking like she’d been caught up in a tornado, Aelin emerged and made the regrettable journey over to Chaol. “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” she murmured as she stepped into the sitting room.

He smiled warmly as he stood. “There’s nobody I’d rather wait on.”

Ugh.

She took his offered arm, suppressing her shudder of fury at the gesture. Perhaps more than anything else, she was tired of having to touch Chaol. When she was queen, she was going to make it clear to her court that nobody was to touch her. Anybody who disagreed with the rule could take it up with Rowan. 

Chaol guided her into the hallway, heading toward the garden as usual. “How was your training today?”

“Good,” she said, voice clipped–not rude, just brief. 

He made a sound of understanding. “Do you think … I could come and watch sometime?”

She frowned. “Why?” This had better not be some protective bullshit. But his face seemed open enough. Kind even.

“I’d like to see more of your magic. If we’re to be married, I think I should know every part of you, no?”

They rounded a corner and started down the grand marble staircase that joined the private residential area of the castle to the rest.

“I guess so.” Two more days, two more days, two more days, she chanted in her head, timing it with each step down the stairs. A comfortable rhythm to keep her from lashing out.

“How about two days from now?” he asked, refusing to let her flat tone ruin his enthusiasm.

“That’s the solstice.”

Chaol’s face told her he didn’t know what to do with that. “Oh.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. Adarlan didn’t bother with rituals or gods the way Terrasen did–Lord Westfall had even declined the invitation to the party they were hosting. It was easily explained by their lack of Fae population: humans typically didn’t follow the old ways anymore. After some great war a thousand years ago, it was said that many of the gods left their realm–whatever that meant–and ever since, humanity had been turning away from what remained. At the end of the day, Aelin didn’t take much of it very seriously either but did enjoy the festivities. 

“You expect me to train on my holiday?”

He chuckled. “No, I suppose not.” 

“Maybe the following day?” she offered, knowing she’d have an excellent excuse to cancel by then.

“It would be my honour.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs, weaving through guards and courtiers. This area of the castle was always so busy–busy enough that she almost missed someone calling her name over the bustle.

“Princess Aelin!”

She pulled Chaol to an abrupt stop and looked around, trying to find the source of the female voice that sought her. 

“Maude,” she greeted warmly, seeing the demi-Fae jogging toward her. “How many times have I given you permission to just call me Aelin? ”

Maude smiled but bowed deeply. “This would be the seventh time, your highness.”

Aelin laughed. “What can I do for you?”

“Your father sends a message. He’d like you to meet him in his study.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, your high–Aelin.”

She turned to Chaol. “I’m sorry,” she lied, fake regret on her face, “I think I’ll have to cancel our lunch.” Darn. 

“It’s okay. I understand.” 

Aelin didn’t really care if he did, but he still didn’t look as disappointed as she’d hoped. She could think on it some other time. With one last look of apology, she freed her arm from his and started back up the marble stairs. 

“I’ll see you later,” she called over her shoulder, not waiting for a response. 

______

Aelin wasn’t worried about whatever reason her father had summoned her. The excuse to abandon Chaol was gift enough. Even if she was on her way to be disciplined, she was still feeling pretty good about the trade-off.

The walk to the king’s study passed by in a blur of excitement. She managed to skip a surprising amount of the lunch dates, thanks to both her own plotting and Chaol’s random cancellations, but every time she escaped, it left her in the brightest of moods.

She knocked on the heavy door, unable to hear a peep from inside. In some ways, the study was the safest place in the castle–heavily fortified, next to a secret exit, and sound-proofed against Fae hearing. It had been quite the feat of engineering to get it to that point but had already paid off handsomely, becoming the only place the royal family could truly be sure of privacy.

So, when the door opened, she was surprised to see Rowan there, sitting in one of the two chairs before the king’s desk.

“Fireheart,” her father said warmly, putting an arm around her shoulders as he guided her in and shut the door. 

Rowan met her gaze, looking utterly confused. Her father was keeping them in equal suspense it seemed.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she purred, taking the seat next to her mate. He gave her a crooked smile, but she knew it was forced. Rowan was worried.

Aelin decided to be brave for the both of them. “What’s all this about then?”

The king walked around his desk and slumped down into his chair, resting his elbows on the wood and tenting his fingers beneath his bearded chin. Hesitation flickered across his features before he let out a sigh and dropped his hands in front of him. “We’ve had a bit of a development.”

She pursed her lips, not daring to ask for more. She had a suspicion about what this development could be, but she didn’t want to make it real by talking about it.

It was Rowan that found the courage to speak, voice rough. “What happened?” 

Rhoe’s face was pained, and Aelin found herself reaching for her mate’s hand–for a tether. Rowan wove his fingers with hers, bringing their hands to rest on his knee. 

“Lord Westfall has asked that we start formally arranging the engagement. He wants to meet today to go over the terms.”

The world slipped away.

Aelin went numb. There was a roaring in her ears, but otherwise nothing. She couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything except for the single nightmare of having to marry Chaol. There was just a blankness, a brutal silence that was swallowing her whole from within. She stared mutely at the Kingsflame flower on her father’s desk. Watched the facets of the crystal that enclosed it sparkle in the light. As long as she stayed totally still–

Two broad hands shook her shoulders gently, and she realized that Rowan had come to kneel in front of her. She took a deep breath as if she’d just been forced back into her body, as if she’d just broken through the surface of some dark lake and was desperately gasping for air.

“Aelin, did you hear what your father said?” Rowan’s hands slid down her arms, a comforting motion. 

She took a shaky breath. “No–no, I didn’t.”

Her mate turned, glancing at the king over his shoulder without letting her go.

Rhoe cleared his throat. “I asked if you wanted me to cancel the meeting and officially reject their proposal. You know I’m not going to make you do this.”

“That’s–” she breathed, “that’s not the plan.”

“It also isn’t the plan for you to marry Chaol,” Rowan murmured. 

“The ramifications–Lord Westfall is going to hate me even more than he does now.”

Her father loosed a breath. “Aelin, you’ve done an excellent job of trying to scare them away, and I don’t understand why it hasn’t worked, but this is the reality now. We are going to have to be direct with them.”

“You can’t, though.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “You said Terrasen would suffer. I won’t let that happen.”

Rhoe’s brow was furrowed, both confusion and reproach in his eyes. “What do you want to do then?”

“I–give me a chance. I can still do this,” she insisted. 

“Do what.” Rowan snapped, his harsh tone surprising her.

She beat her own temper back, ignored how the way he refused to look at her set her teeth on edge. “The plan for the solstice will still work. I can still get rid of them peacefully.”

“You mean the plan that you refuse to tell anybody about?”

Aelin frowned at her mate, but it was her father who spoke. “Aelin, if we move forward with this … there’s a real possibility that today’s meeting could end in a proposal.”

“I know.”

Rowan went wholly still, his hands tightening around her arms. It didn’t hurt at all, but it was far less gentle than the way he usually touched her–like she might shatter if he made a wrong move. Aelin looked at him, desperate for eye contact, for comfort, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. He just stared down at one of his hands, curled around her arm. “Rowan,” she whispered, his name a plea. He didn’t look up. “Rowan?”

“I’ll give you two a few minutes to discuss this,” Rhoe said, slipping from the room.

The silence that fell in that moment was deafening. Her stomach dropped. Had she gone too far? Asked for too much? Had she finally pushed him over some invisible line? If he decided that it was too hard to be with her–

His jaw was clenched so hard she thought his teeth might break, but the ice in his eyes kept her from reaching out. She knew he could hear the pounding of her heart, scent her despair, but he was frozen with rage–locked away in some far-off place that she couldn’t reach. 

And her resolve almost crumbled. Every fiber of her being was screaming at her to put him first, to turn from her responsibilities and all that she owed the people of Terrasen. She almost offered to call the whole thing off–almost offered to do anything if it meant never seeing him look like this again. But what kind of a queen would that make her? What kind of a person puts love before their kingdom? 

“I can do this.” She dared to bring a hand to Rowan’s face, breathing a sigh of relief when his expression thawed and he leaned into her touch. “I can do this,” she repeated.

“Aelin,” he breathed, finally dragging his eyes up to meet her gaze.

“Give me two days. If it’s not taken care of by then, we’ll formally reject them–consequences be damned. I promise.”

The anguish on Rowan’s face knocked the breath out of her. “Two days?” he confirmed, voice surprisingly small.

“Two days.”

There was a very long pause where Aelin’s heart went cold, where she wondered if he would just say no. She wouldn’t even blame him if he did. But to her relief, Rowan nodded, her whole body relaxing in response. If she lived a thousand years, she’d spend every single one trying to make it up to him.

Aelin slid to the edge of her chair and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. 

“I have a condition.” His voice was muffled from where he’d buried his face in her neck. Rowan pulled back, hands falling to her waist. “I want to know the plan.”

She chuckled, brushing her nose against his. “You’re sure you want to ruin the surprise? It’s a pretty impressive plan.”

He pinched her side. “Just tell me.” But his lips twitched.

“Alright, but when you realize I spoiled the best surprise of your life, don’t come crying to me.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Deal.”

So Aelin told him everything. All the groundwork she had done, all that was to occur on the solstice, and when she was done, he let out a long whistle. “That’s … better than I was expecting.”

She smacked his arm. “You doubted me?”

“Well, yeah.”

Aelin scoffed but was silenced by Rowan’s lips pressed against hers. His hand slipped to the back of her head, fingers twinning in her hair as he deepened the kiss. Gods. 

It wasn’t really the time or place to do this, but they both needed it. The kiss was claiming, a reminder that they belonged to each other, regardless of the world around them. She tried to communicate everything with just her body–that she was still his in every possible way that mattered. In every way that was real.

She barely realized how inappropriate things had become–that she had wrapped her legs around his waist, that his other hand was kneading her breast until a knock sounded on the door.

They jumped apart as the door opened, Rowan finally standing from where he’d been kneeling before her.

“What did we decide on?” Rhoe asked as he walked back into the room, looking at them like he knew exactly what he’d just interrupted.

Aelin sat up straight in her chair. “We’re moving forward with the plan and the engagement talks.”

She’d never seen her father look so skeptical. “Alright,” he said slowly, voice thick with doubt. “Would you like to join me at the meeting?”

“Am I allowed to?”

A snort. “You’re a future queen, my dear, not a pig being sold in the market. I want you to be involved in things like this.” She almost smiled. “Besides,” he went on, “Chaol will be there. It’s only fair that you get an equal say in this.”

Her stomach turned. Of course, Chaol already knew about this. That’s why he wasn’t disappointed when she abandoned him early. He might even have been the one that decided the time was right. It was unlikely but possible. Perhaps this was why he had been amping up his anti-Rowan efforts recently.

“You know,” she mumbled, trying to find some inner strength again, “this might actually make the plan even better.” The males frowned. “If they think we’re committed enough to go into discussion with them, they’ll never suspect the truth. A final deceit to really sell it.”

Rowan gave her a tight smile. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she said to him with a wink.

Her father huffed a laugh. “Don’t let Aedion hear you saying things like that. You’ll never hear the end of it.”

Aelin ignored the taunt and pushed out of her chair. “What time is the meeting?”

“In an hour,” Rhoe replied.

She nodded and turned for the door, Rowan on her heels.

“Wait.”

Aelin paused, looking back at her father.

“There’s one more thing I’d like to discuss before you go,” Rhoe informed her. “It was good to see you, Rowan.” A dismissal.

She gave her mate a sympathetic smile that pretty much said, I’m sorry, and squeezed his hand in farewell–kissing him in front of her father felt like pushing her luck.

Rowan looked curious–and worried, like he wanted to stick around and listen, but he knew she would tell him later if it was necessary. He padded to the door, silently enough that the soundproofing wouldn’t be needed to conceal his steps, and slipped out of the room. 

When the door was closed once more, Aelin turned on her father. “What is it?” she asked, crossing her arms.

He grimaced. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this?”

“I have to be,” she said, shifting her crossed arms into more of a protective hug. “I have a duty to protect our people. Even if … even if being their queen means I have to sacrifice my own needs.”

Rhoe was silent for long moments–studying her, working through some puzzle. After what felt like an eternity, he crossed the room and grabbed her into a hug. Against her hair, he murmured, “Aelin … you’re not the queen.”

“What?”

He pulled back to look at her. “You are not the ruler of Terrasen, darling. I am.”

She just looked at him, confusion plain on her face.

Rhoe took her face into his hands, eyes serious. “Terrasen’s fate is still my responsibility and hopefully will remain my responsibility for many years to come. I would never suggest you do anything that I didn’t think I could handle.”

“I don’t–”

“It’s just something to keep in mind when you’re worrying about the Westfalls and the kingdom and Rowan.”

Aelin didn’t fully understand what he was trying to say–what he wanted her to glean from that. They were bizarre words to process after spending her entire life preparing to take the throne. There wasn’t a moment she didn’t live under the burden of one day leading her kingdom–not a single day she shied from the responsibility. Responding was beyond her, but she nodded, steeling herself as she withdrew from her father’s embrace.

“And you’re sure your plan is going to work? I don’t know how I would even begin to explain Chaol being murdered by one of Doranelle's diplomats to the Havilliards.”

“Yes.” Aelin nodded, a smirk forming on her face. “That would be a pretty interesting way to start a war, though.”

A laugh. “Indeed.” After a pause, he said, “I spoke to your mother.”

She groaned internally–had been wondering when that would come up. When did her life become such a mess? “One thing at a time,” she pleaded. “I need a few days to … sort that out.”

“Okay.” And that was that. 

Aelin stepped away from her father. “When the meeting ends today, I need you to distract Lord Westfall for a bit.”

Rhoe raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

_____

Sneaking into a meeting to watch his mate get engaged to another man was one of the most masochistic things he’d ever done.

But when the time had come, he just couldn’t … not.

Which was how Rowan found himself skulking around in his hawk form and using his magic to prevent anyone from picking up his scent. 

It was not his finest moment, but he’d already committed, so there was no turning back now.

The Westfalls had already arrived, each a different yet equally irritating portrait of anxiety. Chaol was lounging in his chair surrounding the long table that punctuated the space. Lounging a bit too casually if you asked Rowan.

Then there was Lord Westfall, pacing in circles around the perimeter of the room. Just watching him go was making Rowan’s heart rate rise. In the three minutes Rowan had been tucked away on his ledge, the lord had already completed his circuit six times, which was really saying something because the room was fucking massive . Practically a ballroom.

It was pure luck that they’d selected this room for the meeting. Pure luck that the curved ceiling happened to be busily painted with wildlife–so numerous were the plants and animals that Rowan blended right in. If it had been a meeting of pure Fae he might worry more about detection, but humans weren’t going to spot him.

He’d decided to try and catch Aelin’s eye when she arrived. The opportunity might not present itself, but to make no effort at all made him feel … weird. Ideally, Aelin would know he was here. He would have told her already, but the decision to sneak in had been so last minute, there hadn’t been time to locate her first.

“Do you remember what you’re supposed to say?” Lord Westfall snapped at his son.

“Yes.” Chaol rolled his eyes. “Nothing at all unless I’m asked a direct question.”

Lord Westfall didn’t get a chance to respond because the doors flew open, Aedion walking in first, followed by Rhoe, then Aelin, and someone who looked an awful lot like Evalin.

“You brought your … women,” Lord Westfall observed as he took a seat next to his son.  Chaol groaned and dropped his head into his hands, knowing exactly how bad his father’s statement had been. 

“It’s good to see you, Lord Westfall,” Rhoe said pleasantly, completely ignoring the sexist comment. How the king dealt with people like this, Rowan could not understand. He supposed he’d have to figure it out if he married Aelin, though he had a feeling that they would have a bit of a different style of dealing with people.

The royal family took their seats, Rhoe at the head of the table. To Rowan’s disappointment, Aelin never looked in his direction–didn’t give him a chance to reveal himself.

Evalin’s eyes were glued to Lord Westfall–studying him closely.

“Likewise,” he agreed, returning the king’s sentiment. “Shall we get this over with then?” Not much of a romantic then.

“By all means,” Rhoe encouraged, waving a hand for him to start talking. 

Lord Westfall shifted indignantly at the order but straightened his jacket. “I’ve deemed the courtship between our children to be a success and believe they are well suited to each other.” Such a stiff, formal way to speak in lies. “A marriage between them would be advantageous for both parties.”

Rhoe nodded–not in agreement, just to acknowledge that he was listening. His face remained impassive otherwise. 

The lord’s jaw clenched. “Once we have sorted out the finer details, I think we should be able to leave today with an engagement in place.”

Rowan’s blood turned cold. Somehow hearing the words from Lord Westfall made it so much more real. He needed Aelin to look at him, needed to see her eyes when she realized he was here. As carefully as he could, he uncoiled a tendril of magic. It was too easy to let it seek her out. If anything, these days he had to stop it from doing just that, his magic as addicted to her as he was. The cool breeze kissed the back of her neck, rustling her hair ever so slightly. She straightened. 

Slowly, Aelin scanned the room until finally, her eyes landed on him. She mastered her surprise quickly, giving him a sad look of acknowledgement–of apology, before turning back to the people in front of her.

Rhoe was speaking again. “We’ll see. What are your terms?”

“I think you’ll find Anielle a most advantageous ally,” the lord began with a sleazy smile–the only time Rowan had seen anything close to joy on the man’s face, “and there’s only one thing we want.”

“Which is?” Rhoe asked nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair.

Lord Westfall smirked. “As you may be aware, Anielle … struggles with the people living in the White Fang Mountains.”

“The Wild Men,” Aedion confirmed.

“Indeed,” the lord said, pointing at Aelin’s cousin as if he were a student that had just supplied his teacher with a correct answer. “I’ve grown tired of dealing with them, protecting the border and such.”

Rhoe crossed his arms. “What do you want us to do about it?”

“I want you to eliminate them–all of them,” Lord Westfall declared, hands balling up into fists. “I want you to use that famous army of yours and take care of the problem permanently.”

“That’s genocide,” Aelin barked.

“That’s war, Princess.”

His mate choked on a laugh. She shook her head, horror-stricken by the words, Rowan feeling much the same. Is that what this had all been for? Was this the reason why the Westfalls wouldn’t give up–why Rowan’s life had become a shit show? Because Lord Westfall wanted to wipe out an entire fucking civilization?

“Don’t act like Terrasen hasn’t done their fair share of population control.”

Aelin opened her mouth–to probably yell–but Rhoe raised a hand.

“That’s the only thing you want?” the king sighed.

“Yes.”

Rhoe nodded. “Then I’m afraid I’ll have to reject your offer.”

The silence that fell over the room was almost terrifying–if Rowan could find such things terrifying. Nobody seemed to know what to do as the king held the lord’s stare, a show of absolute dominance. This wasn’t part of the plan.

But for a moment, Rowan felt a whisper of hope. Maybe it would all be over sooner than they’d expected–not because of Aelin’s scheming, but because Terrasen truly didn’t want to align itself with Anielle. Maybe it was out of their hands and up to the king now.

Lord Westfall’s face turned a deep red. “You’re saying … no? ”

“Terrasen won’t partake in your massacre, no.”

Aelin sat tall at her father’s words, pride radiating from her–Aedion too. Even Evalin was looking Rhoe over with respect.

Chaol glanced nervously at Aelin and took a deep breath. “Perhaps we could bargain?”

The lord glared at him, infuriated that his son had spoken out of turn. It would seem Lord Westfall wasn’t interested in anything less than total annihilation. 

“The main problem is the border dispute. The Wild Men believe that part of Anielle belongs to them,” Chaol explained.

“Does it?” Aedion demanded.

Chaol’s ears turned pink. “Our ancestors conquered it a long time ago. But maybe if they had somewhere else–somewhere new to go, they would relinquish that claim.”

Rhoe chortled, stroking his beard. “You want us to offer up some of our territory instead.”

“Certainly you have some part of the Staghorns that nobody is using–”

Aelin cut in, “Are you seriously expecting the Wild Men to just give up on their ancestral homeland?”

Chaol cringed under her glare. “I think if we offer them enough, yes.”

His answer hung in the air while everyone around the table considered. It was a ridiculous proposal, based on ignorance and a lack of experience. But Rowan supposed it didn’t matter if the solution wouldn’t work. That wasn’t the point of this discussion.

Rhoe met his daughter’s gaze, a silent question in his eyes: Do we accept?

Aelin was still as she considered, and Rowan resisted ruffling his feathers out of nervousness. He knew–on some level, he knew what was going to happen, but it still hurt when Aelin nodded her head.

“There are some mountains to the West that are untouched. They are welcome to settle there, should we proceed,” Rhoe concluded. “But to be clear, Terrasen is only offering the territory. We will not handle the negotiations, nor will we encourage them to accept.”

Chaol smiled gratefully and turned to his father. “Is that sufficient?” 

The lord’s face was tight. “I suppose.” Then he was focused on the king again, eyes fierce. “And what does Terrasen want from us?”

The discussion went on for what felt like hours, Rowan feeling sicker and sicker as the time passed. Aelin’s gaze darted to him occasionally, throat bobbing each time, but it did nothing to soothe him. Nothing to stop the feeling that the rug was about to be pulled from under him.

“Is that it then?” Lord Westfall drawled. “Do we have an agreement?”

Rhoe didn’t answer. Instead, he looked to the princess, giving her the final say. 

Aelin’s face was pale, a sickly sheen coating her skin. She refused to meet Rowan’s eye as she answered, “We do.”

We do.

Two simple words that fractured Rowan’s heart. A heart that was fractured further when Chaol reached into his pocket and pulled out a glimmering diamond ring–a ring that Rowan knew his mate would hate. Chaol handed it to Aelin across the table. He didn’t get down on one knee, didn’t ask–just handed it to her.  

She opened her fingers, letting him drop it into her palm. Slowly, carefully, she took the ring between two fingers and slid it onto her left hand. 

It was the single worst moment of Rowan’s life.

_____

Aelin needed to throw up, and she needed to do it soon.

The ring on her finger burned. There were no flames as far as she could see, but she was still certain it was eating away at her skin. It had to be–right?

The Westfalls were standing up, Chaol giving her a glorious smile as he moved. She supposed as much as today was a disaster for her, it was a success for him. 

Two more days, two more days.

“Lord Westfall,” she heard her father say, “join me in my study for a drink.”

Whatever the lord’s answer was, she didn’t hear it. She needed them to leave the room. Needed to be alone with her mate. It all felt so stupid now that the ring was on her finger.

The sounds of closing doors and fluttering wings had her leaping from her chair, running across the room, only narrowly avoiding knocking her mother–Lysandra–off her feet.

“Aelin?” Rowan’s deep voice followed her. But she couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. Not until she reached the planter at the end of the room and emptied the contents of her stomach.

A hand on her abdomen, she leaned over the planter, only feeling vaguely guilty about the poor tree that lived in it. She sank to her knees as Rowan came to her side, pulling her hair back from her face, and vomited again.

Her mate rubbed a hand down her back, murmuring words of comfort, telling her to take deep breaths. She did as instructed, certain that the worst of it had passed, and leaned into Rowan’s side. From where her ear was pressed against his chest, she could hear his own heart racing, as frantic as her own.

“Take it off,” she whimpered when the glint of a diamond caught her eye.

Rowan didn’t miss a beat, grabbing her hand and gently removing the ring from her finger. He pocketed it, and she was more grateful than ever that he always just seemed to know what she needed. With the ring no longer weighing down her finger, her heart, her soul, she found she could breathe again. 

“I wasn’t expecting to react like that,” she said after a moment.

Rowan tightened his arm around her, helping her stand. “I thought there might be some vomiting, but honestly, I thought it would be me this time.”

Aelin chuckled. “Haven’t you heard? Vomiting is my thing.”

He smiled. It was weak, but still, such a blessing to see it on his face. 

The sound of a throat being cleared had them turning. “Sorry to interrupt your cute little prince and princess banter, but we have a plan to get on with,” Lysandra teased, arms crossed.

Right.

“Did you get what you needed?” Aelin asked. 

A feral grin. “That and then some.”

“Good.” Aelin pulled out of Rowan’s arms and made her way over to a wooden console that was pushed against one of the ornate walls. Crouching down, she opened the doors and reached inside for a bundle of clothes. She gave them a quick once over–Aedion had done an excellent job selecting them.

She threw the clothing to Lysandra. “These should be a close enough match.”

The shifter smirked and started undressing, completely unabashed by her nudity. 

“Hey, ” Aelin snapped. “That’s my mother’s body you’re wearing. A little respect, please?”

Lysandra rolled her eyes but walked over the windows, muttering something about repressive attitudes, and wrapped herself in a large curtain. “Of course, your majesty.”

Rowan laughed softly at the interaction, holding an arm out for her again. Aelin settled into his touch once more, trying desperately to forget the small piece of jewellery in his pocket. It wasn’t at all what she’d have chosen for herself–too traditional and impersonal. Just more evidence of how little Chaol really knew her. Though he probably hadn’t put much thought into it.

“Hurry up, please,” she urged the shifter, wanting to get on with this. 

“Patience is a virtue, Aelin.” But Lysandra emerged from the curtain, now drowning in the oversized clothes she’d been given.

Aelin shifted on her feet. “Do you know what I need you to do?”

Lysandra nodded and started walking to the door. Every step she took, she changed. Growing taller, hair turning shorter and greyer. By the time she was pulling on the doorknob, she had copied her target’s form exactly.

“Lys–Lord Westfall!”

She peeked over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Aelin mumbled. 

It was the lord’s deep voice that replied, “You’re welcome.” The shifter winked at her, and then she was out the doors, following the path Aelin had shown her the day before. 

Rowan held her for a while, letting her calm down before she had to go outside and be seen. They’d agreed to announce the engagement in two days at the summer solstice party so nobody would know yet, but she still wasn’t quite ready to face the world.

“What now?” Rowan asked, kissing her forehead gently.

She let out a long sigh. “Now, we hide in my bedroom until the party.”

A laugh. “I think that might be your best plan yet.” He scanned her face. “Do you want to start now or–”

“In a minute,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around his waist. His hands came up to stroke her hair. “In a minute.”

Rowan pulled her closer. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Chapter Text

“We’re going out.”

Rowan opened his eyes, finding Aelin already gazing at him. “I thought we were hiding from Chaol.”

“We are,” she said from the nest of pillows she’d created next to him, “but I’m tired of brooding.”

They’d been holed up in Aelin’s room drinking wine, kissing, talking, for the last day. Avoiding the world and pretending they were the only two people in existence. Aelin might refer to it as brooding, and the two of them were definitely restless, but Rowan had still been having a wonderful time. As he always did with her.

Rowan huffed a laugh and pulled Aelin on top of him. “Okay, what do you want to do?” he asked, looking up at her lovely face.

She smiled down at him, tracing her fingers across his temple. “You’re going to take me for a very expensive night out on the town.”

“And why would I do that?” 

“Because you cannot resist the charms of such a beautiful woman.” Rowan snorted, and she added, “Also, you still owe me ten gold pieces from losing our bet. And you owe me the drink you stole from me that night at the tavern.”

It was true. He had bet that the Westfalls would flee within the first week, and to his dismay, one of those heinous men was now engaged to his mate. But Rowan had been working very hard to repress those thoughts and feelings. “I didn’t realize I was so indebted to you,” he whispered, lifting his head to kiss along her neck. 

Aelin’s breath caught, making him smirk. She fell silent for a moment, eyes drifting closed as his lips moved to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. Then she giggled, swatting him away, saying, “Stop distracting me. You’re not getting out of this.”

“I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

She flicked his nose. “You’re new to Orynth, so I’ll let you off from creating the itinerary. But you will be paying for everything since I know you’re secretly a gentleman.”

Rowan laughed. “Fine.” She beamed at him. He doubted Aelin would spend her way through ten gold pieces. It wasn’t a small sum of money. But then again, Aelin was a creature of luxury.

He didn’t really care much for extravagance. Despite having an unspeakably large fortune to his name (made even larger by the inheritance the Whitethorn line had received from Maeve), Rowan spent very little of it–something that his mate definitely noticed. He’d caught Aelin eyeing his clothes on more than one occasion. Not in a way that made him think she didn’t like them; she just seemed to find them charming. Quaint.

At first, he’d thought it was funny that they were so different, considering they were mates, but he’d realized quickly that they both seemed to like it. Perhaps mates weren’t paired based on similarity but on balance. Whatever the reason, Rowan adored Aelin exactly as she was.

The feel of her warm mouth pressing against his pulled him from his thoughts, replacing musings with desire. He slid a hand up her back and into her golden hair, drawing her closer.

It was getting really difficult not to sleep with her. His self-control was on its last legs. But tomorrow Chaol Westfall would be out of the picture. Tomorrow, things would change, and maybe then … well, he’d have to wait and see.

Aelin rolled away, breaking the kiss, making him grumble in discontent. She chuckled. “I promise we can pick up where we left off later,” she teased. “You just have to woo me first.”

“You’re so demanding.”

She raised a challenging eyebrow and rolled back so that she was hovering above him. Her full lips parted ever so slightly, drawing his eye, taunting him. “Is that a problem?”

“No.”

Aelin nipped at his bottom lip. “Good.” Then she was off the bed and striding into her closet leaving Rowan cold and frustrated. 

“Am I expected to dress nicely for this outing?” he called to her, still lying on the bed. 

His mate emerged, a smirk on her face. “No. What you’re wearing will do.” Her smile widened. “Besides, I doubt you even own any nice clothing,” she said, disappearing back into her closet.

Rowan snorted and sat up against the headboard. His suspicions about her opinions on his clothing had been correct. “You wound me, Aelin,” he said after her. 

A moment later, she returned, a necklace clutched in each hand. “It’s okay, I don’t like you for your fashion sense.”

“And what do you like me for?” 

“Your body, obviously.”

Rowan scoffed. “That’s it? No mention of my staggering intellect?”

Aelin just laughed. He wasn’t quite sure how to take that.

“Which one?” she said, lifting the two identical necklaces up for him to see.

“Umm.” Were they different? “The … left one.”

She hummed and studied them herself. With a quick apologetic glance that looked a bit too amused to be sincere, she dropped the left necklace down onto her dresser and fastened the other around her neck. “Well? Should we get going?” his mate asked, grabbing her cloak from the armchair where she’d discarded it. 

Rowan nodded and pushed off the bed, snatching up his own cloak and making his way over to the balcony. With a last glance behind him, he said, “Where should I meet you?”

“You won’t be meeting me anywhere because we’re doing something different tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow. Care to elaborate, Princess?

His mate gave him an impish grin and turned on her heel. “Follow me,” she chirped with a wave of her hand, padding back into her closet.

Rowan did as he was told–though not without a roll of his eyes when he put the pieces together–and followed Aelin to the back wall of her closet, lined with long shimmering gowns. She pushed them to the side, revealing a wooden panel that blended in perfectly with the wall surrounding it. But Rowan knew it was more than that.

“Terrasen certainly has a flair for dramatics,” he commented wryly.

Aelin pushed on something behind the gowns, and a door swung open, revealing a dark tunnel. “ Please. The Glass Palace in Rifthold has ten times as many passages.” She clambered through the secret door and into the gloom ahead.

Rowan followed after her. “How do you even know that?”

“Prince Dorian showed me.” She grinned over her shoulder. “It took a bit of flirtation, but in the end, I got him to talk. Men are always the weak links when it comes to security.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop a small smile from forming on his face. Aelin paused for a moment, Rowan by her side, not yet having closed the door behind them. His mate stared into the gloom, and he gave her a moment to rally herself. To decide if she would be lighting the way herself or if they would need a torch. A choice he would leave to her.

Training had been going well. Really well. Aelin was more than ready to do this–had done far more on the plains with ease. It was the close quarters that were new to her.

He reached out for her hand, weaving their fingers together. A small reminder that he was right there with her. Aelin turned to him, eyes grateful and warm, and tightened her grip on his hand. Flames flickered to life in front of them. Then they were rising into the air, growing in size until the tunnel before them was brightly lit. Aelin squeezed his fingers, a proud smile on her face, which he returned, and Rowan shut the door behind them.

Hand-in-hand they followed her flames into the city.

_____

“Okay, so technically, the first thing we’re doing is free.”

“How is something technically free?” Rowan asked, his skeptical expression hidden by the shadows of his hood.

Aelin chuckled and tugged on his hand, a signal to scurry across a busy street with her. “My family has paid for it in advance.” 

They made it through the crowd and into a dark back alley without a second glance. They were being far less discreet than their previous trips into the city, but if Aelin didn’t care, then neither did he. He would hold her hand for as long as she’d let him. 

“And where are we going?”

“The Royal Theatre,” Aelin answered finally. He gave her a sideways glance. “My favourite symphony is playing right now,” she explained, “I was going to go and see it with my parents but ... I want to see it with you.”

Another busy street. Another back alley.

“We won’t be able to sit in the Royal Box like I promised,” she went on, a bit of guilt on her face. Then a wicked smile. “But I actually have somewhere better in mind anyway.”

The Royal Theatre came into view, groups of elegantly dressed people streaming through its grand entrance. The building practically glowed against the evening sky. It truly was unlike anything they had in Doranelle. It wasn’t for lack of money that such luxuries were scarce in Doranelle, it was simply that it was all so ancient. Most of the infrastructure had been created hundreds of years ago before Rowan had been born. The Fae built things to stand the test of time–to last as long as they did. He doubted that the Royal Theatre would survive hundreds of years, not without heavy maintenance, but he couldn’t deny its beauty. 

Aelin led them around the back of the building, coming up on a side door–likely the one staff and performers used. She didn’t hesitate to open it and pull Rowan inside with her and down a labyrinth of narrow corridors. They didn’t run into anyone, but he could hear the clamor of preparations–instruments being tuned, instructions being shouted–as they went.

When the sounds were so loud that Rowan was certain one more turn would deposit them on the stage itself, Aelin stopped before an unassuming door. She dropped his hand and pulled out a key, unlocking the door and revealing a space no more than four feet deep. 

Apart from its ridiculous size, what really made the room interesting was that it lacked a ceiling. It was totally open to the rafters, candlelight from the main part of the theatre spilling into it. And connecting to those rafters was a very tall ladder.

Before Rowan could express his doubts about Aelin’s safety, she was climbing. So he followed. He found her at the top, already perched on a thick wooden platform with a thin railing built into the rafters, legs swinging in the air below her. It was a small space, not noticeable from below, but large enough that they could sit comfortably. 

Rowan sat down next to her and surveyed the stage beneath them. It was a bit of a strange angle to watch from–they were on the left side of the stage, and slightly behind where the musicians would be sitting. But they were entirely hidden from the audience. 

“I asked the architect to add this in,” Aelin murmured, pushing back her hood and snuggling into his side. “I don’t always want to make a public appearance just to listen to music.” 

He peeled away his own hood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I think I would have been more surprised if you hadn’t included something like this.” A sardonic smile. “So what are we here to see?” he asked.

“The Stygian Suite,” she answered, then pointed down at an older man. “That’s Pytor, the conductor. He composed it.” Pytor hobbled around backstage, stopping to offer some final words of encouragement and smiles to each of his musicians. “It’s been my favourite symphony since I saw it in Rifthold when I was eighteen.”

“I’ve never seen an orchestra,” he admitted.

“ Never? ”

“Never.”

She just gaped at him. “Immortality is wasted on you.”

“That”–he leaned in as if to kiss her nose, instead nipping it with his canines–“is not very nice.” Aelin laughed and pushed him away, wiping at her nose.

Then a hush fell over the crowd, lights being dimmed by magic wielders. Aelin leaned against him, falling quiet as they watched the people line up in the wings, instruments in hand. The curtains pulled back, revealing the empty stage, and the audience cheered as the musicians took up their spots, Pytor appearing last. 

When the cheering ceased, and the audience was waiting with bated breath, they began.

The first movement was soft at first, notes delicately floating from the piano and violins. But up and up it built, each new instrument bursting to life at just the right moment. 

The music roared through him, every note a story of glory and life and beauty, only interrupted by the occasional sigh or sharp breath from his mate. 

He couldn’t look away from her. Not as the movement reached its lively crescendo. Not as they transitioned into the slow and lyrical notes of the next movement. All he could see was the beauty of Aelin, the silver lining her eyes as she watched the performers below.

And it wasn’t a surprise at all when Rowan found himself thinking about how much he loved her.

_____

It was easy to spend all ten of the gold pieces that Rowan owed her. The sight of his eyes bulging out of his head when he’d heard the price of the bottle of wine Aelin had selected would stay with her forever.

After the symphony had finished, they’d snuck out of the theatre and into the market district of the city, stopping in everywhere that was still open at the late hour. When they had a veritable cornucopia of food and drink–all of which Rowan was now dutifully carrying–they made their way to the next stop on their itinerary.

It had actually been Aedion that had shown her this spot. He’d discovered it when he was only thirteen, him and Ren Allsbrook still at each other’s throats. Lord Allsbrook had ultimately discouraged the feud (and their friendship) when it became clear that Aedion would be selected to take the blood oath to Aelin. The two boys hadn’t been close since, which was probably a good thing considering they almost got each other killed on more than one occasion. 

One of those occasions, they’d decided to race across rooftops in the city. Aedion had fallen and broken his arm, which had made them call the whole thing off, but not before he discovered this spot. 

Above one of Orynth’s smaller, more forgotten temples was an amazing rooftop space, only accessible by those willing to climb. It wasn’t very large, but being located on the edge of the city, up a bit of a hill, it gave one an amazing view of Orynth, the plains, and the Oakwald. Not that Aelin could see much of the wilderness at night, but Rowan could, and even just the night lights of the city were worth the climb.

Aelin started clambering up the side of the temple, making use of its many architectural details to haul herself up. Rowan passed her the bags of food and the bottle of wine and climbed up after her. With a bit of stopping and starting, they managed to get themselves and their precious cargo to the roof. Her mate took the food and wine from her hands and deposited them on the ground. He sat down next to it, leaning against a low wall in the centre of the space, and reached for her.

She settled between his legs, his arms wrapping around her waist. Aelin ran her hands along his strong forearms and let her head rest against his chest. For a moment, they just stared out at the city, content to hold each other. 

Then she was reaching for the wine. Rowan chuckled when she pulled a dagger from her boot and used it to dig the cork out of the bottle. She took a swig and passed it to him. As he drank, she said, “Tell me something you’ve never told anybody else.”

She was met with silence. “Rowan?”

“I’m thinking.” Then he chuckled. “You have to swear you won’t tell anybody. Especially Fenrys.”

“On my life.”

“Okay. I have one scar below my ribs from when I got impaled by a spear.”

A chill ran across Aelin’s skin. She had seen all of Rowan’s scars now but had been much too afraid to ask about them, the world of war and pain so far away from her own. Aelin didn’t have a single scar on her body. Both because she rarely got hurt, and because even when she did, the healers were there to take care of her minor scrapes. The thought of Rowan in those situations, being hurt … she didn’t enjoy thinking about it. Almost unconsciously, she reached around and brushed her fingers over his side.

“Yes, that one,” he confirmed. “The story I told my men was that I got ambushed by a rogue unit of enemy soldiers after we defeated them in battle, and I was combing the killing field for survivors.”

“But that’s not what happened?”

“No.” He hesitated. “I was looking for survivors, but I didn’t find any. What actually happened was that I slipped in the mud and fell onto a spear.”

She barked a laugh. “ You slipped?”

“I did. And I nearly died too.”

Aelin couldn’t stop her giggles, couldn’t stop her shoulders from shaking against him. The idea of her warrior-prince just slipping in some mud was so unexpected.

“That’s why I have a scar because I was too embarrassed to go to the healers and admit what happened. So I just laid there in the mud and healed it myself, praying I didn’t bleed out in the meantime.”

“I can’t even imagine you falling down,” she said, twisting to look up at him.

He smirked down at her. “It happens once a century or so.”

She laughed again, turning back to the city. Rowan’s lips found her neck and he breathed onto her skin, “Your turn.”

Her eyes drifted closed. “I suppose that’s only fair,” she said after a moment of consideration. “I’ve always wished I could play the piano.”

“That’s nothing like as scandalous as my secret,” Rowan laughed. Though, from the way he held her tighter, she knew he was listening.

“It’s just–even when I was a child, I rarely had time to do things. Every minute of my life is spent learning to be a good queen,” she explained. “And I know it’s ungrateful for me to complain, but … I wish I could have chosen one thing for myself.”

“You have time now.”

“It only looks that way. The second I’ve mastered my magic and the Westfalls are gone, I’ll be pulled back into my old routine.”

Rowan made a contemplative sound. “Maybe this is a good opportunity to ask for a change.”

Aelin didn’t answer right away, but she did think about it. Maybe Rowan was right. If his arrival had shown her anything, it was how much of her life did not belong to her–how much she was just being dragged along by the decisions of others. She would never be able to fully turn away from that life, but perhaps a balance could be struck. “Maybe,” she said eventually, following the word with a mouthful of wine. “It’s your turn again.”

Rowan took the bottle back from her and drank deeply as he thought. “You remember the story Enda told you? About how I didn’t want to be a warrior when I was a child?”

“When you wanted to sell meat on a stick? How could I forget?” she chuckled.

He was silent for a moment, and Aelin felt the air shift, something serious settling over them.

“It wasn’t because I was passionate about food,” he said quietly. “I’ve always wanted to be a warrior–even then. But I was … afraid of what that would mean for me. For the people around me.”

Aelin looked up at him and found him staring unseeingly into the Oakwald.

“Maeve wanted me to swear the blood oath to her. She liked to collect powerful people, and she was always bitter that she didn’t have me.”

“But you have a choice, right? Nobody can force you to swear a blood oath?”

“Yes … and no.” She waited. “I was worried she would use my family against me.”

Aelin swallowed. “Would she have done that?”

Rowan glanced down at her finally, some faraway look in his eyes. “Yes. That’s how she got Fenrys.”

Her stomach turned at the words. Fenrys was vocal about his hatred of Maeve, and it had left Aelin wondering why he’d sworn himself to her in the first place. She supposed she was about to find out.

Reading the question in her eyes, he explained. “I don’t know the details, but Fenrys has a twin–Connall.” Aelin felt her eyebrows rise. She hadn’t known that. “Connall chose to swear the oath, and I only ever heard rumours, but Maeve made him … she didn’t treat him well. Fenrys agreed to swear the oath in exchange for Maeve backing off his brother.”

She had a feeling she knew exactly what Maeve had made Fenrys and Connall do but was certain she’d be sick if either of them said it out loud. 

“Twins are rare for the Fae. And Maeve wanted a full set. She knew what she was doing.”

“That’s horrible.”

He nodded and let out a long sigh. “Being a child, I thought that if I just refused to train, I wouldn’t be worth Maeve’s attention.”

“What changed your mind?” she whispered.

“I realized that Maeve would probably want me regardless, and I was better off at least being able to defend myself and my family.

“Could you have beaten Maeve?”

His jaw clenched. “No.”

So much hopelessness in one single word. Aelin couldn’t fight the way it struck a chord of horror within her. Rowan was the most powerful person–Fae or otherwise–that she’d ever met. For him to be so certain that he would lose … she was more grateful than ever that Maeve was dead.

“You could have, though.”

Aelin’s breath caught. “What?”

“You could have defeated Maeve–with the right training. You have that power.”

She shook her head–not in disagreement, but to dislodge the fear that had taken hold of her. “I’m not sure about that.”

“Aelin,” he said softly, “as far as I know, you’re the most powerful magic wielder alive.”

She scoffed. “I can’t beat you, though.”

“Maybe not, but that’s just because our magics sort of cancel each other out. I don’t think I could beat you either. We’d just end up in a stalemate,” he chuckled. “But Maeve … You’d have won.”

A shiver went down her spine. Not the good kind. “I’m glad we won’t get to find out.”

“As am I.”

Rowan reached for the bag containing the food and pulled out the box of cake from her favourite bakery. He handed it to her, perhaps sensing the sugar would lift her spirits. 

She opened the box and stared down at the chocolate icing, considering her next words. “My turn,” she said quietly, taking a pathetically small piece of cake onto her fork.

Aelin nibbled at the icing, Rowan waiting patiently for her to speak and reveal another secret. There was something she wanted to tell him. Actually, there were two things she wanted to tell him, but this one … she needed to say this first.

“I don’t want to be the Heir of Fire,” she whispered. 

“I know.”

Surprise had her putting down her cake and twisting to look at him fully. His eyes were soft, as was his touch as he lifted a hand cup her cheek, his thumb trailing across her skin. They gazed at each other for a long moment, the silence urging her to ramble on and explain, “I don’t want to be any of the things people say about me. I don't want any of it.”

“I know,” he repeated gently. “Why do you think we haven’t done any combat training with your magic?”

Aelin didn’t have an answer. She hadn’t even questioned the training methods. But she supposed Rowan was a warrior–fighting was his expertise. Usually, he trained soldiers. Not princesses.

“You’re not upset?”

He frowned. “Why would I be upset?”

“Because,” she sighed, trying to find the words. “I feel like it’s my duty to be a weapon so that I can protect my kingdom. To conquer foreign lands and use my magic for the benefit of Terrasen. That sort of thing.”

Rowan was silent as he thought over her words. Finally, he asked, “Do you want my opinion as a general or as your mate?”

“Both.”

He gave her a searching look as if checking for the truth of those words before deeming it safe enough to continue. “As a general, I agree with you. With a power like yours, you could conquer the continent.”

Aelin swallowed. “And as my mate?”

“As your mate, I don’t give a shit about what you do with your power, as long as you’re happy.” She gave him a skeptical look. “I’d like you even if you had no magic at all,” he said with a crooked smile. “But I also think that you’ve spent your whole life hearing that your magic is bad. And I think you heard it enough that you started to believe it. You can choose whatever path you want, Aelin, but do it because you’ve accepted who you are–not because you’re trying to make yourself smaller for other people.”

Aelin turned away from him, unable to hold his piercing gaze. Unable to look into the eyes that saw too much. He was right, of course. About all of it. But Chaol’s words still haunted her. “I don’t want to be a warrior.”

“Don’t you?”

She frowned and looked back at him again. “What do you mean?”

Rowan tightened his grip on her. “You’re training with Aedion.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“I–” She didn’t know why, she realized. It just was.

“It’s not so different, Aelin,” he murmured. “Whether you fight with a sword or with your magic, it’s all the same in the end.”

Except it wasn’t because anyone could pick up a sword. And a sword wouldn’t protect kingdoms from someone like her should she choose to annihilate them.

But also … he wasn’t wrong. Aelin did like fighting with weapons. It was more than self-defense. She enjoyed the thrill of battle. And for a moment, she let herself consider it–who she could be if she embraced everything that she was. Who she might have been had she not been raised to fear her magic but instead learnt to control it.

“What would have happened if I’d been sent to Doranelle?” she asked.

Rowan shifted behind her, perhaps taken aback by the change in conversation, but answered simply, “We would have trained you but … I’m glad you never went.”

“Why?” Aelin knew the answer, though.

“Maeve would have tried to collect you too. And if we’d met …”

“She would have succeeded,” she finished for him quietly. Aelin felt it in every fiber of her being. She would have sworn the blood oath for Rowan if Maeve had threatened him. And she wondered if perhaps he would have done the same for her.

“I know you’re upset with your parents for how they handled your magic, but they were right to keep you away from Doranelle. At least, while Maeve was in power.”

“They still didn’t make any plans to send me when Sellene took the throne.”

“Maybe they would have after the peace talks concluded.”

“Maybe.” She didn’t believe it, though. “This conversation’s become too unpleasant to have while eating,” she said, picking up her cake again. “Tell me about Loren Salvaloo– whatever his name is .”

“You mean Lorcan Salvaterre? Why?”

“I want to see if he would be a good match for Elide.”

A snort. “I don’t think Lorcan is a good match for anybody. ”

“Why not?”

“He’s … ”

“He’s what?”

“Terrible. He’s terrible.”

“Explain.”

Rowan sighed. “Lorcan is the single most unpleasant person I’ve ever met in my life. I hated working with him. He’s powerful, for sure–enough to rival even me. He was Maeve’s second in command. But he’s totally heartless. I don’t think he is even capable of loving someone.”

“Is he good-looking?”

“I suppose.”

“And he’s tall, you said.”

“Yes … ” He raised an eyebrow.

“That’s all Elide asked for. We should invite him to Terrasen and let them decide for themselves.”

Rowan choked. “We are not asking Lorcan Salvaterre to come here.”

“You don’t think he would be interested in Elide?”

“I think he would be very interested in her. Just not the way you’re hoping for.”

She pursed her lips. Aelin just had a feeling Elide could handle him. “That’s it. I’m inviting him.”

“No, don’t do that.”

“I’m going to.”

“Aelin, he doesn’t smile. ”

“Neither do you most of the time.”

“I smile at you.”

“And maybe Lorcan will smile at Elide. Maybe you’re not so different.”

He scoffed. “Me and Lorcan are nothing alike.”

“I don’t know. So far, you’ve described him as powerful and broody. Sounds exactly like you.”

The look of outrage on Rowan’s face had her in stitches. 

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” he said.

She smirked and drained the last of the wine. “Everyone does.”

Chapter Text

On the morning of the summer solstice, Rowan found himself lying in Aelin’s bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling rather put off. Aelin wasn’t awake yet, still cuddled into his side, snoring delicately–if snoring could ever be described as delicate. It was good that she was sleeping still because he needed a moment to process. A reprieve to grapple with his life choices and reflect on the moment he had so flippantly ignored the warnings to not venture down this path.

He had finished the book. Aelin’s smutty, unsettling book. His mate had warned him about the part, but he hadn’t listened. He had trudged ahead with all the arrogance of three hundred years, believing he had seen everything.

Rowan had not seen everything. And now, he was afraid to discover what else had escaped his notice.

So he just continued to stare at the ceiling. There wasn’t really anything else to do.

Aelin made a particularly loud sound, waking herself up with a start. He tightened his arms around her absentmindedly, squishing her against him in a way that had her chuckling.

“Good morning,” she wheezed against his neck. Rowan only relaxed his arms when Aelin laughed again and started pulling away, freeing herself from his iron grip so that she could stare down at him. Perhaps noticing the vacant look in his eyes, she asked, “What happened to you?”

Aelin brought a hand to his cheek, redirecting his stare from the ceiling to her face. Her face looked like it was holding back a lot of laughter.

“I finished your book,” he revealed after a moment.

She smirked, eyes briefly darting to the book he’d placed face-down on the nightstand. “And?”

He took a moment before responding because he still hadn’t quite found his bearings. Book reviews required words, and he was struggling with those right now. “I’ve been alive a very long time,” he finally started, voice strained, “and I’ve never even heard of … that.”

Aelin’s mouth morphed into a wide grin, and the laughter she’d been holding in exploded out of her. “I don’t think it’s popular,” she cackled. When she’d settled down a bit, she added, “I take it we’re in agreement about not trying it?”

Slowly, he nodded his head, glad that Aelin had told him in advance that she was not a fan of the part. “We are absolutely in agreement.”

“That said,” she continued, grin turning impish, “if we’re going to be together for hundreds of years, maybe we should be more open-minded. Might keep things interesting.”

Rowan snorted. “You’re going to have to crack my skull open first if you want me to be that opened-minded.” 

His mate laughed again, the sound of it finally thawing him out. He cracked a small smile. “Are all your books so innovative?”

“You mean to say that my haughty, immortal prince has been scandalized by my choice in reading?”

“Almost everything scandalizes me when it comes to you,” he murmured, eyes dropping to Aelin’s bottom lip, now tucked beneath her teeth. He wanted that lip between his teeth.

She noticed and smirked again.

“No, that one was special,” she said, answering his original question. “Since you’re so embarrassed by mine, perhaps you should get a stack of your own books.”

It wasn’t a significant offer, but Rowan’s heart still warmed at the words. Warmed at the thought of his books on one of the nightstands. Not that he had any with him, but he could get some. He could settle in here. It was easy to get carried away these days–imagining his life with Aelin, sharing this room, kissing every inch of her skin every single night. He’d move in today if she asked him to.

But she wouldn’t.

Aelin clambered on top of him, straddling his hips and making the sinking feeling that had appeared in his chest disappear. She was in one of her usual nightgowns–emerald this time–a piece of clothing that Rowan had come to think of more as a torture device than a treat. 

Rowan took solace in the fact that tonight they were deal with Chaol for good. Tonight, Aelin was going to return to this bed without a ring on her finger, and maybe–just maybe that torture would finally come to an end. Even just the possibility had anticipation thundering through his veins.

There was no doubt that Aelin noticed where his thoughts had gone. No doubt that she felt the evidence of it pressed against her. She leaned down to kiss him once. Twice. Then moved her lips to that spot beneath his ear.

“Excited, aren’t we?” she whispered, shifting her hips against him. He only groaned in confirmation. Words were failing him again.

Rowan’s hand found the back of her head, guiding her lips back to his for a deep kiss. His fingers got lost and tangled in her hair, the silkiness mesmerising. There was no part of her that he didn’t relish touching. It was Aelin who broke away after a moment, pulling her nightgown over her head. His arms slid around her bare waist, and they melted into each other, her soft skin shredding his self-control by the second.

It was an effort not to tell her he was in love with her. He wanted to. Gods, he could barely keep the words in. Rowan wanted to tell her that he loved every time she laughed at his expense and teased him mercilessly. He wanted to say it every time she got that ridiculous concentration frown during magic training. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops every time she woke herself up with her own snoring.

And when she touched him like this, he very specifically wanted to groan it onto her skin.

But it wasn’t time. Not until after the solstice and the Westfalls were dispatched. Not until she was well and truly his.

Aelin pulled back slightly to start unfastening his pants, giving him access to her breasts and vanishing whatever shred of coherence he had left. Rowan lifted a hand to touch her, to take things further, but–

But was interrupted–his heart stopping dead in his chest–as someone threw the bedroom door open hard enough to smash against the wall.

Aelin yelped and rolled off him. Quickly, Rowan threw an arm over her, grabbing the blankets and covering her naked body. When his mate was tucked slightly behind him, he turned to their intruder, snarling and ready to do some murdering.

Fenrys fucking Moonbeam was striding through the bedroom doors, aiming for the armchair, looking way too pleased with himself. “Morning,” he drawled, dropping down into the chair.

Rowan was going to rip his face off.

“How did you get in? The main door is locked.” Aelin demanded breathlessly, clutching a sheet to her chest.

Fenrys just smirked.

“Get out.” Rowan’s voice was deadly calm.

“Only if you promise not to go straight back to … ” Fenrys made a disgusted face, “Whatever wholesome fun you were about to have.” 

Aelin’s small laugh surprised him. Though still clearly uncomfortable with the intrusion, she apparently found humour in the situation that Rowan did not. He was seething when he turned back to Fenrys and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a free kingdom, Rowan.” Seeing the dissatisfaction on his face, Fenrys rolled his eyes and continued, “Fine. To be perfectly honest, I’m bored.” He made a show of examining his nails while he spoke. “I have the day off because of the solstice, and I thought I’d see what my two favourite people were planning to do today.” 

“I’m going to kill you.”

Fenrys just snorted and turned to Aelin. “He’s quite moody, this one,” he mocked with a thumb pointed at Rowan. His mate just leaned back against the headboard, more than content to watch this play out. Fenrys’s playful face turned absolutely wicked as he winked at Aelin and purred, voice sensual and rough, “Let me know if you ever want to trade up for something a little more fun. ”

That was it. Rowan was going to kill him.

Fenrys narrowly missed the dagger of ice that Rowan sent toward his head.

He chuckled. “Oh, Rowan. Don’t be so sensitive. We’re all best friends here–”

Three more ice daggers shut him up, bouncing off the shield Fenrys erected at the last second. The male stood, an invitation to fight in his eyes.

Rowan moved to meet the challenge, but a small hand pulling on his arm kept him in bed.

“Fenrys, why don’t you wait in the sitting room?” Aelin suggested.

“Of course, your majesty.” A mocking bow. Then he winked at Aelin again and sauntered out of the bedroom.

“Door closed, Fenrys.”

He reappeared, chuckling to himself. “You two are so cute.” But he shut the door behind him as he exited the room.

Aelin dropped the sheet she’d been holding against her body, a breathy laugh leaving her. “I suppose we should get up.”

“I can kill Fenrys from here just fine.”

She smacked him on the arm. “You’re not killing Fenrys. In fact, let’s just make no killing a blanket rule.”

Rowan grumbled in response while Aelin slipped from the bed. He fell back against the pillows, feeling unbelievably grumpy. He was so tired of not having sex.

“Rowan,” his mate said in a strange voice, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Yes?”

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and found Aelin standing by her dresser, frowning down at it. “You saw me put my necklace here yesterday, right?”

“I did.” Rowan got out of bed, coming up behind her and looking over her bare shoulder. There was no necklace there now. 

She turned and gave him a confused look before briefly disappearing into her closet. She returned a minute later in her blue silk robe and went back to studying the empty spot on her dresser once again.

“Fenrys,” she called, “did you steal my necklace just now?”

Fenrys waltzed back into the room, dramatically opening the door in a huff. “First, you throw me out of your bedroom, and now you accuse me of theft?”

Aelin made a frustrated sound. “I definitely left it here.”

“Are you sure you didn’t just put it away?” Rowan asked gently.

She shook her head. “I just looked in my jewellery box. It’s not there either.”

“Maybe someone broke in and took it,” Fenrys mused.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “That’s unlikely.” But Aelin had gone still. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “What is it?”

Aelin frowned. “It’s just–this isn’t the first thing to go missing from my room. First, there was my hair ribbon, and then my hairbrush, and now … ”

Fenrys started drifting around the room, perhaps looking for clues. “Surely, if someone had broken in, we’d have caught their scent.”

“You can’t?” Aelin asked, deflating.

“I can’t smell anyone who didn’t have a reason to be here,” Rowan answered.

“Who?”

“Well, the three of us, Aedion, Chaol, your ladies in waiting–what?”

Aelin was biting her lip, a conflicted expression twisting her lovely features. “Do you think … ” She took a breath. “Do you think it was Chaol?”

Rowan paused. “Do you?”

“It’s just … I know it wasn’t any of us or Aedion. And my ladies in waiting have been with me for years. Why would they steal from me now? And if they did, why steal something as worthless as a ribbon?”

He considered her words. Rowan loved the theory simply because it involved his nemesis, but that didn’t make it true. “He’s only been in your room when you’ve been here, though, right?”

“Well, I thought so–until now. But even when he waits for me after training, I usually leave him alone in the sitting room while I get ready in the bathing room.”

Fenrys walked back to them, leaning against the dresser. “So he’s been in your rooms unsupervised?”

“Many times.”

“Enough times to steal some of your shit and figure out the best way to break back in?”

Aelin didn’t answer the question, but Rowan caught the shudder that went through her. “If the necklace is gone … that would mean he came into my room last night.”

Fenrys crossed his arms. “Typically, when you go to someone’s room at night, you expect them to be there.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Rowan declared.

Aelin shot him a glare. “Enough with the killing. This is all speculation. We don’t have any evidence.”

“Then let’s get some.” Fenrys grinned at them both. “I knew breaking into your room this morning would be fun.”

_____

“Why exactly are you here again, Fenrys?”

Fenrys smirked, thinking up a response that would surely aggravate her mate even further. “Because we are a trio of friends.”

Rowan took the bait.“We are not a trio,” 

“Then what are we?”

“We’re nothing,” her mate sighed. “There’s Aelin and me, and then very, very separately, there’s you.”

Fenrys scowled at Rowan and then turned puppy-dog eyes on Aelin. 

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Is this how Rowan always treats you?”

“No. He’s nicer when you’re around.”

Aelin laughed. She couldn’t deny she had a soft spot for Fenrys. Even with the heaviness of what Rowan had revealed about him last night–how Maeve had entrapped him–and despite the mission they were on right now, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Especially when Rowan reacted so hilariously to every blatant attempt Fenrys made to rile him up. 

The trio was walking casually from Aelin’s rooms to the guest wing. With Fenrys in tow, they could be far less discreet–until they broke into Chaol’s room that is.

She didn’t know what she was expecting to find. Wasn’t sure what outcome she was hoping for. It would certainly make things really fucking simple if he had been hoarding her possessions in some horrifying shrine. But he also just really didn’t seem like the type to do such a thing. He was a prejudiced arse most of the time, but he wasn’t creepy.

“I just think it’s unfair that Rowan keeps you to himself. He’s so boring, and you’re so … not.”

Rowan sputtered out a wordless sound of offense. She looked at her mate affectionately. “I don’t think he’s boring,” she said, patting his arm.

“Really?” Fenrys ogled them. “You mean, after you spend time with him, you aren’t left thinking that was a very reserved and dull experience, and I hope never to repeat it?”

Aelin guffawed but managed to say, “Not at all.”

Fenrys looked between the two of them and shook his head, a feigned show of bewilderment. “Wow. There really is someone for everybody.”

“Not for you,” Rowan muttered pettily.

Fenrys rolled his eyes. “You get everything you want, Rowan, yet you’re still a bastard. Lorcan would be proud.”

Aelin raised her eyebrows, remembering their conversation from last night. Her mate had adamantly denied any similarities to this famed Lorcan. “Is that right?”

Fenrys grinned. “Oh yes, the two of them are the worst to work with. It’s all glares and crossed arms and one-word answers when they’re together.”

“It’s funny you say that because I just decided that I’m going to invite Lorcan to Orynth.”

Fenrys’s gorgeous face blanched. “No. Nononononono,” he moaned. “Why would you do that? Rowan, why is she doing that?”

Rowan shrugged. “Aelin does what she wants.”

“Please don’t, Aelin. We already have Rowan. We don’t need another one.”

She giggled. “I like Rowan, though. Remember?”

“But he’s your mate. You have to like him,” Fenrys whined. Then he turned on Rowan. “Rowan, I order you to stop her from inviting Lorcan here.”

Her mate scowled, but the sassy reply she’d grown to expect from him never came. She raised an eyebrow, studying him closely as she slowly repeated, “Order?”

A grimace passed over Rowan’s face–the purest disgust she’d ever seen.

Fenrys, on the other hand, perked right up. A massive, devilish grin lighting up his features. “Hasn’t he told you?”

She looked between the two of them, Rowan giving his friend a growl of warning. “Told me what?”

Fenrys grabbed the lapels of his jacket, looking ever so proud as he said, “I outrank him.”

"What? ” she coughed, surprise catching in her throat. “How is that possible? Rowan’s a prince!”

“Yes, but I am one of Maeve’s warriors. We outranked everyone.”

“Even now?”

“Even now. Sellene let us keep our positions.”

Aelin looked at her mate, eyes widening, just like her smirk. Rowan cringed under her gaze, perhaps sensing all the mischief she was cooking up. “So you’re his boss?” she clarified, tilting her head, sizing Rowan up like a predator. “As in, you can make him do things?”

“Not without significant back-talk and questioning, but yes,” Fenrys clapped Rowan on the shoulder–a patronizing move, “right now he answers to me.”

Aelin laughed. Hard. Rowan had clearly been trying to keep this a secret. But what a joy it was to have it out in the open. She would never take advantage of rank to make Rowan do anything, but she certainly enjoyed seeing him squirm. He handled humiliation even worse than Aedion.

Her mate was shooting daggers at Fenrys, voice laced with a snarl as he said, “Again. Remind me why you’re here?”

Fenrys rolled his eyes, and they turned into the guest wing. 

She realized that despite the situation, Fenrys had done an excellent job of keeping her mind off things. Had managed to make her laugh and forget their mission for a moment. It was a pity he would go back to Doranelle one day. She would have enjoyed keeping him around. Would have enjoyed an immortal friend.

Checking first that the coast was clear, they stalked down the hallway that housed the Westfalls, pulling up at the door that led to Chaol’s room. He wouldn’t be there because Aedion had been tasked with distracting him for a few hours (which probably meant that Chaol was busy being beaten half to death with a sparring stick right now), but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

Before Aelin could ask how they planned to pick the lock or if Rowan was going to fly around and find an open window, Fenrys stepped forward.

“This is why I’m here.”

And then he vanished.

Aelin’s gasp of surprise ripped out of her. Just like that, Fenrys was gone. Just gone. She couldn’t find the words to ask Rowan what had just happened. All she managed to do was reach out and clutch his arm, astonishment overtaking her. He rubbed a comforting hand on her lower back, still mostly scowling, but Aelin swore she saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

The door opened seconds later, revealing a smug-looking Fenrys.

“What was that?” she breathed.

Fenrys grinned. “My magic allows me to disappear from one spot and reappear in another. Much more interesting than ice magic– hey.”

Rowan had shoved past him, making his way into the room. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. Clearly, someone was still grumpy about being outranked.

Aelin swallowed but followed him in, closing the doors behind them.

Chaol’s room was bland. She supposed it wasn’t really his fault since he was just staying here temporarily, but she still couldn’t help but find it a bit too orderly. Did he really have no personal possessions? Had he not even bothered to unpack the simple-looking trunks stacked in the corner?

The space was smaller than the rooms they’d given to the Fae simply because the Westfalls were less important. Despite the lengths Aelin had gone to, the worst thing that could happen if Terrasen fell out with Anielle was losing some key trade routes in Adarlan. If things went poorly with Doranelle, on the other hand, they’d be at war.

The kind of war that ended with everybody dead.

There was an armoire to the left, a small fireplace next to it, and an armchair pushed into the corner nearby. In the centre of the room was a small bed–wide enough for two, but not luxurious by any stretch–Rowan certainly wouldn’t be comfortable in it. Nor Fenrys, for that matter. Finally, on the right was a door leading to the bathing room and a small writing desk holding some letters and a quill. It was all so rutting orderly.

“There’s … nothing here,” she said slowly.

Rowan looked around, similarly disappointed, nostrils flaring slightly–he was sniffing out the room. “Nothing in here smells like you–except you. But we should still have a look around.”

Aelin nodded and made for the armoire, Rowan the bed, and Fenrys the bathing room.

The armoire was near-empty. Just a few simple tunics hanging limply and a spare pair of formal shoes on the shelf below. She turned each upside down, giving them a shake, but it wasn’t really necessary. Aelin knew her stolen possessions weren’t hidden in his shoes.

“There’s nothing under the bed,” Rowan murmured from behind her. She turned in time to see him stalk over to the chests, sighing as he mentally prepared to riffle through Chaol’s clothing.

Aelin closed the armoire and approached the armchair. As she lifted the cushions, conducting a search that she already knew would fail, Fenrys shuffled out of the bathing room. He met her eyes and shook his head.

Nothing in there either, then.

She reassembled the armchair, wondering if she might need to crawl up the chimney and look for her things in there, but was stopped by the clearing of a throat. She spun on the spot, Rowan also standing from his stack of chests, and stared at Fenrys’s back as he gazed down at the desk.

“What is it?” her mate asked.

“It’s–” Fenrys shook his head and peered over his shoulder to look at them. “It’s not about your missing stuff but these letters … I think you need to see them.”

Aelin padded over to the middle of the room, Rowan meeting her halfway and bringing a hand to the small of her back. Her mate didn’t say anything, but from the way he was touching her, the way his face had gone carefully neutral, it was obvious that they both had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling.

“What do they say?” she breathed, anxiety spiking. 

Fenrys picked up one of the pieces of parchment, careful not to disturb the rest of the items on the desk. He swallowed. “This one’s unfinished. I think he was writing it shortly before we got here.”

Rowan’s fingers contracted impatiently on her back. “Fenrys, what does it say?”

Fenrys flicked his eyes between them apprehensively. “Here,” he said, passing the letter to Rowan, who held it up for them both to read.

Dear Dorian,

I hope you have been well. Thank you for your letter. I’m sorry for taking so long to write back. I was angry that you refused to send me the book you found, though I suppose I can understand your reasoning. Fortunately, I do not believe it will be necessary now. Aelin and I are engaged.

I wish that I could tell you that this is the happiest moment of my life, but it’s not. As much as I want to love Aelin, I just don’t. She’s beautiful, of course, which will make some aspects of the marriage very enjoyable, but she’s still behaving far more like a wildling than a princess. I had hoped that by pursuing a friendship with her that I could help tame her, but it has been to no avail.

I know how much you hate all of this, but my reasons for suggesting this engagement and for trying to get a foothold in Terrasen have not changed. She is aggressive, arrogant, and unpredictable. Unchecked, she will present a significant threat to Adarlan–to your future kingdom. I will have to find some way to manage it after the wedding. I believe she was taking an iron tonic at one point, so perhaps that would be an option again.

I fear a future with her if I cannot get her under control. I fear the Fae blood our children will have, the horrible power they might inherit. I can only hope that my blood will dull the effect. Anielle deserves better than to be exposed to that. A ruler should represent their people, not terrify them into submission or

The letter cut off abruptly, and the world closed up around her becoming a suffocating, smothering weight. She wanted to get out of this room, out of her skin before the horror crawling up her chest and wrapping around her throat could strangle her.

Finishing the letter a moment later, Rowan growled, the sound piercing through the fog in her head, mixing with the ringing in her ears. In another life, she might be proud to know she was the faster reader, but here and now, all she felt was cold.

“He told me he didn’t have a choice,” she whispered, scrambling to make sense of things. “He told me his father was forcing him into the engagement … But he planned it.”

When had it started? Had he come up with this scheme after they’d slept together in the Spring because it was convenient? Or had that been part of it too? She took a deep breath, trying to think over her turning stomach.

Aelin looked at her mate for his reaction. Rowan was completely and utterly still, radiating a murderous rage unlike anything she’d ever seen. She wanted to say his name, call him back to her, but she thought that if she opened her mouth she might be sick.

Stiffly, he turned his head to look down at her but didn’t speak. Perhaps he didn’t know what to say. She barely did either. What was she supposed to make of all the horrible things Chaol had written about her? How was she supposed to understand his mention of an iron tonic?

Finally, her mate moved, handing the letter back to Fenrys. “What was the book he mentioned?” Rowan’s voice was deadly calm–commanding.

Fenrys turned back to the pile of letters, reading them through without disturbing them. They weren’t left waiting for long. The one he was looking for was right at the top.

Pushing his blonde hair out of his face, he cleared his throat again and bent over the table to get a closer look. “There’s one from Prince Dorian,” he murmured to himself as he scanned the page. And then, “Here we go.” Fenrys read out loud:

Regarding your request, I must regretfully inform you that I will not aid you in your research. I took it upon myself to explore the library and found one book that had a magic suppression spell as you requested, but I cannot in good conscience allow it to be used. I may very well regret this decision one day and will face the consequences if the time comes, but I removed that page from the book and destroyed it. 

By now, you are well aware of my feelings about this plan you and my father cooked up, so I hope you can understand. I don’t know if you were hoping to use the spell on that Fae male or Aelin, but I simply cannot allow it. As your friend, and more importantly, your prince, I ask that you let it go. The Fae will back off when you marry Aelin. And if it was Aelin you were going to use it on … Chaol, I would never speak to you again if you did such a thing. As her future husband, you cannot pick and choose what parts of her to love. I know you’re struggling with her Fae heritage, but Aelin is a good woman, and I think that if you get your head out of your ass, you might like what you find.

The next time you are in Rifthold, or perhaps when I come to Terrasen for the wedding, we should talk. There is something I should have told you a long time ago.

“Holy shit,” Fenrys whispered as he finished.

Holy shit, indeed.

She took a moment to consider this. To suppress the shudder that ran down her spine. After the first letter, Aelin had been certain her opinion of Chaol could not get any lower. But a magic suppression spell? She didn’t care if he wanted to use it on her or Rowan. Both options were abhorrent, both an unforgivable offense that left her bloodthirsty with vengeance. Aelin rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the growing strain of her magic. An attempt to manage and calm the flames that screamed to show Chaol exactly how frightened of her he should be.

But in a way, this made things easier. Gone was the uncertainty. Gone was the question of whether or not tonight’s plan was too drastic. Aelin was fucking done. 

And so was Chaol.

“Put the letters back and let’s go,” she ordered flatly.

Rowan and Fenrys exchanged worried looks. 

She clenched her jaw. “I don’t care about my things anymore. I want to leave.”

Fenrys nodded, rearranging the desk, presumably back to how he had found it. She didn’t really care. 

Aelin could feel Rowan scanning her face, trying to interpret what she was thinking, but she wouldn’t look at him. She wasn’t quite ready to face him or the mess that she’d allowed them to fall into. How could she have been so stupid–

“I’ll check if the hallway is empty,” Fenrys mumbled before disappearing again.

This time, Aelin didn’t react. There was nothing left in her to be surprised. 

Rowan gripped her tightly while she breathed through her emotions, hands sliding around her waist into a hug. She leaned her head on his chest and willed numbness into her body. Losing herself in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the pattern helping to muffle the rage and betrayal and hatred–just for a little while. Just until they were alone.

Fenrys was back in an instant, reappearing in front of them exactly where he’d been before. “We’re good to go.”

Aelin only vaguely felt Rowan steering her out of the room. Only vaguely felt as his arm dropped away when they entered the hallway. The loss of his touch almost pushed her over the edge, but she kept it together, pushing down on the bitterness, hating that he couldn’t hold her in public.

Because of Chaol.

The trio was silent the entire walk back to her room, fortunately encountering almost nobody else as they went. But she could feel her companions’ eyes on her. Timid eyes that were trading nervous glances and waiting for her to explode. Perhaps she would. She needed to be alone before she could find out.

They stopped in front of her doors, the males waiting while she tried to unlock it with a shaky hand. The key almost slipped between her fingers, and Rowan gently–so gently–pulled her hand away from the door. He took the key and slotted it into the lock, the movement steady and efficient.

When the doors swung open, Aelin didn’t care even a little who might see her grabbing Rowan’s hand and pulling him into the room. She didn’t care one bit what Fenrys thought as she closed the door in his face. 

And when Rowan gathered her up in his arms and carried her back to bed, she didn’t care at all that he was the first person in years to see her cry.

Chapter Text

Rowan arrived at the party alone, having left his mate only two hours before.

He’d spent the rest of the day in bed with Aelin, holding her while she cried and cried and cried. When the tears had finally slowed, when she could finally breathe again, they had revised the plan. Originally, Aelin had set some limitations–hadn’t wanted the final humiliation to be public. But now, it wasn’t just about sending Chaol away. Now it was about revenge.

The man more than deserved it. In fact, Rowan was still massively unsatisfied that they weren’t going to kill him. The sounds of Aelin’s sobs were still ringing in his ears, making his blood boil. He had never seen Aelin properly cry before, and now he knew that it hurt enough to make him physically ill. But the plan was solid. It was enough. 

And if it wasn’t, Rowan would slaughter him. He would annihilate the man that had made his mate cry.

Terrasen took the solstice very seriously–almost as much as Doranelle did. Hosted in the same ballroom as Lord Lochan’s birthday, the celebrations were more than splendorous. The glass doors were open to the great lawn, spotted with bonfires, and filled with dancers. While the ballroom was decorated beautifully, people were only using it for food and seating, opting to socialize outside instead–the summer solstice was the time to be outdoors, after all. In some ways, it brought him comfort, reminded him of home. 

At the very back of the lawn, directly opposite the castle doors and under a canopy of summer flowers, was the Kingsflame on display for all the guests to see. It was no larger than a playing card, easily lost against the rest of the scenery, but nonetheless, there was a line to see it. To catch a glimpse of Terrasen’s most valuable possession. 

It was under guard, of course, castle guards standing around it protectively and only allowing two people to approach it at once. Rowan couldn’t be bothered to stand in line, having seen it on Rhoe’s desk just the other day, but he supposed it was a nice addition to the party.

Somehow Rowan had arrived before anyone he knew, so he was lingering in the shadows by the hedges. He had glimpsed Aedion only moments ago, a large bag slung over his shoulder, discreetly making his way into the maze. It was impressive that he went unnoticed given how popular he was, both as a prince and as a friend to many of the people in attendance–unlike Rowan, who had always been terrible at things like small talk. His tolerance for humiliation was still wounded since the lawn bowling incident, so it was better that he just kept to himself. To be honest, he only really wanted to talk to Aelin anyway.

“You look positively miserable, my boy.”

Rowan jumped a bit. He’d never been one to get lost in his thoughts before coming here, had never been the type of person you could sneak up on, but now it seemed to happen all the rutting time.

Also, boy?

He recognized the demi-Fae male that had spoken–had met him. 

“Phaendar,” he said, greeting the owner of Aelin’s favourite restaurant. “Nobody has referred to me as a boy in a few centuries.”

“Yes, well, I imagine most of the people you encounter are younger than you.”

“You’re not?” Rowan asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

Phaendar beamed. “Just had my 847th birthday last month.”

Holy gods. Rowan blew out a long breath. He had to admit he was impressed. “That’s quite rare for a demi-Fae.” An understatement. Phaendar was the oldest demi-Fae he’d ever met. 

“It’s not quite the same as yours. My body still ages”–he gestured to the shallow wrinkles on his face–“ but it’s slow.” Then he added proudly, “I’ve lived in Terrasen my whole life.”

“Was it even called Terrasen back then?”

The male clicked his tongue at the sass. “You know it was. Brannon founded it before my time.”

Rowan chuckled but didn’t respond. He liked Phaendar as much as one could like someone they’d only met once but didn’t really understand why the male had sought him out. They’d barely spoken at the restaurant.

Phaendar sighed. “Living in one place for so long … it gives you perspective–shows you how a ruler’s smallest decisions can impact that weakest of people–particularly when that ruler might be immortal.” Aelin’s friend scanned the lawn as he went on, “I don’t like that Westfall boy. He is not what Terrasen needs.”

Rowan tensed a bit, but managed a raised eyebrow–an attempt at nonchalance.“And what does Terrasen need?” he asked a bit harshly.

The male turned to face him fully, his face determined. “It needs Aelin. At full strength and supported by the right people.”

Rowan crossed his arms. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, boy, ” Phaendar chuckled, waving a hand in emphasis as he spoke, “I think you can help her–far more than those silly men from Adarlan.”

“I–”

“I hope that you’ll fight for her.” 

Rowan was too surprised to answer right away. Of course, he was planning on fighting for Aelin. He’d kill every Westfall on the continent if she asked him to. After a pause, he mustered, “You know.”

A snort. “Of course, I know. You spent the whole dinner holding her hand.”

“Right.” It was true. In retrospect, they’d been pretty lazy with the whole secretive thing. Though Aelin had been so relaxed at the restaurant. Rowan had just followed her lead. Perhaps Phaendar could be trusted.

“You must be truly besotted with the princess if you’re paying so little attention to your acting.” Despite himself, Rowan laughed. He absolutely was.

Phaendar clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone,” he reassured, eyes flitting to Chaol Westfall, who had just arrived. “Nor have my staff.”

And Rowan truly realized for the first time that nothing about him and Aelin was a secret. If Phaendar knew, the castle staff definitely did, whether because of gossip, or their scents or merely paying attention. He cast a glance at Chaol. Perhaps Terrasen’s loyalty wasn’t just a reward for Aelin’s good reputation. Perhaps everyone was nervous about a union with the Westfalls. 

“Thank you,” Rowan said weakly, knowing that the words weren’t really enough to acknowledge the people that had rallied around their princess. 

The male smiled and reached out to shake Rowan’s hand. “I look forward to seeing what you and Aelin do with the throne.” And then he was gone.

_____

It was a very boring fifteen minutes later when Rowan finally found a reason to emerge from the shadows, stepping away from the hedges.

Aelin had arrived arm-in-arm with Lysandra posing as Remelle, and looking much happier than she had earlier that day.

His mate was gliding down the steps to the lawn, a sinful red dress floating around her, revealing the long length of her legs. In her usual style, the gown featured a plunging neckline that showed off her collarbones and breasts, and even though he’d seen every part of her now, knew what was underneath that dress, he still very much wanted to rip it off of her. 

Later, he promised himself. Because he was a civilized person and not some sort of snarling, primal beast. Usually.

Rowan only needed to be patient for a few more hours, but he found himself drifting over to her, cutting through the crowds before he came to his senses and stopped. Now was not the time to draw attention to their relationship. Later , he reminded himself again.

He was about to turn back to the castle, maybe pick through the buffet to distract himself (he’d been trying to develop some more sophisticated opinions on food since Aelin and Enda had teased him) when none other than Chaol Westfall stepped up to his side, face suspiciously pleasant.

“How are you, Prince Rowan?”

Rowan sighed, wondering exactly which god he had pissed off. “What do you want, Westfall?” He wasn’t going to play this game now. Not when this whole stupid situation was nearly over.

Chaol stepped around so that they were face-to-face, sighing deeply. “Look, I know we’ve had our differences,” he said, giving Rowan a pitying look, “but I wanted to give you a heads up.”

Rowan crossed his arms in that way most people found intimidating and keeping his voice impassive–bored even. “Well? Get on with it then.” He rolled his eyes for good measure.

“Fine.” Chaol’s lips thinned. “Aelin and I are engaged. We’re going to announce it later tonight.”

Rowan didn’t move an inch–wouldn’t give Chaol even a hint of what was really coursing through him.

“It’s over,” he continued. “I won. She’s going to be my wife, and she’s going to have my children. Not yours. So I’d appreciate it if you’d stop looking at my fiancé like you want to fuck her.”

And just like that, Rowan was done.

He took a step forward, advancing until they were only inches apart, Rowan towering over his prey. Before Chaol could shrink back or recoil, Rowan laid a hand on his shoulder, pressing a thumb into his jugular. He squeezed his fingers, digging into Chaol’s neck, and finally– fucking finally –the idiot looked at him with real terror in his eyes.

Rowan’s voice was deceptively light with an undercurrent of violence as he promised, “The next time you speak to me, I’m going to snap your neck.”

He squeezed again to emphasize the threat, causing Chaol to whimper in fear before  Rowan pushed him away and stalked back to the castle. With all the commotion and partying around him, nobody had noticed a thing. There would probably be a bruise on Chaol’s neck tomorrow, but by then, a bruise would be the least of his problems.

_____

Aelin didn’t have long before she needed to get on with the plan, but when she caught a glimpse of Rowan storming into the castle, she just couldn’t fight the urge to see what was wrong. She needed him for what came next anyway, but she’d have to be quick.

Feeling infinitely lighter since crying her heart out with Rowan, she passed through the dancers and the bonfires, finally reaching the stairs, only having to stop every thirty seconds or so to greet someone or accept a compliment. It was no secret that she looked good tonight. Another of her more inappropriate gowns, she’d selected it especially for Rowan–to see the look on his face when he realized he would have to wait all night to touch her.

Part of her wondered if tonight would be the night. She was more than ready, and as much as she enjoyed his teeth and tongue, she was anxious to find out how another part of him felt. It would be a suitable reward for putting up with the Westfalls for so long. More than deserved.

The ballroom wasn’t packed, so it shouldn’t have been difficult to spot him, and yet, he was nowhere to be seen. She frowned at the Rowan-less buffet tables, and tapped her fingers against her thigh, hoping he hadn’t flown away.

Aelin did a circuit around the room, checking every corner and alcove she knew about. At one point, she was tempted to even start peeking under the tablecloths, but mercifully, she located him first. 

Her mate had managed to find the only shadowy corridor in the entire ballroom. It led to the back rooms the staff used for catering events like this, and since most of the work was already done for the night, he was the only person there. 

Nobody saw her as she darted down the hallway, slipping into the shadows herself. It wasn’t that there was no light at all, just that the sconces were small and infrequent. She smirked when she saw exactly which sconce he’d chosen to stand by.

Rowan looked up when she chuckled, walking straight up to him and pushing her body against his. The look of shock on his face was priceless. 

“Aelin, people will see–”

“Oh, buzzard, you worry too much,” she teased as she reached for the sconce next to his head and pulled it down.

Before he could react, Rowan was stumbling backward as she pushed him through the secret door built into the wall.

With a quick glance to make sure nobody was watching, Aelin closed the door behind her, and leaned against it, waiting patiently as Rowan surveyed the cozy, moonlit room. The window was small and much too high on the wall to look out of, but it provided enough light for her to appreciate the planes of her mate’s face.

He scanned over the large bookcase, the unlit fireplace, and couch, as well as the large wooden dining table before turning back to her. “What is this place?”

“It’s a panic room,” Aelin grinned. “For when our parties get out of hand.”

Rowan frowned. “Is that the only exit?”

“Ugh, of course not. There’s a passage behind the bookcase,” she sighed. Only Rowan would fail to see the fun in a secret room. She’d never met anyone else so thoroughly underwhelmed by secret passages. “Is that really what you want to talk about?”

“I wasn’t aware we were talking at all,” he laughed, putting his hands in his pockets. “If anything, I’ve just been kidnapped.”

Aelin bit her lip just the way he liked. “Well, I thought you were looking particularly broody and needed some cheering up. ” She crossed the room as she spoke, stopping to lean against the dining table.

“That doesn’t sound like it would involve a whole lot of talking either,” he murmured, following after her.

Rowan stopped directly in front of her as she hopped back onto the table. “You’re right,” she whispered, parting her legs for him to stand between. “It doesn’t.”

His eyes darkened at the words and darkened some more when she grabbed his belt and pulled him closer. Rowan braced his hands on either side of her, leaning in to graze his nose along her throat as she wrapped her legs around his waist. 

One of his hands came up to grip her hip, a sigh escaping her, and Aelin decided it was high time to take some initiative.

Pulling on his hair so that he would look at her, she started unbuckling his belt with one hand, fingers moving torturously slow. He held her gaze the entire time, drifting close enough to share breath, noses touching. She kept him at a distance, just close enough to torture him a bit while witholding a kiss. Aelin didn’t want to rush this. 

Making quick work of the belt, she started on the buttons of his pants, and he groaned as her fingers brushed against him. She loved that sound, loved how it sparked something frenzied within her to life. The fact that he was just as affected as she was … Aelin thought it had been bad before, but now, after all the waiting, she was more desperate than ever to have him. 

His hands skimmed against the bare skin of her legs, pushing her skirts out of the way–she’d chosen to forgo undergarments again for this very moment. She moaned when he got to the junction of her thighs, losing sight of all the reasons she’d wanted to tease him.

With one hand on his neck, she crashed her lips against his, launching into a near-violent, sloppy kiss while the other freed him from his pants.

He groaned into her mouth as she pumped him, feeling the vibration of the sound in her core. A gasp escaped her as he returned the favour, slipping a finger into her. They continued like that, touching each other, kisses becoming more frantic between their desperate moans, until she released him, grabbing onto the front of his shirt instead. 

Slowly, Aelin leaned back against the table, pulling him with her, refusing to break the kiss. The hardness of him pushed against her centre, drawing his name like a prayer on her lips as her back hit the wooden surface. 

He withdrew his fingers, bringing his hand next to her head, bracing himself against the table. She tightened her legs around him, forcing their bodies closer, moaning as his hips nestled against hers. It would only take one movement for him to be inside her. 

“Rowan,” she whined against his lips. “Please.”

Her mate pulled back ever so slightly to look at her, his eyes closing when she reached for him again, running her hand up and down his length. He groaned while she worked him but didn’t kiss her. Instead, his forehead came to rest against her own. 

“Aelin,” he growled.

She deflated. “You’re about to tell me no, aren’t you?” she chuckled, ceasing her the motion of her hand–but not releasing him. 

“Not … no, just not now. Not here.”

“Why?”

He laughed–a strained sound–likely because of the grip she still had on his favourite part. “I’m not taking you against a table in the backroom of a party the first time.”

“Lots of people have sex under those conditions.”

Rowan smirked and slid a hand beneath her back, lifting her back up to sit. “Yes, but they don’t usually remember each other’s names the next day.” He leaned in to kiss along her jaw. “Soon,” he promised. “Let’s get rid of the Westfalls first. We don’t have long before we need to get back out there.”

He was being so reasonable, so logical. Aelin hated it. “Fine.”

“Should we go back to the party?”

“We have some time,” she purred, giving him a squeeze, a gentle reminder that she was still in control. “Someone still needs cheering up.” His eyes flared as she pushed off the table and spun them around. “Don’t you agree?” she breathed, rolling onto her toes to nip at his jaw.

Rowan didn’t respond, but when she dropped to her knees before him, the look on his face was answer enough.

____

Parties were so much more exciting now that she had Rowan–she’d almost been too wrapped up in him to remember what she needed to accomplish tonight. When all was said and done, they had only been gone twenty minutes, leaving her with plenty of time to check in with Lysandra.

After creeping out of the panic room, Aelin found the shifter at the buffet table–a perfect location because the ballroom was mostly empty.

Lysandra looked beautiful in a gown of deep purple–well, Remelle did, she supposed. Without all the cruelty, Remelle was much more pleasing to look at. Now that it was the face of a friend rather than a foe. 

Aelin walked right up to her, stopping close enough that their arms touched. “Are you ready?”

Lysandra sniffed at a dinner roll and then dropped it back to the table, nose crinkled in disgust. “Completely,” she confirmed with a nod. “Are you?”

Aelin nodded back. “I’m ready for it to be over.”

The shifter gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s going to work, Aelin,” Lysandra murmured, giving her arm a squeeze. “I won’t let you down.”

Aelin forced a chuckle. “I suppose you’re looking forward to this being over too.”

Lysandra hummed. “Actually, no.”

“Really?” Aelin frowned. “Aren’t you excited for life as a wealthy ghost leopard?”

A laugh. “I was–at first, but now … I’m growing to like it here.”

Aelin cocked her head to the side. “And would here happen to actually mean a certain obnoxious cousin of mine?”

Her friend blushed prettily. “It might,” she conceded. “But it’s more than that. Terrasen is good. And you’re less annoying than the other rich people I’ve met.” 

“Thanks–I think.” But Aelin was touched by the words. She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her face. “Speaking of my obnoxious cousin–did you get a chance to check in with him?”

“Yes. He said everything is ready to go.”

“Good.” Aelin nodded to herself. “Thank you again, Lysandra,” she said, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Once this is over–if you do want to stay in Terrasen … there’s a place for you here.”

Emotion flickered across Lysandra’s face, but she managed a grin. “We should get back out there.”

Indeed.

The two women exited the ballroom, regrettably leaving behind many cakes that Aelin knew she wasn’t going to get a chance to eat. When they came upon the entrance to the maze, Lysandra unlooped her arm from Aelin’s and veered off.

“See you on the other side.” Then she was gone, lost between the hedges.

Aelin walked on, traversing the great lawn with a single goal in mind. She needed to find Chaol. She wanted to lie to him one last time–really sell the happy, newly-engaged princess thing. 

After she and Rowan had finished enjoying each other, he’d taken the time to brief her on his encounter with Chaol. Aelin wasn’t really even mad about what Chaol had said to her mate. She already hated him the maximum amount. But she expected him to be a bit jumpy–he’d just received a death threat, after all.

In the end, it was Chaol who found her. She had been right to expect anxiety from him. As he wove through the dancers to meet her, his eyes darted around far more than usual–anticipating an attack from her mate perhaps. She’d reminded Rowan that he still wasn’t allowed to kill the man, so she found the situation funny more than anything else. Chaol deserved a healthy dose of fear. Though she’d decided to keep the two males apart if she could.

“There’s my beautiful fiancée,” Chaol boasted, reaching for her hand. Instead of puking, she allowed him to place a kiss above her knuckles. It was the last time she’d allow such things. “Where’s your ring?” A frown.

“Oh, it’s in my pocket. My father asked me not to put it on until the announcement later.” A total lie, of course. It was in her pocket, but she hadn’t been able to stomach putting it on again since Rowan had removed it yesterday. And there was no way in hell she was going to wear it after reading his letters.

Chaol bought the lie with ease, accepting the word of the king as law. He looked her up and down. “That dress has pockets?”

“All of my dresses have pockets,” she said with a wink.

He laughed and raised a suggestive eyebrow. “What else have you got hidden in there?”

Ew. 

Apparently, getting engaged had opened the floodgates that had been holding back his terrible flirting. Aelin had a feeling Chaol would be better off with sincerity rather than attempts at smooth talking in the future. Or maybe it was just because she hated him that his flirting was falling flat.

She forced a smile. “Would you like to dance?”

“I would love to,” he answered. “I just may have to leave partway through–my father wants me to meet with some merchant tonight. I’m keeping an eye out for him.”

“Oh,” she breathed, voice wary. “Why?”

“Some of our trade routes have been cut off by the Wild Men. We’re looking for alternate sources.”

Fair enough. “Well, hurry back if that happens.”

“Of course,” he simpered, sliding a hand around her waist and turning her toward the crowd. Yes. The engagement had made him much too comfortable around her.

She placed a hand on his shoulder when he pulled her close, making their bodies flush for the dance. It was imperative that she didn’t look away from Chaol, didn’t accidentally catch Rowan’s eye. She knew that if she did, something on her face would betray her.

Luckily, Chaol was a decent dancer, twirling her around dramatically. If it had been anyone else, she’d have admitted it was even a little … fun. But it wasn’t so she wouldn’t.

He beamed at her the whole time, looking like both a man infatuated and a man victorious. It was the hint of victory that made her clench her teeth. Aelin wasn’t a prize to be won. But she smiled back, giving him bright, toothy grins. He needed to believe she was as invested in this as he was, needed to believe she wanted to marry him. 

When the last notes of the song faded into the night, she dropped his hand and stepped away. “I’m afraid I need to make my way over to the bonfires now.”

His expression fell. “Are you nervous?”

“No, I’ve been practicing a lot.”

“That’s reassuring.” He gave her a crooked smile. “I still might stand toward the back, though.”

Aelin smacked his arm. “You’re the least supportive fiancé I’ve ever had.”

Chaol laughed and offered his elbow. Together, they walked into the ring of bonfires that punctuated the great lawn, stopping in the centre. When Aelin was settled, she nodded at him, confirming that it was okay for him to retreat. Her fiancé gave her an encouraging smile and moved so that he was a very safe distance away, taking up a spot near the entrance to the maze.

Rowan was at her side a moment later, arms crossed and scowling–the portrait of a magic instructor who had been dragged along to help a princess with some spectacle.

Aelin didn’t need to speak to draw the attention of her guests. Her very presence was attracting a group of onlookers, wondering what the Fire-bringer was about to do. 

Tension was thick in the air as people wandered over. Even the line for the Kingsflame was rapidly being abandoned. The crowd murmured excitedly around her, becoming large enough that she almost had a hard time keeping an eye on Chaol. Aelin started pacing in a circle around the perimeter of the fires.

“My friends,” she boomed, hoping her voice would reach as many people as possible. “Thank you so much for joining us tonight. It’s an honour to have each and every one of you with us to celebrate the solstice.”

People started running across the lawn to join the crowd. Even the guards from the Bane were giving her their full attention. Good. 

Rowan had assured her that she could do this. Had told her she had trained enough for it to be safe. But if it did go wrong, he was going to pull all of the air out of the immediate area–including from her lungs. It didn’t matter if she passed out–the plan could go on without her. In fact, Terrasen’s princess collapsing would probably make things even easier for Lysandra. As long as her people were safe.

But she would really prefer not to pass out if it could be avoided.

“As many of you know, I have a bit of a soft spot for fire.” She got a few laughs for that. “Until very recently, I wasn’t able to do much with it.”

Aelin continued her pacing, making her way to her mate. “Thanks to Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle, I have been learning to control my magic.” She waved toward him with a flourish.“He’s as broody as he looks, but he’s a decent teacher. Let’s all give Prince Rowan a round of applause.”

She could have sworn Rowan’s ears turned pink. She hadn’t divulged this part of the plan because she knew he would object to being the centre of attention. But she needed to draw things out–needed to give Lysandra as much time as she could. Her mate was giving her a glare that promised that she would pay for this later, but Aelin didn’t waver.

“In honour of this blessed day and my newfound confidence, I would like to offer you all a demonstration.” A hush fell over the crowd. “Don’t worry,” she chuckled, sensing their nerves. “If something goes wrong, Rowan here will do something exciting to fix it.” Her mate rolled his eyes–but his lips twitched.

Aelin let herself pause for only a second when she noticed something small and black fluttering through the air toward the back of the lawn. Nobody else saw a thing.

Continuing her circuit, she moved so that her back was facing the Kingsflame, now checking to see if Chaol was still in the crowd. He was.

“Shall we get started?” she roared into the crowd. Her people cheered, a chorus of yeses with the occasional oh, gods. Satisfied with their reaction, Aelin began.

With a breath, she smothered each of the bonfires, plunging the lawn into darkness. There were some yelps of surprise, but otherwise, the partiers were silent, anxiously awaiting what came next.

Aelin turned to the canopies at the end of the lawn and lifted her hands into the air. She spiralled deep into her magic, navigating the drop just as Rowan had instructed her, searching for a bottom. None came.

When something shimmered across the horizon, no more than a shooting star in the night sky, she started to pull.

Her magic roared through her, knocking the breath from her lungs as it surged toward the surface and exploded. Each of the bonfires burst into flames, becoming five fiery columns piercing the sky. There were screams of terror, and she vaguely noticed some guests retreating, a raven fleeing across the sky and into the maze, but she didn’t stop. Her flames wouldn’t hurt anybody.

She felt Rowan drift over to her, eyes wide as he watched her work, as he scanned the flames, now more than twenty feet high. “This is more than we discussed,” he worried. 

“I can handle it,” she growled–not in anger but from the strain of controlling so much magic.

He didn’t seem to believe her but took a step back, allowing her to continue. She felt the hum of his magic surround her, an ice-kissed wind pressing against her skin. It only made her magic more excited. 

When she was sure she’d impressed everyone with brute force, she started humming.

In complete synchronization, each bonfire burst into millions of sparks, floating down to the ground like fireworks. They burnt out before they hit the crowd, causing cheers and oohs and ahhs. She gathered the embers of each bonfire into blobs.

She’d tried so hard to form a dragon during training–had almost cried in frustration when Rowan had gently explained to her that it was too advanced–but blobs she could do.

All at once, five fiery blobs rose from their respective bonfires and started dancing through the air. She paced while the blobs snaked around in patterns, splitting and reforming in time with the song Aelin was quietly singing to herself. 

 She circled around again, getting a good view of where Chaol had been watching, stomach dropping as she saw he was no longer there. A glimpse of his back was all she got before he followed an unfamiliar figure into the maze.

The flames sputtered a bit. Aelin was flagging, but she needed to continue. She needed to keep going until Chaol returned.

With a deep breath, Aelin increased the volume of her voice, singing loudly enough now that some would be able to hear her in the crowd. It didn’t matter what they thought of her unusual methods if she could hold out until her fiancé came back.

The breeze that had been caressing her skin stopped, and for a moment, she was disappointed. Annoyed that Rowan had abandoned her–until a second later when she felt his magic weaving with her own. Feeding her flames. 

Her prince approached, hand outstretched–an offer. She took it and was pulled tightly against his body, lifting her other hand to his shoulder. He gripped her waist and started spinning her around, matching the steps of the dance to her song.

Rowan leaned in to whisper, “You’re a terrible singer, by the way.”

Aelin laughed–a real, uncivilized, snorting sort of laugh. “Like you can do any better,” she sang, integrating it into the song.

“I can actually,” he teased. “I’ve been told I have the voice of a god.”

I’ll believe it when I hear it.

His green eyes lit up, but he spun her again, making her skirts lift and twirl around her. In a split-second decision, she set them aflame, heatless fire now dancing along her gown, joining the greater display. 

People were cheering when Rowan pulled her back, and with their bodies pressed close, his breath ghosting across her face, a crown of flames sputtered to life above his head. She could see a matching crown fluttering above her own head reflected in his eyes. For just one selfish second, Aelin let herself get lost in the moment.

It was perfect.

Then they were turning, spinning again as she took the lead and guided them so that she could look for Chaol–and there he was. Back in the crowd, just where she’d left him, was her fiancé, scowling at her. Scowling at the way Rowan was holding her.

It was only a moment later when Remelle appeared a short distance behind him, catching Aelin’s eye and nodding. 

The relief she felt nearly knocked her off her feet. All at once, Aelin brought their dancing to a stop and released the bonfires from her grasp, allowing them to burn on their own. The crowns of flames and the fire along her skirts vanished, and Aelin collapsed into Rowan’s arms, finally surrendering to exhaustion. 

She pushed herself up just enough to be able to take an awkward bow, and the crowd erupted. The cheers barely mattered compared to the relief and triumph coursing through her. 

The lines of Rowan’s body tensed beneath her fingers, and she swung her head around just in time to see Chaol running up to them, pure rage on his face. 

“Don’t touch her,” he snapped, pulling Aelin roughly out of Rowan’s arms, hard enough that she gasped in pain.

Her mate growled–a truly horrifying sound, laced with so much aggression that she worried he was about to ruin the plan by murdering her fiancé and carrying her off but–

“The Kingsflame has been stolen! ”

“Guard the exits! ”

“Nobody leaves until we find the thief! ”

And all at once, the world turned upside down.

Chapter Text

Aelin had explained that the Kingsflame was one of the single most important artifacts Terrasen had. Not because it was actually valuable, but because it meant so much to the royal family and kingdom as a whole. It had grown during Orlon’s rule–a rare occurrence that was said to only happen during times of exceptional peace. Only growing for the greatest of rulers.

So Rowan wasn’t surprised one bit when all hell broke loose.

Members of the Bane were popping up everywhere, a surprising amount of them having been hiding in plain clothes while surveying the party. The usual castle guards spilled into the ballroom, coming down the steps to help check every person for the stolen heirloom. 

“Chaol, let go of me,” he heard Aelin say sharply. Rowan’s focus shot back to her, the panic around no longer relevant. Rage barrelled through him as he found his mate tugging against the tight grip the man had on her wrist. 

She repeated his name, this time an order, but Chaol’s attention was elsewhere–too distracted by the happenings around them. 

Fuck the plan. Rowan was going to kill him. Right here, right now.

But then Chaol yelped, withdrawing his hand quickly as if something had burned him. He hissed in pain, now clutching at his hand, every plane of his palm and fingers a deep red. Aelin had burned him. 

She shouldered past him, authority lacing every step, and aimed for the area where Rhoe and Aedion had gathered, anxious-looking soldiers surrounding them. Rowan trailed behind her, keeping an eye out for Enda and Fenrys, though they were nowhere to be found. He almost created a hard shield of air for Chaol to smack into when he heard him following, but the pettiness was forgotten when Aelin started speaking.

“What happened.” A demand. Not a question.

Aedion crossed his arms. “We think someone was able to sneak past the guards while you were showing off your magic–probably when you put out all the fires at the beginning.”

Aelin’s nostrils flared. “There’s no possible way you’re about to tell me this is my fault.”

“The only person at fault is the thief,” Rhoe mediated. “And we need to catch them.”

“You’ll have to search every single person here,” Chaol mused, eyes wide as he likely imagined what a monumental task that was going to be.

“Or wait for someone to come forward with information,” a soldier put in. 

“We can’t rely on that,” Aelin seethed. “There are four hundred people here. It’s going to take all night to search them. Chances are the thief will find a way to slip through the cracks.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Aedion snapped. 

The look Aelin gave her cousin was the first thing Rowan had found truly frightening since coming to Terrasen. She looked around in frustration as if trying to formulate some plan–as if trying to speed things up but coming up short.

“Start the searches,” Aedion ordered. One of his men nodded and drifted back into the crowd of soldiers, shouting orders and procedures, getting things moving. Aedion watched after him, supervising the effort from a distance.

“People aren’t going to like this,” Rowan murmured to his mate. 

Chaol stepped forward, pure rage on his features. “Why are you even here, anyway?” he snarled. “Shouldn’t you be with the rest of the rabble getting searched?”

Rowan’s hand was around Chaol’s throat before he could blink. “The rabble?” he repeated, unable to keep his voice calm. “I outrank you, you miserable fuck. Unless by rabble you mean anyone with Fae blood.”

“Your words, not mine,” Chaol spat. It was the last he got to say before Rowan tightened his hand, cutting off the man’s airway. His eyes went wide with disbelief–like he couldn’t actually believe Rowan would have the audacity to kill him. 

“Might I remind you that the woman you’re engaged to is demi-Fae,” Rowan growled.

“Stop!” And then Aelin was standing between them, her hand covering his, peeling his fingers away from Chaol’s neck. He let go easily under her touch–taking a step back as she pushed on his chest. She didn’t look at Rowan, too busy glaring at her fiancé, simmering hatred in her eyes for the man who thought so little of her people. 

Chaol folded over himself, a hand going to his throat as he sputtered, “You’ll pay for that.”

“Doubt it. But you’re welcome to try,” was Rowan’s mild reply.

“Can you just stop –both of you! We have bigger problems right now.” Aelin was pacing as she spoke. “I’m going to talk to some of the guests–see if they know anything. And you”–she shoved them each in turn, pushing them in opposite directions–“will both stay the fuck away from each other and wait for me to come and tell you you’re allowed to speak again.”

Chaol opened his mouth to protest–

“Go! ” she screeched. And then Chaol was off, taking up a seat on the steps into the castle, holding his burnt hand in his lap. Aelin turned back to Rowan and raised her eyebrows. He flinched at the look but obeyed, finding a tree to lean against nearby. 

_____

Aelin ran a hand down her face and turned to her father. “Sorry about that.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“Probably,” she agreed weakly. 

Aedion snorted. “Definitely,” he corrected.

Aelin rolled her eyes but didn’t respond, allowing herself one moment to breathe and feel her exhaustion. The magical display she’d put on earlier had drained her more than she could have anticipated. But there was work to be done. Sleep would come later. “Okay, I’m ready,” she sighed after a beat of silence. “Let’s get this done.”

Rhoe wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her into the crowd, but paused when they noticed a castle guard jogging over. Aelin only vaguely recognized her.

The woman stopped before them. “We’ve received a tip,” she told Aedion, attracting the attention of the guests around them.

“Do we know who did it?” Rhoe urged, eyes darting between his general and his guard.

 She shook her head. “Not yet. She says she got a good look at the guy but doesn’t know his name.”

“Bring her to us,” Aedion ordered. “We’ll walk around with her and see if she recognizes him.”

The guard nodded, then disappeared back into the nervous crowd. In the silence, Aelin dared a glance at Rowan, barely visible under his tree. She wished he was at her side right now, but she couldn’t have him killing Chaol, no matter how putrid his words were. The last thing she needed was them entering into some sort of gratuitous, public duel that ended with them somehow burning down her kingdom. That definitely needed to be avoided.

Aelin spun around to check on Chaol. He was still on the steps, arms resting on his knees. Good. Stay there, you bastard, she thought.

Long moments later, the castle guard returned with some members of the Bane in tow and a small figure trailing behind them, her purple dress the only thing Aelin could glimpse through the wall of soldiers. 

Aedion straightened, arms crossing as he waited for his men to part and reveal the woman.

Only it wasn’t a woman that stepped up to greet them, but a Fae female. One Aelin knew well.

“Remelle,” her cousin said in greeting. 

She just sneered at them all. “Can we get on with this?”

Rhoe gave her that same patient smile he gave every annoying courtier. “You say you saw someone acting suspiciously. Could you describe them for us?”

All the soldiers perked up, ready to receive the information and run back into the captive crowd–a crowd that had mostly gone silent, attention now focused on the discussion currently happening in front of Aelin.

“Not really, no,” Remelle drawled, examining her nails. “He was so generic-looking. I’d recognize him if I saw him, though.”

Aedion groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “Human or Fae?” he demanded.

“Human.”

“And that’s all you can remember?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? ” her cousin bellowed, frightening the people around them into a hush. But Remelle didn’t shrink back even an inch. “How are you going to recognize a man when you can’t even give us a basic description?”

Remelle glared, hands balling up into fists at her sides. “You don’t need a description, you half-breed,” she roared in return, “because he’s right behind you.”

Every single person in their group, as well as most of the party guests surrounding them, turned to the castle steps.

Aelin loosed a sharp breath, loud enough for all to hear. “But … that’s Chaol.”

“Is it?” Remelle asked, voice bored.

Aedion’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve met him.”

Remelle just shrugged. “I guess he didn’t seem important.”

After a beat of heavy silence, Aedion looked over at his men. “Captain Olara”–the castle guard stood to attention–“search him.” She nodded her head and along with three others, split from the group to carry out the order.

The soldiers approached Chaol, whose glare grew harsher and darker when he realized what was about to happen–what he was about to be accused of. 

He pushed off from the steps and stood, arms crossed indignantly–though still careful of his hand–as the three soldiers stopped before him. Aelin couldn’t hear what was being said, but she watched closely–as did the crowd around her, the whole party seemingly holding its breath.

Captain Olara said something that had Chaol rolling his eyes, but he uncrossed his arms and allowed himself to be searched. While one of the soldiers patted him down–a young demi-Fae male–Chaol muttered something that had his eyes tightening–as well as Aedion’s, his ears good enough for him to listen in.

The male’s hands skimmed over her fiancé’s waist, stopping near the side of his jacket. He reached into Chaol’s pocket and pulled out a small black pouch, handing it to Olara. Face calm, Chaol muttered something else that Aelin didn’t catch while Olara loosened the strings of the pouch. With only the quickest of glances inside, she tightened the strings again and walked back over to Aelin’s group.

Without a word, she tossed the pouch to Aedion, who looked for himself. 

“Arrest him,” was Aedion’s short order, sparking a wave of gasps throughout the crowd. Olara nodded and jogged back over to Chaol while Aedion pocketed the pouch. 

And then, to a chorus of judgemental whispers, every single person in attendance got to watch as Chaol Westfall was escorted away.

_____

“This is ridiculous,” Chaol snapped from his spot in the centre of Rhoe’s study. “Why would I steal the Kingsflame?”

Aedion laughed, leaning against the wall next to Aelin. “I suppose you’re about to tell us that you’re innocent.”

“ Of course, he’s innocent, ” Lord Westfall, who Rhoe had sent for, spat. “He’s engaged to the future queen of Terrasen! He is above reproach.”

“Is that right?” Aedion condescended.

Her cousin crossed the room, stopping before her father’s desk, and dumped the contents of Chaol’s black pouch into his hand. With surprising gentleness, he placed what he was holding down onto the desk and stepped back, revealing the Kingsflame.

Lord Westfall blanched.

Aedion gave the lord a feral grin. “We found this in his pocket.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Chaol roared. “Someone gave that to me–I didn’t know what was inside.”

The king raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Who?” 

“The merchant–” Chaol sputtered, turning to his father. “The one you told me to meet with.”

The lord of Anielle’s eyes widened, pure fury crossing his features. “I did nothing of the sort, boy.”

Chaol huffed a laugh, giving him a look of disbelief. “You absolutely did. Are you really going to deny it?”

“ I am telling the truth. Unlike you,” his father hissed. “When would we have even talked about this?”

“Two days ago? About ten minutes after Aelin and I got engaged? You came to my room and told me to prepare for it.”

Lord Westfall roared a laugh. “I was nowhere near your room then, you fool.”

Chaol advanced on his father, looking ready to finally have it out with him–finally punch him in the face after years of frustration but–

“He’s telling the truth,” Rhoe said to everyone, stepping between the Westfalls. He turned a pitying look on Chaol. “Your father was with me for two hours after the meeting–going through details for the engagement.”

“What.” Her fiancé spun around, confusion on his face as he looked to everyone for help. “How is that possible?” he breathed.

Nobody answered him.

Rhoe delivered a withering glare at Lord Westfall. “As a favour to you, I won’t send your son to the dungeons, but he will stay under guard in his room until we can think of a solution.” Chaol’s eyes widened, but the lord nodded. Her father went on, “Tomorrow, we’re going to have a serious discussion about what this means for the relationship between our territories. I won’t have my daughter marrying a man who would disrespect our kingdom like this.”

“I didn’t –” Chaol protested but was silenced by Aedion’s hand coming down to grip his arm. 

“I understand,” Lord Westfall murmured, true shame clinging to every line of his body. “I hope we can work toward forgiveness.”

Rhoe nodded. “I hope so too.”

Aedion turned and started dragging Chaol out of the study, ready to hand him over to Captain Olara and the guards waiting outside.

“Aelin! ” Chaol pleaded, dragging his feet as Aedion pulled him along. She reluctantly met his gaze. His eyes were impossibly wide, full of truth. “I didn’t do it, I swear.”

I know. 

Aelin stepped forward, Aedion releasing her fiancé temporarily, giving them a moment to talk. She raised her chin, suppressing a triumphant smirk. 

“You said you were going to be better.” Her voice was cold as she reached into her pocket. She chucked her engagement ring at his chest and turned to leave the room. “You failed.”

The last thing she heard was the ring clattering to the ground. 

_____

“To the two greatest actors the world has ever seen,” Aelin yelled across the room, lifting her glass in a toast. “Lysandra, who appeared as Remelle, and of course”–a wink–“me.”

Rowan smiled at his mate, smiled at the arm she had around the shifter–her friend. It had all worked so spectacularly that it didn’t even feel real. He was tempted to pinch himself and make sure this wasn’t all a dream.

“Hey!” Aedion shouted back at her. “I did a fucking amazing job as well! I practically carried the team.”

“You didn’t do even a fraction of the work that we both did,” Lysandra snapped. “You just yelled at me when you were supposed to.”

Under the shifter’s glare, Aedion shrunk down into his seat a bit, though his eyes remained playful, fixed on Lysandra in a way that had Rowan looking away.

Aelin had organized a small after-party for her friends and the people who had helped her make the plan a reality. It was in a comfortably-sized lounge, filled with couches and low tables, and most importantly, alcohol. Rowan was standing near the back by himself, a small cake he’d stolen from the ballroom on a table next to him. He knew Aelin hadn’t had a chance to indulge, so he’d grabbed it on his way out. By the lusty way Aelin was eyeing both him and the cake, he knew the gesture was appreciated.

“How did you do it?” Enda asked from his spot on a couch next to Fenrys.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Aelin said with a wicked grin. “While I was keeping everyone entertained with my unforgettable magical performance, Lysandra here was able to sneak past the guards and steal the Kingsflame. You’d really think someone would have noticed a raven flying off with our most valuable artifact.” She shrugged. “After Lysandra turned into Lord Westfall the other day and told Chaol he needed to meet with a merchant during the party, it wasn’t hard to pass the Kingsflame off to him.”

“Let me guess,” Fenrys drawled. “Lysandra was the merchant.”

The shifter grinned. “Indeed, though you can credit all the outfit changes of the night to Aedion. He ever-so-heroically left a bag of clothes for me in the maze.”

Aedion bristled. “You make my contribution sound so meager.

“It was,” the women said in unison.

Lysandra took a swig of ale and chuckled. “Chaol didn’t even bother to look in the pouch when I told him it was a sample for his father to review. He didn’t even ask what it was.”

“And when Chaol returned to the party and everyone noticed that the Kingsflame was gone, Lysandra had already shifted back into Remelle, ready to accuse him of the theft,” Aelin continued, smirking as the shifter passed her a tankard of ale to replace her empty glass of wine.

Aelin made it sound so simple, but it really hadn’t been. The amount of coordination, the timing, the secrecy–it could have gone wrong so easily. But seeing Chaol dragged up the castle steps as he shouted his innocence had been one of the greatest moments of Rowan’s life. It was followed closely by the twenty minutes he lingered on the great lawn listening to everyone gossip about the deplorable criminal Chaol Westfall.

“So that’s it, then?” Fenrys asked. “It’s over?”

Aelin held up a finger, making him wait while she drank deeply from her tankard. Then she slammed it down on the table in front of her, presumably having drunk the whole thing, and beamed. “It is.”

They were some of the most beautiful words Rowan had ever heard. 

“To broken engagements!” Aelin laughed, lifting her empty tankard back into the air.

Rowan chuckled along and raised his tankard along with everyone else.

“To not getting married off to foreign lords,” Lysandra yelled happily, adding to Aelin’s toast.

Aedion stood. “To not getting married to Chaol Westfall,” he boomed.

Aelin threw her arm back around the shifter’s shoulders and exclaimed, “To not getting married at all!”

Rowan nearly dropped his drink. 

He set it down stiffly on the table beside him, right next to the cake he’d stolen for his mate. His heart sank in his chest, blood running cold as he sorted through Aelin’s words.

To not getting married at all.

At all. 

Did she mean it? Did she never want to get married? 

He managed to look at her face–the beautiful face that he loved, the woman he practically worshipped, and found nothing to work with. She didn’t even glance at him. She was too busy laughing and drinking, genuine joy sparking in her eyes. This brutal truth no more than an offhand comment to her.

Rowan had worried about this before. Had repressed and repressed and repressed those anxieties, losing himself in everything Aelin was willing to give him. But he had hoped she just needed time. Now … 

Aelin reacted strangely every time a mention of something more, a mention of commitment was brought to the table. When their relationship became specific and concrete rather than something vague and in the future. She’d relaxed when he’d promised not to force her into marriage all those weeks ago. And he’d found that reasonable enough–but then she’d stalled their entire relationship by plotting and playing games with the Westfalls. 

Was all of this actually about Terrasen … or had she been buying herself time?

Was the idea of marrying him just as bad as the idea of marrying Chaol Westfall? 

It was that question that threatened to fracture something deep inside him.

Only Enda noticed him and his internal strife. His cousin was shooting him a nervous look across the room, the only person Rowan had confided in about Aelin’s hesitance. The person who knew exactly why this specific comment was so disastrous. 

But nobody else seemed to find a problem with it. Nobody else even looked over as Lysandra and Aedion kept adding on to Aelin’s toasts, cheering and laughing and acting as if Aelin hadn’t just reached into his chest and ripped out his still-beating heart, laughing as she did it.

_____

Aelin was on top of the world.

The plan had worked. It had completely and spectacularly worked. 

No more talking to Chaol. No more touching Chaol. And in three days, when her father released him as a gesture of good faith and sent the Westfalls home, no more Chaol at all.

Best of all, with him gone, she could finally have Rowan. No rules or secrets or deadlines. Just the two of them together. She didn’t even care what came after that–hadn’t really thought about it. She was too excited for right now.

And for tonight. Because she was definitely going to have sex with him tonight.

Prepared to have what was definitely going to be the best sex of her life, Aelin bounded across the room, abandoning her cousin and Lysandra, heading straight for Rowan. Her mate. 

Gods, he was hers.

She reached him, flashing a massive smile which he didn’t have time to return before she gripped the collar of his shirt and yanked him down for a kiss.

He kissed her back for a moment, but then he tensed beneath her hands and pushed her away.

“Hey! None of that,” Fenrys yelled. “I’ve already seen enough of you two today.”

Their friends laughed and returned to their conversations, ignoring Aelin and her mate again. 

Rowan looked so uncomfortable, and her excitement withered. She wondered if it was perhaps because he didn’t want to be so public with their physical relationship. They hadn’t really had the chance to explore such things. She stepped away just in case.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, reaching for his hand.

He gave her an obviously forced smile. “I think I’m just tired.”

Aelin didn’t believe him. His face was doing that thing where it was both too neutral and not neutral enough. “We can go to bed if you’d like?”

“I think I will,” he said softly. “But you should stay. Enjoy the party.”

Her stomach dropped. Something was wrong. And it wasn’t the kiss. “I don’t mind coming with you.”

“Stay,” he repeated, dropping her hand. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” A weak smile. “By the time I finish moving all ten thousand of your pillows onto the floor, you’ll probably be ready to join me anyways.”

She chuckled a bit. A tiny part of her relaxed to know he was still going to sleep in her bed. With her. Though she had a feeling he had no intention of sleeping with her tonight.

Aelin clasped her hands in front of her, not sure if Rowan wanted to be touched right now. “Thank you for the cake,” she said pathetically.

“You’re welcome.” His voice was gentle as he lifted his hands to her face and leaned in to kiss her. She wanted to deepen it, wanted him to hoist her up and carry her off to bed, but the kiss was over before she could even lose herself in it. “Goodnight, Aelin.”

“Goodnight.”

And then he was gone. 

She felt like a hole had been carved into her chest, like something fundamental had been ripped out of her. Aelin was seriously considering following after him when a warm hand landed on her shoulder.

“Everything alright?” Aedion asked, face concerned.

Aelin scanned the room to see if anyone else was paying attention but they weren’t. Lysandra was keeping the remaining males captivated with one of her stories.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think Rowan’s upset with me, but I can’t think of why.”

“Maybe he’s just exhausted from all the Chaol stuff.”

“But it’s over now.”

“Yes, but sometimes it’s only when something is over that the stress of it finally hits you.”

She frowned. “Maybe,” she said. But her cousin had a point.

Aedion rubbed her back. It was both comforting and obnoxious. Aelin loved him for it. 

“Give him a few days to process everything. I bet when he sees Chaol riding off into the sunset, he’ll feel a lot better.”

“You’re probably right,” Aelin sighed. Then she punched him in the arm gently–an affectionate move. “Gods, what would I do without you? I can’t imagine living a thousand years with nobody to tell me my worries are stupid.”

Her cousin’s face crumpled.

“What.” Her voice was hollow.

A beat of silence. “Aelin … ” he began eventually. “You … you know I’m not going to settle, right?”

“I’m sure you will,” she said with strained nonchalance. “There’s still time.”

“No, Aelin … there isn’t.”

Something cracked inside her. 

Whatever was on her face must have worried him because he started rambling. “I’m still probably going to live longer than the average human, and I’m always going to be here for you as long as I can. And this is all so far in the future anyway. We don’t need to be talking about it yet–”

She raised a hand, cutting him off. A silent order to stop.

“Aelin.”

“It’s fine,” she said curtly, eyes on the floor. 

Aedion studied her for a long moment, both of them frozen in time, not knowing what to say. But she wouldn’t look at him. She wasn’t ready to see the pity in his eyes. Her gaze fell on the cake that Rowan had so thoughtfully stolen for her, and she realized there was nothing left in her to deal with this day. 

Aelin’s voice was flat when she murmured, “Goodnight.” 

Her cousin shifted as she started walking for the door like he might reach for her, but she didn’t look back. She just left the party and automatically started following the route back to her room. The journey passed by in a blur. She barely registered the details of the castle, the pieces of her home passing her by.

You know I’m not going to settle, right?

Part of her knew that. Had even confided in Rowan that Aedion wasn’t likely to. But to hear him confirm it …

It wasn’t his fault. She knew it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel like he was abandoning her.

Abandoning her to a long, lonely life without her family.

He had been her only friend for most of her life, and was going to leave her.

Like so many others had before.

She slipped into her rooms, trying to be quiet in case Rowan had already fallen asleep. All she had the energy to do was discard her dress on the floor and climb, totally naked, into bed. 

Not yet having fallen asleep after all, Rowan didn’t hesitate to lift his arm for her to curl up under, pulling her close so that her back was pressed against his chest. 

They didn’t speak. Each far too caught up in their own worries to notice the other lying awake all night.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in between lying awake most of the night and waking up with Aelin in his arms, Rowan had decided to let it go. Or at least pretend to. There was nothing to be done about his mate’s marriage comment from the night before but ignore it.

He didn’t fully understand what was going on in Aelin’s head, but there was definitely something. And if he confronted her about it, he might very well lose what he already had with her. If she didn’t want him the way he wanted her, well, he’d have to find a way to live with it. Because there would never be anyone else. Rowan was completely and irrevocably in love with her, so he would take whatever she gave him. 

In some ways, immortality allowed him more patience than a human would have. If it took Aelin a hundred years to want to settle down, he could wait. Not happily, but he could do it. And all he had to do was ignore that little voice in the back of his mind that kept saying he deserved more. 

So it was business as usual when they set out for training the next day. Which was exactly how Rowan ended up lying in the grass by the Florine River with Aelin on top of him. 

They’d left the city to work on her water magic. Having plenty of water already available would be easier for her than conjuring it out of the air–and the privacy didn’t hurt. But almost as soon as they’d sat down in the shade of the trees lining the riverbank, Aelin had crawled into his lap and kissed him with such intensity that he’d lost all interest in training.

There was a desperation to her touch that he wasn’t used to–perhaps a side effect from their conversation last night. He’d known at the time that she was hurt by his leaving, but he’d needed time. He’d needed a moment to himself to come to terms with the reality of things.

Despite the intensity, Aelin didn’t let her hands wander, didn’t try to undress him. She was surprisingly reserved, considering she usually liked to get her hand around his cock as quickly as possible. But just because she was feeling shy didn’t mean he was.

Rowan rolled them, pressing Aelin into the grass and moving his mouth down to her throat. He settled between her legs, a thrill running through him when her back arched, when she bucked her hips against his.

Gods, he loved her.

His canines trailed across her skin, and her scent almost overwhelmed him. He wanted to know what she tasted like, to sink his teeth into her while he took her.

She moaned when his hand slid under her shirt, finding the hem of her pants. They were both wearing far too many clothes for his liking. Too many for him to press into her, finally claim her, watch her face when he filled her. 

But she grabbed his hand, chuckling as she guided it away. “I don’t think that’s how one learns to use water magic.”

He pulled back to find her smirking at him. “Who said anything about magic?” he grumbled. But Rowan rolled away, taking the hint that they were not, in fact, about to have sex.

They laid there, shoulder-to-shoulder, each catching their breath while the trees above them swayed gently in the wind. In light of the recent heatwave, he was grateful for the tree cover. A refreshing change from their usual training location since all the ice magic in the world didn’t stop you from getting a sunburn.

Rowan didn’t have water magic of his own, but he’d trained a number of soldiers that did back in Doranelle. It was far more common than fire magic, so he hoped it would be easier for him to instruct her. At least in theory. 

Water magic came from a different place than fire magic. It came from stillness and calm, whereas fire was more wild and passionate. Explaining that on the way down to the river hadn’t been an issue. But Aelin was a creature of such roaring emotions, her fire magic totally in sync with each burst of anger or sadness or joy. As easy as it would be to encourage her and educate her on where her water magic might be, Aelin was the one who would have to figure out how to reach it.

“Have you ever accessed your water magic before?”

He could almost feel her grimacing as she said, “Lots of times but … not well.”

“What do you mean?”

Aelin sighed and shifted closer to him. “Sometimes, when I’m alone, I try to use it. Like when I’m taking a bath, but I can barely get it to do anything.”

He held in his chuckle at the image of Aelin sitting in a bathtub, frowning down at the water, trying to get it to move.

“What can you do?”

A laugh. “Prepare to be amazed,” she mumbled and raised her hand up above him.

He turned his head to look at her, saw a look of painful concentration fall across her face. After a minute of furrowed brows and the occasional frustrated groan, a single drop of water separated from the river, flying toward Aelin’s hand. It hovered in the air, quivering as she struggled to hold it, then fell onto Rowan’s cheek.

He growled–a playful, light-hearted sound–and wiped the water from his cheek. “Seems like you can get your water magic to do exactly what you want it to.”

Aelin rolled onto her side. “Sorry,” she said coyly. “It slipped.”

“Sure it did.”

A pause. “It’s not much,” she admitted.

It really wasn’t. 

His stomach dropped a bit. Rowan knew how much this meant to her … but she was never going to be able to do much with her water magic. Even if he trained her for a thousand years, she would be lucky to wield a bucket’s worth of water. But she hadn’t said she was interested in throwing water around.

“Have you tried using it for healing yet?”

“Not intentionally,” she answered, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her legs. “But sometimes my wounds heal themselves–faster than the usual Fae healing abilities, I mean.”

Well, that was something. Maybe they could try that–

“What is that look?” she asked, frowning. “Why is your face doing that?”

“I’m just thinking–”

Her expression fell. “It’s not enough, is it?”

“I didn’t say that.” She looked down at her feet. “Aelin, I didn’t say that,” he repeated softly, sitting up and reaching out to cup her face, to lift her downturned chin.

She perked up a bit at the touch, covering his hand with her own. 

“Let’s give it a try before we decide what you can and cannot do.”

“Right,” she breathed, though not without apprehension in her voice. “Where do we start?”

“Well, as you might imagine, healing magic requires something to heal.”

“Okay,” she chirped. Immediately, Aelin reached into her boot and pulled out a dagger. 

Caught by surprise, Rowan almost watched her drag the blade across her palm before coming to his senses and catching her wrist. “Don’t do that,” he said quickly, a hint of panic coursing through him.

A frown. “Why?”

Because I love you. Because I can’t sit here and watch you carve yourself up, you stupid, lovely fool.

“I’ll do it.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Rowan–”

“I’ll do it,” he repeated. “I’m used to getting stabbed.”

His mate flinched a bit at the words, but she didn’t fight him as he pried the dagger from her fingers. 

“You won’t have long before my magic does the job for you,” he explained, “but we can restart as many times as you need.”

Aelin frowned. “And how do I actually do it? How do I heal something?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? “You just … do.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re the vaguest teacher I’ve ever had,” she chuckled.

He pinched her side. “Don’t question my methods.”

Aelin batted his hand away with a laugh. 

“Sometimes, it helps to think of it as a puzzle,” Rowan offered after a moment. It was all he could really give her. At the end of the day, Aelin would either have magic to summon or she wouldn’t. “Imagine your magic sweeping through and putting everything back where it belongs.”

He lifted the dagger, aiming its point down at his palm. “Ready to give it a go?”

After a long pause, she simply said, “Yes.”

So Rowan slid the blade across his skin, a line of blood appearing as he held it out to her.

Aelin took his injured hand, cradling it delicately in her lap, and focused her concentrated frown down on his palm. She lifted a hand to hover over it, and then he watched her try desperately to do something.

But she didn’t, and she ran out of time. The wound healed itself. Rowan pulled back his hand and wiped away the blood. Normally, when training soldiers, this would be where he’d coldly bark out a criticism– Not fast enough. But he didn’t want to speak to Aelin like that, so he just cut his hand once more and let her try again.

She gave him a timid, apologetic look but tried.

And tried and tried and tried and tried.

But nothing happened.

When she looked about two minutes away from storming away in frustration, he withdrew his hand and said, “We’ll try again another day.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t give up on it after one try,” he urged. 

She shook her head. “No, I just–I don’t know if I can do it with you right now.”

“Are you saying I’m the problem?”

“Yes–I mean, no. But also, yes,” she replied, the corners of her lips twitching. Then she sighed. “Your blood sets me on edge. I barely know what I’m doing already, and then I smell your blood, and it’s–it’s distracting.”

“Fair enough.” He had stopped her from practicing on herself for a very similar reason, after all. “Maybe we can force Fenrys to volunteer.”

“I think if you have to force someone, it’s not really volunteering.”

He shrugged. “I’m not too concerned about such things when it comes to him.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” she chuckled.

“Do what?”

“That thing where you pretend to hate him.”

“I don’t pretend to hate him,” Rowan scoffed.

His mate just gave him a knowing look. “So, what do we do now?”

Have sex. Exchange I love you’s. Get a dog together. “I don’t know.”

And the look on Aelin’s face made him wonder if she didn’t know where to go from here either.

_______

To say that Rowan was giving her mixed signals was an understatement. 

He’d recovered a bit from whatever had upset him last night, but things were still just … weird. And Aelin had no idea what to do about it.

She’d almost slept with him this morning–gods, she’d wanted to–but the moment hadn’t felt right. It would be easy to pretend everything was fine and lose herself in him like she had before, but this felt different. Worse somehow. 

So she’d pushed him away and reminded him they were there to do magic. Not that that had gone any better. But she didn’t have room to dwell on that now. She was barely holding it together after Aedion’s truth from the night before.

You know I’m not going to settle, right?

With everything combined, Aelin felt like the whole world was about to be ripped away. That was the price of letting people in. That was always the price.

Perhaps she should know better by now.

Aelin hadn’t told her mate about what Aedion had said. Hadn’t wanted to burden him since he already seemed off. Looking back on things, she was feeling a little selfish. They’d talked so much about her worries and her life but barely scratched the surface of his. And she’d already asked so much of him … So she was going to give Rowan a break.

She hadn’t intended to leave him for the day, but he’d told her he wanted to do some training with the Bane. He’d joked that since she’d said she liked him for his body, then she needed to, occasionally, give him time to maintain it. His absence left her cold despite the blistering summer heat.

Somehow, that meant Aelin had free time. There was no Chaol to entertain, no lover to enjoy, no plotting to be done. She didn’t even have to get back to her royal duties just yet. So she found herself wandering the halls, eventually ending up outside her parents’ bedroom.

Before everything had happened, Aelin would have gone straight to her mother for advice. Evalin would have held her and told her everything was far less awful than it seemed and that it would all work itself out. 

Despite the iron tonic and despite her new resentment, she still wished to knock on the door. Still wished to have her mother comfort her. It was unlikely she’d even be there–it was the middle of the day, after all, and Evalin was the queen of a mighty kingdom. But still, Aelin stood there, willing herself to knock, willing herself to find someone who would tell her that Rowan was fine, and she was overthinking things.

Aelin hadn’t realized how reliant she’d become on him. They’d been practically attached at the hip since they’d first seen each other in the throne room, and since then, every difficult moment, every time she felt like breaking down … Rowan had been the one she turned to. 

The realization scared her. She’d hung all her hopes on him, allowed him into every part of her life. If he turned away from her now … 

It would be her fault for letting her guard down. For trying to have one normal thing in her life. It would be her fault for being so foolish.

Just as she would be foolish to forget that her mother was one of the people that had failed her. So Aelin turned around and left. If she couldn’t speak to someone she loved, maybe she could speak to someone new. Someone that hadn’t let her down. Someone that wasn’t impressed by her. 

Someone with whom she knew where she stood. 

Lysandra had opted to stay in Remelle’s room, impersonating the lady until the Fae delegates officially left. From what Aelin understood, the negotiations had almost concluded. Though nobody had said anything, she knew that marrying Rowan was likely part of the agreements. Even if it wasn’t an official part of the deal, the expectation would almost certainly be there. 

The thought made her stomach churn. Aelin hadn’t even found the courage to tell him that she was in love with him. She wasn’t sure she could handle marriage right now.

She knocked three times on the shifter’s door.

Aelin heard a squeak and some rustling, then a harried, One minute, before finally, the door cracked open revealing Remelle, dressed in a robe. “I’m sorry, I’m actually quite busy–Oh! Aelin,” Lysandra said, looking her over. “What happened to you?”

Well, that certainly answered the question of how well Aelin was bottling up her emotions. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she replied, craning her neck a bit to see what Lysandra had been doing. The shifter just closed the door slightly, blocking the view with her body. “I was hoping I could come in.”

Lysandra’s face fell, an awkward grimace forming on her lips. “I–well–I was just in the middle of something–”

“It’s okay,” Aelin murmured. “It’s not really important.” She turned to leave, but the shifter caught her arm, Remelle’s delicate fingers wrapping around her wrist.

“No, Aelin. Just–wait here for a second.” Then Lysandra closed the door. 

When Aelin heard muffled conversation, she realized that Lysandra must have a guest. But who would be in there with her? Who would be invited into her private room–

The door opened again, this time wide enough for Aelin to enter through, and sitting on the bed, wearing his clothes from the night before, was her cousin.

“Aedion!” she said, jumping a bit with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Aelin knew exactly what he was doing there, though. She cursed her heightened sense of smell. She’d chosen the wrong moment to stay in her Fae body. 

Lysandra closed the door behind them, shifting back into her own form, a blush colouring her cheeks.

“I–uh–had something I needed to discuss with Lysandra … regarding her–uh–accommodations.”

Aelin raised an eyebrow. “Her accommodations,” she repeated with a laugh. “Shouldn’t you be training?” Rowan was with the Bane right now.

Aedion gave her a sheepish look. “I told them I was ill.”

The words took Aelin by surprise. Aedion loved the Bane. Lived for it. For him to have taken a sick day–and a fake one at that–he must really like Lysandra. It was enough to make Aelin feel a little lighter.

“I’m surprised you let me in,” she said wryly, turning to her friend.

The shifter gave her an odd sort of look, something like pity in her eyes. “It seemed important.”

Aedion patted a spot on the bed beside him–an invitation. “Are you still worried about Rowan?”

Aelin walked further into the room but opted for an armchair. No way was she sitting on that bed right now. Her cousin smirked at her.

“I don’t know,” she lied. She did know. Of course, she knew. That’s why she was here. But now, she felt like being difficult.

“Did you really come all this way to make us pry the truth out of you?”

“No, I came all this way to see Lysandra. You are an unfortunate turn of events.”

Lysandra sank down into the armchair across from her. “Should I make him leave?”

“No, it’s fine–”

“Aedion,” the shifter turned to her lover, “Go away.” She gestured toward the door in emphasis.

Her cousin chuckled but did as instructed, ruffling Aelin’s hair as he passed. She growled in response. So. Obnoxious. 

But he kissed Lysandra’s cheek as he went. It was gross and, if she was being generous, a little sweet. Not that Aelin would admit that. She didn’t want to encourage his public displays of affection. He was still her disgusting cousin, after all.

When Aedion was gone, Lysandra crossed her legs, settling into her armchair. She shot Aelin an expectant look–an order to speak.

But Aelin couldn’t just let this slide. “So how did that happen?” she found herself saying. There was no bite to it, no judgement. No, if anything, Aelin was jealous. Somehow, everyone around her could sort of their lives except her. Somehow her idiot of a cousin was able to find love and have it all work out perfectly in a matter of days, and yet here she was, struggling to believe that her literal soul mate actually wanted her.

Lysandra seemed to read every single one of those thoughts on her face but smiled softly. “Last night, after the party. He walked me back to my room, and then … he didn’t leave.”

She was happy for them. Really. It warmed her heart to see the tentative joy on her friend’s face. So Aelin forced out a chuckle. “Don’t tell me anything else. I prefer to pretend that Aedion lives a sexless existence.”

“I think he feels the same way about you,” the shifter laughed.

Silence fell, and Lysandra gave her that look again. 

Aelin sighed. “I don’t know what to say because I don’t really know what the problem is.”

Lysandra cocked her head. “And you’re certain there is a problem? With Rowan?”

“Maybe.” It came out like a question. “I was sort of hoping someone would tell me I’m overthinking things.”

“You’re overthinking things.” 

Aelin snorted. “Great, thanks. I feel better now.” She took a long breath. “It’s just, last night, something was very wrong. He was acting so strangely. But this morning, he was back to normal.”

“And … you’re worried that he isn’t upset anymore?”

“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds silly.”

“Have you considered asking him about it?” Lysandra suggested with only the slightest hint of mockery in her tone.

“I did last night, but he just said he was tired.”

“Have you considered that he was tired?”

“No?”

The shifter chuckled. “What was he like this morning?”

“The same as usual. And he–” her cheeks heated “–he wanted to–”

A laugh. “Aelin, if he was trying to have sex with you this morning, he’s probably fine.”

“You think?”

“Yes. Men– males –are pretty straightforward.”

She considered the shifter’s words. It was bizarre to be talking about this. Aelin didn’t lack experience with sex, but she was realizing she did lack experience with relationships. She’d never really cared about any man she’d taken to bed before. She’d never loved anyone before. “So I am overthinking things?”

“I would wager so,” Lysandra said. “If he starts acting funny again, ask him about it then, but for now, just go back to being disgustingly happy. Enjoy your little fairytale.”

“I guess I can do that.”

“And for the love of gods, please fuck him already. I can’t stand the raging sexual tension anymore.”

Aelin smirked. “I’ll try.”

______

The exercise had been good for him. 

Making his way back to his room after a long and grueling training session with the Bane, Rowan felt lighter, his head clearer. For the first time since last night, he truly felt like things were going to be okay again. Maybe even feeling a little like he’d overreacted before. 

Aelin was so young. At the very beginning of her immortal life. The things she wanted now wouldn’t necessarily be what she wanted in two years. Five years. Ten years. 

Rowan could be patient. Even if it killed him. He’d let her figure things out, let her decide how he fit into things– when he fit into things. And for the time being, he would enjoy what they had. Loving her, touching her … it was already more than he’d ever dreamed of having. They’d figure out the rest eventually. 

He, at least, wanted to tell her that he was in love with her. Wanted to say it before he took her because otherwise, he’d probably end up groaning it onto her skin in the throes of passion–which wouldn’t be ideal. So he would have to do it soon. Really soon. And that would be more than enough.

Rowan rounded a corner, turning into the hallway that led to his room. In the distance, his cousin and Fenrys were standing outside Enda’s door, speaking in hushed tones. Their faces were serious–they must have just come from their meeting with Rhoe and his advisors.

He approached at a steady pace, making no effort to conceal his footsteps or sneak up on them. Fenrys’s head snapped up when he noticed Rowan, and he smacked Enda on the arm, silencing him. 

What was that about?

Rowan gave them a suspicious look as he approached. “What?” he said flatly.

Enda opened his mouth to speak, but Fenrys shook his head pointedly.

“What? Are you gossiping about me now?”

“No,” Enda replied stiffly. “We were just discussing something from today’s meeting.”

“What is it?”

They both gave him guilty looks.

“ What? ” he repeated for the fourth time.

Enda grimaced. “I’m sorry, Rowan. We can’t tell you.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell me? I’m one of Doranelle’s most trusted generals.”

“Not anymore,” Fenrys said. There was no bite to it. It wasn’t harsh or bitter, just stated like a plain fact.

He looked at his cousin, eyebrows raised. “Enda, what the fuck is he talking about?”

Enda sighed. “Given the circumstances, it has become necessary to reduce your involvement in things like this.”

Rowan’s mouth fell open. He didn’t have the words.

“Don’t blame Enda,” Fenrys said apologetically. “I made the call.”

“And what call was that?” Rowan’s voice was deadly calm.

Fenrys swallowed, his expression tinged with regret. “We can’t have a general that’s mated to a foreign queen.”

“ Are you fucking joking? You think I would betray Doranelle? My family? ” he spat.

It was Enda who answered softly, “We know you would.”

Rowan laughed, a cruel sound, and shook his head in disbelief.

Fenrys opened his palms. “Can you honestly say that if it came down to it, you would choose Doranelle over Aelin? Do you really think you would choose anything over your mate?”

No. 

He didn’t. He’d even told Aelin as much, but still–

“Nobody would blame you for it. We figured you would be staying here with Aelin anyway. We didn’t think it would be a big deal–”

Rowan didn’t let Fenrys finish his sentence. He just stormed past the males, down the hall toward his room.

He’d just pulled his door open, ready to shut himself away and brood when Enda’s voice came from behind him, saying, “Rowan?”

Rowan paused but didn’t turn. “What?” he asked through gritted teeth, working very hard not to shatter the doorknob in his hand.

“What do you want me to do with the … ” Enda trailed off, perhaps not wanting Fenrys to overhear.

But Rowan didn’t give a shit who overheard them. “Keep it,” he growled. “Sell it. Give it to Fenrys. I don’t care.” Without another word, he stepped into his room and slammed the door behind him.

He couldn’t believe what had just happened.

If things didn’t work out with Aelin, he wouldn’t be able to go back to his old life in Doranelle. They would never allow him to hold a position of consequence again, never let him be more than a family member who happened to be a prince. One that they all loved but never confided in.

Damn him, he didn’t even want to go back to Doranelle. He wanted to stay with Aelin. He wanted to live in Terrasen with her or wherever else she might lead him. And he didn’t even care what he did, as long as he was with her. If she wanted him to join the Bane, he would. If she wanted him to teach children how to make magical blobs, he would. Fuck, if she wanted him to just warm her bed, at this point, he would. None of that mattered.

But he realized as he slumped down onto his bed that Aelin hadn’t actually asked him to stay. His chest seized. How had he not noticed? How had he let himself be so distracted that he was now faced with the reality that the Fae delegates were scheduled to leave within the week, and yet, she hadn’t asked him to stay? 

What would he do if Aelin decided she didn’t want him? Sell meat on a stick, he supposed. At least Aelin would find that funny if she ever bothered to come and fetch him–

Rowan shook his head, ridding it of the thought. He needed to stop. There was no reason to be worried about that. No worst-case scenario had happened yet. 

Aelin did want him. Perhaps not quite how he wanted her just yet, but she did want him. It wasn’t the time to get lost in what-ifs. He just needed to ask her what the next steps were. What she wanted him to do next. He wasn’t going to lose her. They just needed to have a conversation about it. Discuss logistics.

Then, she would ask him to stay.

Aelin was definitely going to ask him to stay.

Chapter Text

Aelin threw her head back in absolute ecstasy as Rowan moved in her. She gasped when his thrusts turned deeper, harder, making her grip the headboard behind her. 

“Don’t stop,” she moaned, unable to think of anything but the feel of him between her thighs. 

He hit that one spot that had her seeing stars over and over and over, his powerful body moving above hers. She dug her heels into his back, pulling him closer–impossibly close. It felt so good, she almost screamed. 

Aelin whimpered his name, gasping as his hips snapped against hers, setting a breakneck pace. She was going to die from this, from him, from the feel of his body deep inside hers.

“Aelin,” he said gently. She opened her eyes and found him staring down at her–staring into her the way he always did. His wild eyes held her gaze while he lifted a hand, bringing it to her chin. She panted against him as he turned her head to the side, exposing her neck. 

A thrill ran through her, her heart pounding even harder as his teeth came down to pierce her skin, biting down hard. She cried out, the mix of pleasure and pain pushing her into a state of absolute bliss. 

“Aelin,” he laughed.

Why was he laughing? Wasn’t he biting her? It didn’t matter.

“Rowan,” she moaned and dragged her nails down his back–clawing at him, pulling him closer again. She wanted to touch as much of him as she could, have as much contact as possible. 

He laughed again, and she could have sworn something warm shook her shoulder. “Aelin.”

But she was so close–just another moment, just a little more. “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” she chanted breathlessly. Just a bit longer. “Rowan, don’t stop.”

“Aelin–”

______

Aelin woke up writhing and breathing heavily as Rowan gently shook her shoulders. 

He hadn’t wanted to wake her from what was obviously a good dream, but she’d been getting surprisingly loud. Flattering as it was, he wasn’t sure if she wanted the entire castle to hear her screaming his name.

Her eyes popped open, and she stared up at him, confusion plain on her features.

“Good morning,” he said, giving her a smug, knowing smile as she found her bearings. 

“Good mor–” She froze. Rowan saw the exact moment the morning fog cleared, and she realized what she had been dreaming–that he knew it too. Aelin’s eyes widened.

“Was it good?”

“Was what good?” she stuttered, her breaths still coming quickly.

“Your dream.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t remember?”

Stiffly, Aelin shook her head. Denial, then.

He leaned down to drag his nose across her throat, inhaling her scent. “It involved a lot of my name, and the words don’t stop,” he whispered.

Aelin moaned as he kissed along her jaw, shifting so that he was fully on top of her.  

“Actually,” she purred, rolling them back with surprising force and pinning Rowan beneath her, “somebody woke me up before the best part.” 

Her lips were on his immediately, and aggressively parting them, brushing her tongue against his. Her hands gripped his hair as she moved against him, drawing a groan out of him. Rowan had a feeling Aelin wanted to pick up where the dream had left off.

And he didn’t have a problem with that.

He’d spent enough time dwelling on the worst-case scenario last night. He needed this. He needed her. But before they continued, he retreated slightly, an unspoken question in his eyes.

Aelin held his gaze, reading the words, her face determined and hungry and filled with something else he couldn’t quite place. 

She gave him one single word. “Yes.”

With that word, his hands shot up to her waist, pulling the silk of her nightgown up and over her head. They broke the kiss for only a second before they were together again, Aelin’s breasts pressed against his bare skin. 

“Yes,” she said again, making his heart pound, propelling them forward into new territory. 

He tried to speak against her lips, “Aelin, I–” 

I love you. But she cut him off, taking his bottom lip between her teeth making him moan. He’d tell her later. When he asked her about him moving to Terrasen.

Her movements were desperate–intoxicatingly so. When Aelin pulled away and started unfastening his pants, he did nothing to discourage her. Gods, he didn’t want to.

With his pants and undershorts gone, Aelin wrapped her hand around his cock. She hovered above him, stroking him, looking like she was going to burst into flames any second now. He wished she would. Rowan would love to see his mate literally burning from pleasure above him.

He growled her name, spurring her into action. She kept her hand around his length, holding him in place as she lined up her hips above his. 

Finally.

The anticipation almost had him groaning before their bodies even came together. She was just about to sink down onto him when someone knocked on the bedroom door.

They both froze. 

“Who is it?” Aelin yelled, still holding him in her hand.

“Your beloved cousin, of course,” Aedion yelled back through the door, “here to take you to the throne room for Chaol’s sentencing.”

Rowan quickly added Aedion Ashryver to his list of people to kill.

Aelin closed her eyes in frustration and flopped down onto the bed next to him. 

“I thought Chaol wasn’t going to be sentenced to anything,” Rowan murmured.

She sighed, bringing her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose. “He’s not. It’s all just for show. My father is going to pardon him.”

“And we made plans to laugh at him,” Aedion interrupted through the door.

Aelin growled. “Give me ten minutes, you swine.”

“Fine,” her cousin boomed. “I’ll be in the hallway.”

She growled again and rolled onto her side. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, bringing a hand to his cheek.

Rowan moved so that they were face-to-face and smiled. “It’s okay.”

“Raincheck?”

He nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist and dragging her closer so that their foreheads touched. Aelin’s eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her softly, filling the touch with as much love as he could muster. None of the heat from before. Instead, a promise. One that he reaffirmed by pulling away and saying, “Tonight.”

Aelin loosed a tight breath, her darkened eyes flicking to his mouth. She scooted closer again, running her hand down from his cheek, across his neck, and to his pectoral. Biting her lip, she repeated, “Tonight.” 

It almost killed him. 

And if loving Aelin did end up killing him, he would die happy as long as it happened tomorrow.

______

“I hate you.”

“Consider it revenge for barging in on me and Lys the other day.”

Aelin groaned. She was frustrated. Really, really frustrated. They’d been seconds away from the joining she had been looking forward to for so long now. Seconds away from feeling Rowan inside her. And now, because of stupid, gods-damned Chaol, she was walking to the throne room with her obnoxious cousin to watch a sham trial. She knew she was being unfairly grumpy but didn’t care.

The cousins arrived at the large main doors that led into the throne room. There was no need for inconspicuous entrances through the side door now. Today, they were arriving in an official capacity, and Aelin was actually on time.

The guards pulled open the doors for them, Aedion walking slightly ahead of her as per usual. It grated her nerves to no end that even now, even here, he wouldn’t walk next to her like a civilized person. Her cousin was always on his guard, always ready to throw himself in front of an arrow for her. Aelin knew she should be grateful, but she was too damn irritated. Now that she had her magic under control, the last thing she needed was protection.

Chaol and his father had already arrived, the former surrounded by a pack of guards, still a prisoner. They’d even put him in shackles to maximize the effect. If the terrified look on Chaol’s face was any indication, it was a roaring success. 

Lord Westfall was standing next to him–or as close as he could given the guards. Some of Anielle’s guards were stationed at the back of the room, but Aelin didn’t really know why they’d bothered. They were far too outnumbered to have much of an impact. This was her kingdom, after all.

Aedion led her past them, both intentionally refusing to meet Chaol’s pleading gaze. But he didn’t speak. Didn’t call out or scream his innocence as he had on the night of the solstice. She respected him for having that shred of dignity, at least.

Aelin took her place beside the thrones, Aedion stopping just in front of the dais she’d climbed up onto. Now it was just the owners of those thrones that everyone was waiting on.

They weren’t waiting long.

Her parents glided through the main doors, dressed regally–something Aelin hadn’t quite had time to manage herself. Arm-in-arm, Rhoe and Evalin crossed the room. She felt her mother trying to catch her stare, but Aelin pretended she didn’t notice. She watched her parents from the corner of her eye, eventually separating to take up their thrones. Thrones that Aelin was suddenly picturing Rowan and herself sitting in. She shook it off.

The king wasted no time.

“I assume you all know why we’re here,” he stated seriously, looking around the room. “Chaol Westfall has been accused of stealing the Kingsflame, our most treasured artifact. It was found in his pocket the night of the solstice.”

Chaol’s terrified look slipped, replaced by one of absolute fury. She couldn’t really blame him for feeling like that–he wasn’t guilty. But he remained silent.

“Normally, this is where we would begin a fair trial. We would allow the Westfalls to present their defense and plead their case.”

Lord Westfall straightened–a man about to go to war.

“Ten years ago, before my uncle enacted the reforms, the punishment for this crime would have been execution by beheading.”

Chaol’s face went a sickly shade of white. Aelin could smell his fear from across the room.

“Luckily, the punishment now is closer to five years in prison.” Neither of the Westfalls seemed to think that sounded much better. “However,” Rhoe said slowly, sending a wave of surprise through the room, “in light of recent circumstances, I am inclined to pardon you, Chaol Westfall.”

Chaol’s mouth fell open.

Lord Westfall cleared his throat, disbelief on his face as his son’s shoulders drooped with relief. “Forgive me–a pardon, your majesty?”

“Yes,” the king confirmed, stroking his beard. “I am willing to pardon your son, and in exchange, we hope to maintain a close relationship with Anielle in the future. Though not as close as we had hoped.”

The lord nodded, waiting to hear the king’s terms, finally humble, finally agreeable.

“As I believe my husband already explained,” Evalin said, “we cannot allow our daughter to marry a criminal, pardoned or not. We can continue to work together in other ways, but Chaol is no longer an acceptable match for a future queen.”

Lord Westfall didn’t falter. “I understand, your majesties. I, too, no longer feel that the match is appropriate,” he agreed, shooting a judgemental glare at his son.

Rhoe lounged in his throne. “So these terms are acceptable?”

“More than acceptable, your majesty,” Lord Westfall rushed to say.

“Very well.” Rhoe clapped his hands together as he often did when he was satisfied with a conclusion. “You may stay several more days to handle your affairs. We’re even hosting a ball in three days’ time to celebrate the new peace treaty with Doranelle. You are welcome to attend.” Lord Westfall nodded eagerly. “But after that, I encourage you to return home.”

“Absolutely. Thank you, your majesty.” The lord bowed deeply while the guards unshackled Chaol.

Aelin was surprised. She hadn’t been told they’d finalized the peace treaty. Didn’t know what that meant for her and Rowan. She assumed that if they were about to be rushed into a political marriage, someone would have mentioned it–she couldn’t possibly be out of the loop on something like this.

But did it mean that the delegates would be leaving soon? Would Rowan be going with them?

No, he wouldn’t be, she decided. Not if she could help it. Not if she could convince him to stay. 

And she knew exactly how she was going to do it.

_____

Aelin’s plan was simple. A classic, really.

She didn’t know where Rowan had gone off to this afternoon, but she could only assume it involved swords and being outside. Which was perfect because she wanted to surprise him when he came back.

With a truly outrageous nightgown stashed in a bag that she’d grabbed from her room, she hurried down to the guest wing, hoping she would be able to enact her plan in time. She was going to take a page out of Remelle’s book and surprise Rowan in his room. The only difference being that Aelin’s plan embraced the concept of consent. They’d already promised to do it tonight, so she doubted pushing it forward a few hours would be an issue. 

The only problem was how to get in. She didn’t want to smash the doorknob to pieces like she had when she’d removed Remelle. It needed to be unnoticeable so that, hopefully, he wouldn’t catch on before he even opened the door. 

Obviously, this was her castle. She could have someone open it for her, she could ask the staff for a key. But then she’d have to tell them why. Chaol may have been defeated, but the game wasn’t quite over. Not until the Westfalls went back to Anielle.

Aelin arrived in the correct hallway, finding it blessedly empty. She’d never learned to pick locks, had never seen the point. Instead, she took a chance and knocked on another door.

Enda answered a moment later, looking surprised but not unhappy to see her. 

“Your highness,” he said warmly. “What can I do for you?”

Aelin clutched her bag close and scanned what she could see of the room behind him. “Is Rowan around?”

Enda raised an eyebrow. “No, he’s sparring with Fenrys in the courtyard.” A hint of mischief found its way onto his face. “Have something planned, do you?”

She couldn’t fight the slight heat in her cheeks, but she returned the mischievous smile. “I was hoping you might have a key to his room.”

Enda chuckled. “I do.” Then he opened the door wide. “Why don’t you come in while I look for it? I think it’s hidden in the desk somewhere.”

Aelin beamed at him, satisfied that there weren’t going to be any hiccups in her plan, and stepped into the room. It was much like all the guest rooms in Terrasen. Green. Lots and lots of green. 

“I heard we have a peace treaty in place,” she said to Enda’s back as he crossed the room and started rifling through the many desk drawers. 

“We do, indeed. Finalized it yesterday.”

“Anything interesting in it?” She held her breath as she waited for his answer.

But Enda chuckled, “Nothing that wouldn’t bore you to tears. It was quite standard in the end.”

Aelin breathed a sigh of relief. Enda probably would have told her if the treaty hinged on a marriage–unless he assumed that she already knew. She frowned a bit.

Without any more questions to ask, Aelin settled into an armchair and surveyed his room. Apparently, Enda had already been here long enough to stuff each drawer of the desk full of parchment. She wryly estimated that it would be ten minutes before he happened upon the key. 

“It was definitely easier to negotiate given your relationship with Rowan,” he went on, sending her a quick look over his shoulder. “I think everyone went into it with the best intentions as a result.”

“That’s good,” she said softly. But her stomach dropped. She couldn’t bring herself to ask the question burning inside her. Aelin was happy that she’d found someone that would be good for her kingdom, but if they were going to be forced into marriage right now for political reasons … if marriage is what made it easier to negotiate ...

Enda just made a sound of agreement and continued his search. Slightly bored, slightly nauseous, Aelin looked around the room, scanning over Enda’s possessions, the way he’d personalized it in his time here.

There was nothing of note until her eyes caught on a light blue pouch sitting on the dresser. It was velvet– expensive –and she knew it immediately. It was from her favourite jeweller in the city, a place that only took custom orders from the richest of clients.

Aelin’s mouth went dry. Without even realizing that she’d ordered her legs to move, she found herself standing. Found herself crossing the room and staring down blankly at the pouch, heart stuttering in her chest.

She knew she shouldn’t look; it was a breach of privacy. But her fingers still reached for the pouch as if by their own volition. She still shoved her hand inside and pulled out a little velvet box.

For a moment, she just looked at it. No thoughts, no comprehension, no words for her feelings. Just something numb. She was about to open it, had rested her thumb on its lid when Enda sucked in a loud breath behind her, making her turn.

The sheer panic on his face confirmed exactly what it was. Confirmed it as surely as if she’d opened the box herself.

Enda’s hands were raised and open, his body non-threatening as he walked over, presumably to snatch the box out of her hands. “Aelin, that’s–mine.”

She backed up a step, clutching it close to her chest.

“It’s a gift for Sellene.”

Liar.

Aelin swallowed once, ignoring the lump in her throat. She had to look. Had to be certain that this was what she thought it was. 

“Aelin, don’t–”

Aelin did. She opened the box and drew in a sharp breath. 

Without another word, she closed it tightly, holding it in her clenched fist as she rushed from the room. 

She barely heard Enda’s protests, barely heard his pleas for her to come back and let him explain. 

She didn’t care what he had to say.

_____

Rowan was in a shockingly good mood. Despite being deemed the least trustworthy member of the Whitethorn house, despite losing his position as a general, he was happy. Now that the initial shock had worn off, he’d made his peace with it.

He didn’t have everything he wanted yet, but he had enough. 

And he was looking forward to tonight. He was going to tell Aelin he loved her and that he wanted to stay in Terrasen. He was finally going to claim her, and she him. They’d waited long enough. 

Even Fenrys hadn’t annoyed him much today when they’d trained. It had been a joy to spar with him again. Not that the Bane wasn’t skilled, but nobody in that army was a match for Rowan. 

The two of them had just finished up their training, each more worn out than they were used to, given the lazier lifestyles they’d adopted this past month. Rowan was ready for a long nap–a sure sign that he needed to get back to his old exercise routine if he was going to stay here. It wasn’t healthy to spend all his time doting upon Aelin and lounging in her bed.

Fenrys prattled on about useless topics the whole way back to the guest wing, motivated by Rowan’s lack of resistance. But he listened–mostly–and even laughed a few times while they made their way through the halls. Today, he felt at ease.

Until they entered their hallway that is.

Standing next to Rowan’s door was Enda, looking far more frazzled than usual.

“What’s gotten into him?” Fenrys muttered.

Enda sprinted down the hall, meeting them halfway. Somehow, he looked even more upset up close, a haunted look in his light green eyes.

“Rowan, I’m sorry–I’m so sorry,” his cousin said, starting to ramble. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, I didn’t think–I’m so sorry.”

Rowan’s heart stopped. “What happened,” he said flatly.

Enda gave him a look of absolute despair. “She found the ring.”

“What.” The word left him slowly, his brain struggling to catch up with this new information.

“Aelin came to see me–she wanted the key to your room for–it doesn’t matter,” Enda explained, worry adding a quiver to his voice. “I invited her in while I looked for it, and I guess she recognized the jeweller’s packaging.”

The words clicked into place, and Rowan unfroze. Panic tore through him as he understood what his cousin was saying. “Did she seem happy?” Rowan dared to ask.

Enda hesitated. Rowan knew exactly what his cousin was going to say before he finally opened his mouth to answer, “No.”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Where is she now?” he growled.

“She left. She took the ring and ran.”

Rowan shed the small armoury he’d donned for training and pushed past his cousin, heading for the closest window. 

“Rowan, I’m sorry,” Enda shouted after him again.

He didn’t even answer, he just threw open the window at the end of the hallway, shifted, and headed for Aelin’s rooms.

Rowan didn’t have the time nor the wherewithal to come up with a plan. He could barely think over the buzzing in his head and the sound of his pounding heart in his ears. There was a reason he’d asked Enda to keep it. Why he’d decided to hold off on this after getting to know Aelin better. This was bad. Very, very, very bad.

He didn’t even register the summer heat as he flew, nor the city or the castle beneath him. Hardly even noticed when he landed on his mate’s balcony and shifted.

“Aelin?” he near-shouted, voice desperate as he pulled open the balcony door and stepped inside.

His heart dropped.

Perched on the edge of her bed, Aelin was cradling the open box in her lap, staring numbly at the emerald ring inside. 

He didn’t know what to say. He was afraid of what might shatter if he did speak.

It felt like hours before she spoke, before she asked, completely emotionless, without sparing him a glance, “What is this.”

He took a long breath, steadying himself. “It’s an engagement ring,” he answered, voice breaking a bit on the words.

“For me.”

Rowan dared a step closer, hoping she would meet his gaze. She didn’t. “I wasn’t intending to give it to you so soon, but yes, that was the idea.”

“I don’t … understand,” she breathed. “Why do you have it?”

His chest seized at the words. Wasn’t it obvious? Rowan stayed rooted in place as he thought through the potential responses. What was there to say? How could he possibly walk this back?

But next to the regret and the very real wish that he could throw the ring away and have her forget this ever happened was anger. Anger that he didn’t seem to matter. That what he wanted didn’t seem to matter. And part of him crumbled–the defenses he’d had against this exact fear finally coming apart. He needed to know, once and for all. “Does it really mean nothing to you?” he said coldly.

She cut him a vicious look. “It means everything to me. Everything. ”

The words confused him, but he met her glare. “Then why is this such a problem?”

She snapped the box shut, the harsh sound ringing through his ears. “Because I’m not ready for this!” she snarled. “Because you promised you weren’t going to force me into marriage.” 

Rowan barked out a cold laugh and dragged a hand through his hair. “Is that what you think this is? Some territorial thing?”

“The peace treaty–”

“It has nothing to do with the rutting peace treaty. Nothing,” he growled. Was that really what she thought?

Her glowering face said yes. “Then why did Enda have it?”

“Because I just wanted him to hold on to it for me,” Rowan near-yelled. His hands curled into fists at his sides, exasperated. “I didn’t get the ring to force you into marriage, Aelin. I got the ring because I love you! ”

Rowan could have sworn the words were echoing around the room–through his very soul as a painful silence settled over them. To his surprise, Aelin’s face softened, her eyes widening. But she didn’t say it back. Nor did she do anything to acknowledge the depth of what he had just revealed to her. 

“I know it was a mistake to get the ring so quickly. I know you’re not ready,” he said quietly. “Believe me, you made your opinion on marrying me more than clear.”

“I did no such thing,” she spat.

Rowan raised his eyebrows. “To not getting married at all?” he said, quoting her words from the other night back to her. “Really, Aelin?”

Her eyes tightened. “I was drinking–”

“Fine, tell me you didn’t mean it then.”

Aelin’s mouth snapped shut. She didn’t refute it. She just sat there silently, averting her eyes and looking at the floor. He felt another piece of himself collapse.

“We don’t have to get married now, or any time soon, or at all,” he pushed, desperately bargaining by throwing all his hopes and dreams out the window, trying to get some kind of reaction out of her. “But I’m ready to give you everything. I’ve always been ready to give you everything. I don’t understand why you don’t feel the same. I don’t understand why–”

“I’m twenty-three years old!” she blurted, cutting him off. “Not thirty, not three hundred. Twenty-three.” She set the velvet box on the nightstand and surged to her feet. “You’re asking me to make a one-thousand-year commitment!”

His stomach dropped. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered those things–he had. Since the moment he first saw her it, had been in the back of his mind how young she was. How much life she had ahead of her. She wasn’t done becoming the person that she was going to be. He was, but Aelin wasn’t. And he’d come into this knowing that he would have to be more patient with her than he’d like sometimes–didn’t begrudge her that time. 

But instead of saying any of that, he snapped, “And what? You’re worried you’re not going to love me in a thousand years?” 

“No, Rowan!” Aelin cried and gave him a broken, exasperated look. “I’m worried that you aren’t going to love me!” 

Her words hung in the air between them, and they studied each other. Silent other than the occasional sniffle from his mate, the tears in her eyes further ripping him to shreds.

He swallowed. “The whole time I’ve been here, all I’ve done is tell you how much I want you,” he started quietly, opening his palms. “I went along with all your plans for dealing with Chaol. I went along with pretending you weren’t my mate because you asked me to.” His voice rose as he went on, “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere as long as you wanted me. Fuck, I told you I’d choose you over all of Doranelle, Aelin–my family, my home. I’m choosing you! And now I’m telling you that I love you and I want to be with you, even if you don’t settle, and I have to give up my immortality to do it. And it still isn’t enough. What else do you need me–”

“Stop,” she whispered thickly, sinking back down onto the bed. She put her head in her hands. “Just–stop.”

So he did. Even though it made him sick to do so.

She wiped at her eyes, then hugged herself protectively. “Maybe we should just take some time–”

“No,” he protested. “You always do that. You can’t shut down and refuse to talk about these things, Aelin.” He took a step forward, the closest he’d let himself get to reaching for her. “It’s not just you anymore.” 

And peering down at her lap, without even looking at him, she murmured the words that crushed the final ember of hope in his heart.

“Maybe I’m not ready for it to be more than just me.”

His breath caught. 

She couldn’t mean that. She couldn’t honestly want that. Not after everything. 

He waited, desperately hoping that she would meet his gaze, give him something that showed him she was lying, that she had said it out of anger. But she didn’t move. Didn’t even sniffle. It was like she’d drifted down into that cold, numb place that she always did when things were too much. That place where he couldn’t reach her.

And he realized that maybe she didn’t want to be reached. 

Sinking into a place of numbness himself, Rowan stalked out of the bedroom, too dazed to shift or fly. 

Aelin didn’t call after him when he slipped from the bedroom. Didn’t reprimand him when he walked straight out the front doors and into the hallway for anyone to see. And she definitely didn’t come after him as he trudged back to his room, barely a wraith, barely even in his body. 

Fenrys and Enda were waiting, leaning against the wall next to his door.

“What happened?” Fenrys asked.

Rowan didn’t bother to look at either of them as he ignored the question and asked his cousin, “How soon can we leave?”

“What?” Enda sputtered. “What do you mean–”

“Enda,” he hissed, “how soon can we go back to Doranelle?”

A tense pause. “Three days.” 

Rowan nodded and entered his room, slamming the door behind him.

And then he slumped onto his bed–his stupid, unfamiliar bed–and prepared to wait out the three days.

______

Aelin didn’t know how long she stayed there, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands, trying to hold herself together. She didn’t know how long it had been since he had left, since she’d said such a horrible thing to him, and then he’d left. 

She vaguely understood that the sun was setting. Had it been that long? Had it been hours since she’d told him she didn’t want him?

Did time matter anymore?

Perhaps not.

She was certain that if she moved at all, the precarious numbness she’d built would come crashing down. So she stayed where she was, taking small, careful breaths. Aelin sat like that until the sky turned dark. Until she heard a commotion outside her room. Yelling–a male voice. 

Her heart leapt. Was he back? Had he come back–

Her bedroom door slammed open, one of the staff following after Chaol Westfall as he charged into her room. Aelin’s stomach turned. It wasn’t him.

“You can’t be in here, my lord! You have to leave!” the servant cried.

Chaol ignored her order. “Aelin,” he said apologetically, voice strained. “I’m so sorry. I needed to talk to you, and I knew you wouldn’t agree to meet.”

“My lord, you need to go–”

He held up a hand, face desperate. “Just–give me a minute!” Then he turned back to Aelin. “I didn’t steal the Kingsflame. You need to know that I would never do that.”

She gaped at him. Why was he here? Why was Chaol here instead of Rowan?

He cringed a bit at her reaction but went on, “I don’t know how things got so messed up. But you have to believe me. I didn’t do it. I didn’t steal it–and–and I still want you.” Aelin felt her eyes go impossibly wide. “I still want to marry you, Aelin.”

Holy gods.

He wanted what? 

Aelin wanted to vomit. This time on his face. But he wasn’t done.

He crossed the room, kneeling in front of her and reaching for her hands–a touch she was too stunned to recoil from. Chaol Westfall looked her straight in the eye, gave her hands a squeeze, and said, “I love you, Aelin Galathynius.”

What.

“I’m in love with you, and if you’ll have me, I think we can make it work.”

What.

After a long, unpleasant pause, Aelin shook off his hands and stood, the motion stiff. She stepped away from him, walking to the window and staring unseeingly at the city below. 

How dare he?

How fucking dare he come into her bedroom, stand where her mate had stood, and lie to her face? How dare he make a mockery of the words he was saying? All he wanted was to manipulate her. To fuck her and share her crown and widdle away the parts he didn’t like until there was barely anything left of her. That wasn’t love. She’d seen love in Rowan’s eyes. This was nothing like that.

“Get out.”

A beat of silence while she waited to see if he heeded the warning in her voice.

He did not.

“Aelin, no–”

“ Get out, ” she repeated, spinning on the spot the glower at him, rage and flames and fury spiralling up from the bottomless well inside her. The servant jumped at Aelin’s tone and scurried out of the room. Good. She was going to put a stop to Chaol’s bullshit once and for all.

“Aelin–”

She erupted. 

Flames exploded around her, engulfing the bedroom in a sea of fire. Golds and blues wove around the furniture, burning through the air and leaving only magic and death and destruction in their wake.

“Get out get out get out!” she screamed, nothing but the rage of her magic left inside her. “Get out!”

Chaol shrieked and stumbled away from the spreading fire, falling to the floor. He scrambled backward, trying to escape the flames that threatened to burn away every piece of his worthless, lying existence. Desperate to escape the Heir of Fire. 

Because that’s all he thought she was. 

It was time he understood what that meant.

He crawled over the threshold of her bedroom, the glow of her wildfire illuminating the fear and sweat on his face. 

Her flames were everywhere, and she wanted them to burn it all down. Burn away all the sheets that smelled like Rowan, the city that now held her memories of him, and burn away the mirror that would show her the face of the person she hated most. But she suppressed them with a sob that shook her whole body. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her magic inwards, hearing Chaol gasp in response, and held out her hand–pointing directly at where he was splayed out on her sitting room floor. 

His eyes widened. “Aelin.” 

He got to his feet. “Aelin.”

In a burst of fury, her flames shot toward him, slithering and spreading along the floor like a snake. The monstrous Fire-bringer at last. 

Chaol sprinted from the room with a blood-curdling scream, her magic nipping at his heels. She watched him skid out the main door and take off down the hallway, obscured a second later by the rush of flames barreling after him. Only when she could no longer see him, when her flames had grown to fill the hall like a basilisk rushing after its prey, and her ears were filled with screams of terror from onlookers and courtiers and staff, did Aelin let go.

She fell to her knees, landing on her singed rug–the only thing she hadn’t been able to hold back from burning. Her breaths came in gasps, and she dug her fingers into the ash. 

She had to rebuild the wall. She had to find the numbness again before her magic could take over and destroy everything. Down and down and down she pushed. On her magic, her heart, her rage, her grief. She wouldn’t let it destroy her.

“Aelin?”

She jumped.

Aedion was standing at the door to her room, hovering just beyond the ash-covered floor. At the sight of him–her cousin, her only friend–the rage faltered. She let out a sob, something cracking inside her. Whatever it was that broke, took her flames with it.

With the magic inside her extinguished, he ran across the space, gathering her into his arms as she started crying uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“I just saw Chaol running from your rooms,” Aedion panicked. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Aelin shook her head frantically to signal no–at least not in the sense that he was worrying. But when Aedion asked her to explain, she couldn’t do it. There were no words she could muster. And there was nothing else to do as she broke down completely, wondering if she would ever stop crying again.

Chapter Text

In the end, Aelin did stop crying. It took all night, but she eventually cried herself out and sent her very concerned cousin away. 

Aedion had stayed with her for hours, just holding her while she sobbed. He didn’t push, didn’t ask questions. Just stayed.

But she hadn’t wanted him there when she eventually woke up. She was afraid that if he stayed, for that brief, confusing second when she first awoke, she’d think it was Rowan. And she didn’t want to have the disappointment of realizing it wasn’t. Alone was better.

When she finally woke up the next day, it was mid-afternoon. But she didn’t get up. Didn’t see the point. It was easier to stay in bed, even if all her pillows smelled like him.

______

Rowan hated this bed. Not enough to get out of it, but enough to have trouble sleeping.

Or maybe he was just blaming the bed so that he could avoid thinking about the real reason he couldn’t sleep. 

And why did every single rutting thing here have to be green? It was his favourite colour, but that didn’t mean he wanted everything to be green. Did the people of Terrasen not understand the concept of balance? Was this a way to punish their guests?

Aelin’s room wasn’t green. Her bed wasn’t small and lumpy–

No. He wasn’t going to think about her and that bed.

He rolled onto his side and glared at the empty spot across from him. Glared at how much colder the sheets were when he was by himself.

Was she lying in bed like he was? Did she even miss him?

Perhaps not. 

People chased after you when they missed you.

______

The next time Aelin woke up, it was early in the morning, sunlight streaming through the curtains that she hadn’t bothered to close.

Aedion stopped by with breakfast shortly after. He sat in the armchair and watched her pick at the food, occasionally asking if she wanted to talk about it. 

She didn’t.

______

Late morning came too slowly. There was nothing to do. Nothing Rowan wanted to do. And the insomnia was starting to catch up with him. The longer he went without sleep, the harder it was to stop himself from seeing Aelin every time he closed his eyes.

Enda had come by the night before, asking if there was anything he could do to help.

It was a stupid, ridiculous offer. One that Rowan had laughed at before admitting ale would be appreciated. 

But Enda did not bring ale. Instead, he wanted to talk about things. Find the bright side of the situation. Rowan despised it. 

The next time his cousin came to cheer him up, Rowan threw an impenetrable shield of air around his room so that he wouldn’t be able to get in.

______

A knock on the door had Aelin jumping up in bed that afternoon, abandoning a rather fruitless attempt to sleep.

Was it him? She couldn’t know; she was in her human form. She couldn’t smell or hear her visitor. But he didn’t usually use the door.

Aelin forced herself not to call out his name like a question, instead opting to say, “Who is it?”

Please be him. Please be him. Please be him.

“It’s me, Fireheart,” her mother’s voice replied. “Can I come in?”

Her heart sank for more reasons than one. “Fine,” she grumbled, turning in bed so that she wouldn’t have to look at Evalin when she entered the room.

Aelin heard the doors opening, heard footsteps before the bed shifted, her mother presumably sitting down on its edge. 

“We haven’t seen you for a few days,” her mother began quietly. “Your father and I are worried.”

Aelin couldn’t be bothered to answer.

Evalin was silent for a moment, and then, “We also haven’t seen Rowan for a few days.”

Ignoring the way hearing his name out loud made her feel, she rolled over to look at her mother. Evalin appeared nothing but concerned, nothing but patient. In some ways, it felt worse to look at her. To have her own face staring back at her. The face that had told Rowan she didn’t want him.

“We had a fight,” she said simply, her voice thick from disuse.

Motivated by Aelin’s offering of information, her mother scooted closer. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Not with you, she didn’t say.

Her mother ignored her silence, ploughing on. “Was it about Chaol?”

“Not everything is about Chaol,” she moaned.

“Then what happened?”

And despite the feelings of anger and betrayal, Aelin cracked. “He got me a ring.”

Her mother’s face shifted with surprise. “He asked you to marry him?” she said after a pause.

“No.” Aelin realized he hadn’t actually asked. “He just had it”

“And you don’t want to marry him?”

“It’s complicated.” She didn’t know how to even begin explaining the layers of fears and anxieties and worst-case scenarios to her mother. But she could give her the facts. “I told him I wasn’t ready to be with him.”

Evalin frowned. “Do you want to find someone else?”

Aelin surprised herself by letting out a single, harsh laugh. “No, there’s never going to be anyone else,” she admitted. “Rowan is the only one.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t understand.”

“No, I can’t imagine you would,” Aelin said slowly.

Her mother drew back a bit at the tone, face tightening. But she kept her voice patient and gentle as she asked, “What do you mean by that?”

Aelin took a deep breath, trying to stifle the anger that was rising in her chest, threatening to spill over and burn the world down. She shouldn’t say anything. She really should just refuse to answer the question and go back to her moping.

Or maybe it was time that she didn’t.

“How could you understand what it’s like to love someone and spend every minute wondering when they are going to give up on you?” Aelin began, failing to keep the bite out of her words. “How could you understand what it’s like to have people leave you over and over?”

“What are you talking abo–”

“Really?” Aelin laughed. “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Evalin’s eyebrows pinched together. Some people would interpret that look as confusion, but Aelin knew better. 

“Why do you think Rowan is going to leave you?”

“Because everyone else has! ” she sputtered, the truth of the words slashing through her. In just the last few weeks, she’d come to realize she couldn’t rely on two of the most important people in her life–not the way she needed to. Her mother wasn’t really there for her; Aedion wasn’t going to settle. Friendships had been discouraged during her childhood, leaving her scrambling to figure it out now. Her magic teachers had abandoned her time and time again. Whenever she gave someone her full trust, they always let her down one way or another. She forced out the words, “Even Chaol only wanted to marry me so that he could manage the threat to Adarlan.”

“Aelin, that’s ridiculous,” her mother rebuked, her own temper responding in kind. “You have your father, and me, and–”

“You have no right to say you haven’t given up on me. You have no right to pretend you didn’t,” Aelin growled, cutting her off.

Evalin’s patience ran out, and she leveled a glare at her daughter. “Why on earth would you say that?”

“Because it’s true.” Aelin sat up in bed, energized by her mother’s reaction. “You decided that I was a lost cause and gave me an iron tonic so that you could sweep the problem under the rug.”

“That’s not what–

“You poisoned me for months,” she interrupted quietly, voice breaking. “Did you not notice how sick it was making me? Did you not notice how I could barely eat anything? Or were you just happy that it wasn’t your problem anymore?”

A long pause. “Of course, I noticed. But you were dangerous. What else were we supposed to do?” Evalin answered, her glare giving way to grief. 

Aelin wiped the traitorous tear from her cheek and looked her mother straight in the eye. “You were supposed to keep trying.”

Evalin’s expression crumpled. 

“You could have sent me to Doranelle after Sellene took the throne. You could have asked them to send someone here. You could have done something . But you gave up,” she whispered. “You gave up.”

Her mother didn’t have an answer to that. There was no explanation that would make a difference anyway. Evalin just looked down at her hands and mumbled, “I didn’t realize that you felt like this.”

Aelin curled up into her pillows again, turning away from her mother as she laid back down. “My whole life, you’ve been telling me I’m a monster. You don’t get to be surprised that I ended up believing it.”

Whatever effect the words had on the Queen of Terrasen, Aelin didn’t see it. She only felt the mattress shift, and a moment later, heard the door shutting softly behind her. 

______

Aelin made a good show of pretending to be asleep for the rest of the day, hugging Rowan’s preferred pillow to her chest. When it came down to it, though, she just wasn’t tired enough to turn her back on the world.

Snapping at her mother had left her feeling angry and restless, and yet somehow … lighter. More aware. It was not unlike how she’d felt after releasing her magic with Rowan on the plains all those weeks ago. And Rowan … she missed him.

In fact, she missed him so much she was losing her mind.

She didn’t want to tell Aedion about her fight with her mother. Didn’t want to talk to her father or Lysandra or write to Elide. She wanted to talk to her mate. Gods, even just seeing his harsh, broody face would be a blessing.

Aelin considered sending for him, imagined herself going down to his room and knocking on the door. But what would she even say? How could she possibly make things better after what she’d said to him the other day?

Maybe I’m not ready for it to be more than just me.

She hadn’t meant it–not really. In some ways, it was true. There were things she wasn’t ready for. She was scared to fully let him in and then have him abandon her. What if a hundred years down the line, when she no longer remembered how to live without him, he left her?

But all the ways the rest of the world had let her down, all those reasons she’d yelled at her mother … Rowan had done the opposite. 

Rowan had reached for her through her flames with wonder in his eyes when others ran away in terror. Had thrown the iron tonic away, knowing what her magic could do uninhibited. He had been the one to tell her she wasn’t a monster after Chaol had said it. He was willing to bind his life to hers if she didn’t settle. Had promised to protect her over Doranelle even if the world ended because of it.

And Rowan had bought her a ring, certain he wanted her already, totally unafraid of who she was. 

He’d told her he loved her. Nobody had ever said that to her before. Of course, Chaol had barged in to say it only hours later, but he was a liar. He hadn’t meant it the way Rowan had. And she didn’t want her mate to leave. She didn’t want Rowan to leave.

So what was there to be afraid of?

She knew the answer. Deep, deep down, tucked away inside her, was the understanding that being with Rowan meant she’d have to start accepting pieces of herself. He represented everything that scared her. Magic and power and immortality. Her crown, her fertility. All of it. Everything that she tried so hard not to think about … being with him required her to look at those things. 

Aelin shook her head. She needed time. 

And while she hid in her room, taking that time, thinking everything through, she let herself consider it. Marrying Rowan. Being his wife. Having children with him. How annoying it would be if she was the only one in the family who couldn’t turn into a bird.

She turned over in bed, facing the nightstand she’d been avoiding. Just the other day, Rowan had brought a pile of books to read while she slept, claiming that one of her romance novels was more than enough for him. Even now, she couldn’t help her chuckle as she read through the titles again. 

The Lord of the North. A book on Terrasen’s fauna and mythology.

The Obsidian Ode. Much more interesting. A mystery if she was correct.

Swords. That one was her favourite. It didn’t surprise her at all that Rowan had visited one of the greatest libraries in the world and still walked out with a book called Swords. Surely he must know all there is to know about swords by this point?

A Complete History of Terrasen.

It wasn’t lost on her that two of the books he’d chosen were about her kingdom. She swallowed and pulled her eyes away, instead focusing on the real reason she’d been avoiding looking at the nightstand.

The little velvet box was sitting there, closed and undisturbed, exactly where she’d left it two days ago. 

With nobody around, no pressure or promises or obligations, she reached for the box and popped open the lid.

It really was beautiful. She didn’t know if Rowan had designed it himself or if the jeweler had come up with it based on his request, but it was perfect. As perfect as if he’d reached into her soul to find it. It didn’t surprise her at all.

She slid the ring onto her finger and let out a sigh of admiration.

The ring Chaol had given her had been cold and understated. Beautiful, yes, but not the sort of thing she liked. Rowan’s ring was the opposite of those things. The giant emerald in the centre was just flashy enough that it suited Aelin perfectly, surrounded by eye-catching diamonds that sparkled in the light. She knew Rowan couldn’t fully relate to her love of shiny, expensive-looking things, but he’d still chosen correctly for her.

And it didn’t feel heavy the way that Chaol’s ring had. It didn’t feel wrong. In fact, it felt so right that Aelin didn’t totally want to take it off. It didn’t hurt that the emerald was the exact colour of his eyes.

She rang her finger across the gemstones. Would it really be so bad to marry him? 

No, of course, it wouldn’t. And Aelin had been ready to enter into a political marriage before meeting him … but Rowan mattered. He wasn’t some random lord that she’d find a way to tolerate. Wasn’t a human man that would die before she’d lived even a tenth of her life. She was in love with him, and he mattered, and she wanted to keep him. That made it different.

Aelin stared down at the ring a little while longer, tilting her hand under the sunlight shining through her windows, watching her ring sparkle. But eventually, that spark of joy wore off. Eventually, her stomach turned again, and she pulled the gold band off her finger, hiding the ring away back in its box.

She knew she was being a coward, but she needed more time to figure out how to fix this. 

She just needed a little more time.

______

Rowan was packed and ready to go by the time the morning of the third day rolled around. It was one of the only things he’d bothered to get out of bed for. 

He hoped to have heard from Aelin by now, but no news came. Given what she’d said, he probably shouldn’t be surprised, but it hurt to know that three days had passed and she hadn’t missed him as much as he missed her.

It only strengthened his resolve to leave.

He couldn’t stay in Terrasen and wait for her; he had to get on with his life. If he even could. His cousin managed just fine, but Enda and his mate had interacted very little compared to Rowan and Aelin. They hadn’t shared a bed for a month and then gone their separate ways. So he didn’t fully know what to expect from having distance between them, but he imagined it was going to hurt.

In a last-ditch effort, he’d written Aelin a short letter. Just explaining how she could find him in Doranelle if she changed her mind. Not that it would be difficult for the princess to get in contact with the Whitethorn family now that the treaty was in place, but he didn’t want her to think that he was trying to disappear. And if he was lucky, it wouldn’t be ten years before he heard from her. But if it was, he needed to figure out what to do with himself in the meantime. 

Enda had said that he could continue to train soldiers, he just wouldn’t be a part of any active missions. Wouldn’t be able to sit in on anything political. It was laughable really–the idea that he was going to pass secrets along to his mate when she wasn’t even interested in talking to him. But he supposed they had a different perspective on it.

A knock on his door had him folding up the letter and leaving it on his bed. He didn’t want to deliver it. Couldn’t take the chance that she’d rip any more parts of him to pieces before he left. He just wanted to slip out of Orynth quietly before she woke up. A servant would find it and give it to her later. 

Rowan grabbed his bags and took one last look around the room. It really meant nothing to him. He’d barely even slept in it. The room was as much a lie as everything else had been.

Enda and Fenrys were waiting in the hallway, arms filled with bags of their own, twin expressions of worry on their faces. 

His cousin broke the silence. “Are you sure about this?” 

Enda had tried multiple times over the last three days to change his mind. Had barged into his room with new ways to look at things, reasons to wait a little longer.

Rowan sighed. He wasn’t angry anymore. Just tired. “Yes.”

Fenrys gave him a skeptical look.

“I think … ” Rowan tried to find the best way to explain it. “I think we just met at the wrong time.”

Enda sucked in a tense breath, looking very much like he wanted to protest but had run out of ideas. “Alright.”

With that, the males made their way out of the castle, taking the side exit that Aelin had dragged Remelle out of. Passing through the gate made his heart clench. It was still one of his favourite memories, even if it hurt to think about it now. Gods, he was probably going to have to see Remelle again. Tragically, there was no level of despair that could make Rowan forget how much he hated her.

In no time, they were at the stables. Their horses had already been prepared for them, packed with supplies, so they rode away from the castle grounds without delay. Nobody stopped them or said goodbye. It was far too early in the morning for much fanfare anyways.

When they made it to the city walls, Rowan paused to look back at the castle–just once. Just one more look. One more chance to turn around. But what would be the point? Nothing he could do would make Aelin ready to be with him. 

So together, Rowan, Fenrys, and Enda went through the city gates and started the long journey back to Doranelle.

Chapter Text

Aelin had suffered from another restless night. Tossing and turning, drifting in and out of dreams of Rowan. It had been three days since their fight. Three days since she’d watched him walk away from her. Since she hadn’t done anything to stop him.

By the time she’d finally managed to get to sleep, the sky had started lightening, leaving her desperately hoping for the opportunity to sleep in. But she woke up with a start, her whole body jerking as something landed on her face. Her eyes shot open, revealing a glaring Aedion beside her bed through the bits of fabric he’d thrown on top of her. She reached above her head–a tunic. He’d thrown her ugly grey tunic at her.

“Get dressed. We’re leaving right now.”

Dazed and a little bit pissed off, Aelin stared at him, struggling to understand what was happening. “What? Why?” she asked, bleary-eyed.

Her cousin pulled her pillow right out from under her head, making her screech. “They left,” he growled. “I just got word.”

“W-what?”

She was hit in the face with a pair of leggings.

“Rowan and the other two–they’re going back to Doranelle.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “He … he left?”

“Yes. Now get up.”

Aelin ignored his order. Was still processing his previous sentence. “He left me?”

Aedion threw a pair of socks into her lap and started tearing through the drawer that contained her undergarments. Normally she’d be mortified to have him do so, but as the randomly selected garments landed in her lap, she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Barely even noticed Aedion’s face of disgust as he handled her underthings.

“Get up.”

She looked at him helplessly, clutching her socks to her chest.

“Aelin,” he near-yelled. “Get up right now so that we can go after them.”

None of this made any sense. “But the peace ball is tonight–”

Aedion ran a hand down his face and gave her an exasperated look. “They aren’t going to the rutting peace ball. So get up before the best thing that’s ever happened to you gets on a ship to Doranelle!”

But she wasn’t listening.

Rowan had left. Her mate had left her.

“Evalin told me what happened,” Aedion continued when she didn’t answer. “About the ring and why you’re so afraid of this.” 

“You don’t know anything,” she said sharply. He hadn’t witnessed her fight with her mother. He hadn’t been there any of the times she’d spilled her soul to Rowan. How dare Aedion insert himself into this situation. He didn’t get to tell her what was going through her head–

“I know we’ve all let you down in our own ways–myself included,” he admitted, “but Rowan hasn’t.”

Her eyes tightened. “ He left me, ” she repeated, hating the way the words got stuck in her throat.

“Because you didn’t ask him to stay! Because you told him you didn’t want him! ” Aedion shouted, making her flinch. “Because you pushed him away without even giving him a chance!”

She just blinked at him. They had their fair share of shouting matches most days, but it was never more than posturing. Never more than an attempt to rile the other up and be as annoying as possible. This was not like that. Aedion was well and truly angry–at her.

“Why do you care so much?” she snapped defensively. It was habit to yell back. Habit to push down the hollow shakiness that had settled over her by lashing out.

“Gods above, Aelin, you’re wasting time. Just get up!”

When she didn’t, Aedion growled and lunged across the bed. Before she could react, her cousin was in her face, shaking her shoulders–gently but firmly enough to disrupt her careful stillness. “I care because I’ve never seen you so happy before. I care because he has made every part of your life better. I care because you’re so well suited to each other that it’s like some god custom made him for you and tossed him into your lap, and yet you’re fucking hesitating .”

She met her cousin’s gaze, saw the plea in his eyes–the genuine desperation. 

“He loves you–we’ve all seen it,” Aedion went on. “And you seem to love him too, even if you have a fucked up way of showing it.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he wasn’t quite finished. “Aelin, the only thing that’s standing in the way of this is you. We can deal with your inner demons when we get back.”

The words struck her to her core. The truth of them. The situation they were in. 

And that was when blind panic hit her like a brick to the face. Adrenaline coursed through her, a blunt force in her chest. All the numbness she’d been so carefully maintaining over the past few days– weeks –snapped. 

Because Rowan had left. And he thought she didn’t love him. 

Fuck.

She needed to go. 

Now.  

“Get up,” Aedion repeated one final time.

And Aelin did. 

She scooped up the clothes and ran into the closet to get changed. “How much of a head start do they have?” she yelled over her shoulder. 

“Six hours. But they took horses and supplies, so they’ll be moving slow enough that we should be able to catch up if we run.”

“Do we know what route they’re taking?” she asked, pulling her horrible tunic over her head. She held in her sob–wouldn’t break down now. There wasn’t time. She could cry if she found him, but not right now.

“They won’t be on one of the main paths,” Aedion explained. “Fenrys told me that Rowan made them detour through the Oakwald on the way here.”

She popped her head out of her closet. “The Oakwald? How in hell are we supposed to find them in there?” Rowan and Enda might very well be using their magic to redirect their scents.

Aedion’s face was grave. “We might not.”

Oh. 

But Aelin ignored the dread trickling down her spine, threatening to unravel her. She nodded to herself, shifting into her Fae form as she moved through the room. She paused only to step into the boots Aedion had selected for her, grateful, at least, that he hadn’t thrown those at her head.

“We will,” she corrected her cousin, voice steely. Even if she had to check every inch of the forest, even if she had to get on a ship herself and follow Rowan to Doranelle, she would find him. Aelin would do whatever it took to get him back.

“I will find him,” she repeated. A promise. To herself and to her mate who wasn’t there to hear it. 

Aedion grinned. 

“Then let’s go.”

______

Aelin had never run so quickly in her life. There had never been a reason to. Aedion was faster than her–always had been. But today she was keeping up with him, love and desperation pushing her over some invisible boundary, allowing her to do the impossible. Now she was willing to ruin herself, ruin every muscle, rip her lungs to pieces, dehydrate under the scalding sun if it meant getting Rowan back. Even if he took one look at her and told her that she was too late, she was happy to destroy herself in the process.

The journey was nothing short of punishing. The sun was already high overhead by the time they erupted through the city gates and onto the plains. And the reprieve she’d been looking forward to–the shade of the Oakwald–only barely made up for the simmering heat. Aelin was drenched in sweat already, but it did nothing to stop her mad dash into the forest. 

She desperately hoped that the trees were slowing Rowan down. Prayed that he hadn’t just given up on horses entirely and shifted into his animal form. A hawk could be at the port by the end of the day. 

But even if he was somewhere in the trees, the downside for her and Aedion was that it made their trip harder too. The forest was an added obstacle to the terrain. There were rocks to jump over, tree branches to duck beneath, and occasionally unexpected gullies deep enough to kill any mortal unfortunate enough to fall in. Aelin and Aedion would survive, but they’d never catch up to Rowan if one of them fell.

There was no sign of them. No scent, no hoofprints. As they ran deeper into the forest, she couldn’t stop the panic from squeezing her heart. They’d already been running at full speed for nearly two hours–far longer than Aelin was used to. Every part of her hurt. Her legs, her feet, her lungs. If she found her mate, he’d probably have to spend the night healing all the muscles she’d pulled. But the image of that alone gave her a little bit more energy to endure.

Aedion stayed far out to her left, just close enough that she could see him in the distance, hear him if he shouted. They could cover more ground that way. 

The terrain got thicker and thicker, trees multiplying as they descended to lower altitudes. She could barely see the area around her, had started using her magic to clear a path in front of her. But she could only do small sections at a time, clearing only what was necessary for her to run. She had to make sure every spark was extinguished as she went. With the forest as dry as it was now, one mistake would spark a wildfire worthy of legend.

She looked to her cousin, still a blur as he raced through the trees. But even at this speed, she could see his frown. Could see something she didn’t like settling over his face. Aelin cursed herself for not bringing Lysandra, for not asking her to shift into a bird and search from the skies. Panic had made her foolish.

No, she had been a fool for much longer than that.

When they started encountering hills steep enough that their feet caught in roots, slipped on loose foliage, Aedion closed the distance between them and shouted her name. She dared a glance over her shoulder, not wanting to fully take her attention off the trees she was sprinting past and found him slowing. 

“What are you doing?” Aelin yelled. “Why are you stopping?”

Aedion’s shoulders drooped, and she came to a stop herself. “Aelin ... if they’d come through the forest, we probably would have found them by now.”

“You don’t know that.” she hissed, throwing out a hand. “The forest is massive. We just need to spread out more–”

 “We should go to the port.”

“No. No, that trip will take days. We need to find them now,” she pleaded. Going to the port meant they’d have to go back to Orynth first, get supplies and then leave on a slow, week-long journey. Followed by a month-long crossing to Doranelle if she didn’t catch up to Rowan in time. 

Desperation nearly had tears spilling. “I need to find him now.”

Aedion’s face softened, but he still said, “We’re wasting time. They clearly didn’t come this way.”

Aelin pushed back her messy hair with both hands, her breathing ragged. “Please,” she begged. She couldn’t turn back now. Couldn’t give up now. If Aedion didn’t want to keep going, if he wouldn’t help her, then fine. She would go on without him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured guiltily. “I shouldn’t have brought us out here. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t accept that. Didn’t accept that they’d come this far to already have lost. Aelin wouldn’t accept that Rowan might already be well on his way to the port and that she and Aedion had just spent nearly two hours running around in the wrong place.

“No,” she said, more to herself than to her cousin. Aelin started forward again, breaking into a run. 

“Aelin.”

No, she wouldn’t go back.

______

It was another half-hour later when Aelin felt her legs slowing, Aedion trailing along begrudgingly behind her. He hadn’t spoken to her since she’d disregarded his advice and run forward anyway. He just followed in silence, probably waiting for her to collapse with exhaustion so he could carry her home–which was becoming more likely by the minute.

Aelin had thought the terrain was difficult before, but not long ago they’d come across an incline. A steep hill that, from the looks of it, terminated in a cliff. There was no point in trying to go around it. It stretched in both directions as far as the eye could see. So Aelin trudged along, scrambling up to the clifftop–practically climbing, too determined and desperate to feel her body failing. She didn’t know if the tug in her chest pulling her up the hill was real or if it was just insufferable pride that had her refusing to go to the port, but she continued. Until she got to the top of the cliff and saw for sure that Rowan was nowhere to be found from the higher vantage point, she would continue.

On some level, she knew her hands were covered in cuts and scrapes. She knew she had bruises from when she’d fallen earlier, the largest of which was on her wrist from when Aedion had caught her as she nearly tumbled to her doom. A glance at her cousin, who was covered in dirt, twigs caught in his hair, told her exactly what she looked like. She could practically hear his thoughts, knew he thought she’d totally lost her mind, and was now just going along with this for her safety.

But still, she pressed onward.

Aelin dug her fingers into the dirt and roots of the hill, hauling herself forward. They were so close now. When the ground started levelling out enough for them to stand up straight again, Aedion sprinted ahead, apparently having some energy left after all.

Please be there. Please be there. Please be there.

Her cousin stopped at the top of the cliff that still obscured the valley below to Aelin. He looked down, face tightening, and her heart sank. 

Aedion couldn’t see him; he wasn’t there. She’d be damned if she didn’t go right up to the edge and look down herself, but she knew the truth. She’d made the wrong call. 

They should have gone to the port.

They should have just gone there from the beginning.

Aelin couldn’t help the way her legs locked up. Couldn’t help the tear that finally escaped down her cheek. 

Loosing a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a sob, she stopped completely, putting one hand on a tree nearby and folding over herself. She wanted to throw caution to the wind and start running for the port, despite having no water, despite it being a two-day journey if she could maintain her absolute fastest pace and forgo sleep–which she obviously couldn’t.

They’d have to go back to the castle, as Aedion had explained. Regroup and leave on an official trip to Doranelle. It would be months before she’d see him again since she’d be on the wrong ship, but it would be faster than dying from thirst in the middle of the plains.

Tears pooled in her eyes, grief wrenched through her gut. She was crying in earnest now, imagining how painful being apart for so long was going to be. It had only been three days and her heart was already in shreds. Gods, how could she have let this happen? How could she let Rowan think he wasn’t the most important thing in her heart? How could she have been so stupid–

“Aelin!” her cousin’s voice came from a distance.

Aelin’s head snapped up, her world stilling. She held her breath as she found him teetering on the edge of the cliff a few metres down from where he’d been before, pointing at something.

Pointing at something because–her heart stuttered.

“Aelin!” he yelled again, “I see them!”

She moved quickly, scrambling up the hill on her hands and knees. And sure enough, almost invisible in the trees of the Oakwald beneath them, miles ahead, were three horses. One for Fenry, one for Enda, and most importantly, one for Rowan.

Aelin fully expected the sob that ripped out of her at the sight of him. Was entirely prepared to further disintegrate into a blubbering, weeping mess. 

She tried to call his name, nearly choking on the word. But she tried again, this time grasping for a shred of calm, and screamed loudly and clearly into the valley below her, “Rowan!”

Nothing. 

Something twisted inside her, something that made her nauseous and filled her with dread, but she tried again, screaming so loudly her throat hurt.

But Rowan didn’t stop. Nor did his companions.

Aedion joined in quickly, his obnoxiousness allowing him to reach volumes that Aelin could not. The two cousins screamed together on the edge of that stupid cliff with no discernable path down, desperate for just one of the Fae to notice them. Just one to hear something strange on the wind and turn around.

But they kept moving. They just kept riding farther away, reducing the chances of being heard with every step of their horses. 

Aedion ran off to the thinner trees on their right, presumably in search of whatever road they’d followed to get down there, and Aelin stood there screaming. She’d be lucky if she could even talk tomorrow.

Still, Rowan didn’t stop, and her heart fractured as she realized what was about to happen. Though she could just barely see him, though she had come all this way to get him, she would not be able to reach him. Not with her voice alone. Because there was no way she could physically get down there and catch up at this point. Her body couldn’t take it. And seeing him leave, seeing him leave without knowing that she was there reaching for him was so much worse than any of the nightmares her subconscious had conjured up.

She shouted his name until her voice broke, until she couldn’t form words through her sobs. Until she was just wheezing out his name, barely even audible to herself.

And it was unacceptable. That she had hurt him, that she had come so far to make it right, and Rowan wouldn’t even know. She could not allow it to be. 

So Aelin turned to the only thing she had left. A last-resort, so flimsy and untested that she barely allowed herself to hope it would work. But it had pulled her up this gods-forsaken cliff, had dragged her through the Oakwald. Maybe–just maybe it would work.

Feeling for the bond between them–whatever it was that tied them together–Aelin commanded her words to reach him. Clung to the bond as she said not with her voice but sheer force of will, Turn around. Turn around. Turn around.

Please turn around. 

Please.

She repeated the message over and over like a prayer.

Aelin had come for him. If nothing else, she needed him to know that. Even if he saw her and decided she wasn’t worth coming back for, she still needed Rowan to know that she had followed him. That she hadn’t given up on him–on them.

Please turn around. Please turn around.

And against all odds, against all hope, she could have sworn something sparked in answer. 

Barely visible in the distance beneath her, one of the horses seemed to stop moving. She couldn’t be totally sure, couldn’t know that it wasn’t just a trick of the light.

But it was enough.

Aelin ran along the cliff edge, trying to get as close to him as she could. Determined not to lose this opportunity, to not have been through all of this for him to miss her standing amongst the trees, she unleashed a burst of flame into the sky, an unmissable signal that Aelin Galathynius was there. Her body might be spent, but her magic was not.

Aelin held her breath. 

And when Rowan shifted, the flash of light barely reaching her across the distance, Aelin fell to her knees and wept.

______

Rowan didn’t know if he was grateful for the increased speed of their journey. 

On the way to Orynth, Remelle had been nothing but deadweight, demanding breaks, complaining about how riding a horse was uncivilized and that she usually preferred carriages. She had been personally responsible for adding an additional four days to their trip. But without her, they were practically gliding across Terrasen.

It helped that they’d stumbled upon a forgotten path through the forest–something they hadn’t had the luxury of last time. It was winding and narrow, taking them on a strange route over and then back down a cliff, but it was fast.

A bit faster than his heart was able to come to terms with.

They’d lost sight of the city hours ago, the trees of the Oakwald obscuring it from view. Not that Rowan was looking back often enough to know that. He definitely hadn’t watched Orynth disappear behind layers of leaves while his very soul withered away to nothing.

About six hours into the journey, something had constricted in his chest. The bond between him and Aelin had gone taut–panicked. Like it was being stretched to its extremes. Though he’d expected it, to feel it so intensely nearly knocked the breath out of him. But he went on, telling himself that this was just how things were going to be now. Until Aelin changed her mind–if she ever changed her mind–he was just going to feel like he was being pulled in two directions. 

His companions were speaking to each other but not to him. They rode ahead, both clearly afraid that he was going to explode, that something was going to push him over the edge. He didn’t blame them. Were Rowan someone else watching everything happen, he probably wouldn’t know what to do with him either. So he just rode behind them, taking in the Oakwald as it passed him by. 

He wanted to go back. Had been considering it every few minutes with a glance over his shoulder. That was the honest truth. Rowan was pretty sure he was starting to hallucinate too, because he could have sworn he kept hearing Aelin’s voice on the wind, calling him back to her.

For now, he would blame the sun. He could deal with his ever-developing insanity when he got back to Doranelle.

Or so he tried. 

Something kept gnawing at him, something getting louder and more persistent.

Please turn around.

He stopped his horse. That time, the voice had rung through him clear as day.

Rowan sat there for a moment just listening, trying not to imagine where his cousins would store him if he actually was losing his mind. 

Please turn around.

“Do–you hear that?” he couldn’t help himself from stuttering out.

Fenrys and Enda turned, twin frowns on their faces as they stopped their horses.

“Huh?” Fenrys managed to say slowly.

“The voice.” Gods help him.

Enda gave him the exact concerned yet bewildered look Rowan wanted to give himself. “There’s … no voice, Rowan.”

Dammit. 

Fenrys’s eyes darted between them, landing on Rowan. “Are you okay–”

“I’m fine,” he growled, urging his horse forward again. 

“Are you sure?” Enda’s voice came from behind him. “Because if you’re hearing voices we should really–holy gods! ”

Enda’s loud yelp filled the air, startling Rowan and the forest around them into silence. And when Rowan turned in his saddle, seeking out whatever had frightened his cousin, he nearly tumbled right off his horse.

Miles behind them, at the top of the cliff they’d passed hours ago, was a massive pillar of blue fire shooting straight up into the sky.

Aelin.

“You both … see that, right?” Rowan said slowly, not wanting to trust that this wasn’t just a further descent into a new, alternative version of reality that his mind was conjuring up.

“I think the entire kingdom can see that,” Fenrys chuckled. “Maybe Adarlan too.”

Rowan’s heart did an unfamiliar fluttering thing. He gaped at the flames, struggling to believe what he was seeing, struggling to understand–

“Go, you idiot,” Enda urged.

And as everything clicked into place, Rowan managed to listen.

______

She was real.

In his hawk form and drawing up as much of his magic as his wings could handle, he shot toward his mate. To Aelin, who was kneeling at the edge of the cliff, hands clutched at her chest while she waited for him, almost tumbling out of the sky as he went. 

He didn’t understand how she had found him. Why was she on the cliff? Had she come by herself? How did she know they’d be in the Oakwald rather than taking the path through the plains? But those questions could wait. In fact, those questions didn’t matter at all. Not as he swooped down, shifting to land nearby.

Aelin got to her feet, swaying a bit, tear-stained cheeks glistening in the sunlight. She loosed a shaky breath, the sound only reaffirming her presence. And she looked ridiculous. Like she’d been dragged through the trees by a horse. There were twigs and leaves in her hair, smudges of dirt, well, everywhere. Rowan had never seen her so dishevelled. Aelin must have literally crawled through the forest to find him.

But she was here. She was real.  

And she was looking at him as if she were thinking the same thing.

“Aelin,” he whispered, a question and an answer and a prayer. 

“Stay,” she blurted, clenching and unclenching her hands into fists at her sides. “With me. Here in Terrasen.”

Rowan didn’t speak. He just gaped at her, still too shocked that she was here, still in disbelief that she was actually standing before him. 

“I want you to stay,” she repeated through laboured breaths. “I didn’t mean what I said the other day–about not wanting to be with you. I was scared that if I let you in and you left me … I was scared that it would destroy me because you’re more important than anyone else has ever been.” She wiped at her eyes and inhaled sharply before continuing, “You’re you, and you’re perfect, and I was too afraid to let myself believe this could work. I couldn’t let myself believe that you would actually love me after everyone else …” She trailed off, and his heart clenched. “I ruined everything,” she whispered. 

Aelin’s watery eyes turned vulnerable, more than she’d ever allowed him to see before. More than when she’d talked about her mother, more than when she’d cried after reading Chaol’s letters. She met his gaze again, both fierce and utterly defenseless, and said, “I love you.”

Surprise and the lump in his throat prevented him from replying. Aelin searched his face, panic fluttering across her features. She rambled on, “Even if you don’t want me anymore–which I would understand because I was horrible to you ... I need you to know that I love you and that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rowan.”

Aelin dared a step toward him, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that I love you sooner, that I didn’t make it clear what I wanted,” she went on, voice thick with tears. “Because if you’ll still have me, I want everything. I want to do everything with you.

“I want to get married and have children. I want you to be beside me when I take the throne. And after I settle”–a small sob–“I want to spend every single one of my thousand years with you.

“So please stay,” she begged, eyes glistening. “Please come back with me. Because I love you and–and, Rowan, I really need you to come back with me.”

Rowan studied the woman he loved with her messy hair and hideous tunic and fiery soul, unable to think of what to say. Unable to think of a word more profound than yes. He knew he should make some sort of speech, but there were no words to do justice to what he was feeling right now. And damn him. Were his eyes wet?

He could have marvelled at that for a minute, but Aelin–lovely, insane, beautiful Aelin was waiting.

So, wiping at his eyes before Fenrys could catch up and see him expressing an emotion, Rowan gave her a wry smile and shrugged. “I think I was about ten minutes from coming back anyway.”

Aelin sniffled but managed a small laugh. “Really?”

“Of course,” he whispered, taking a step forward and grinning. “I love you.”

“Really?” she repeated, something bright and hopeful in the word even as her voice cracked.

Rowan was never more certain of anything than when he said, “Yes.”

“Can I hug you now?” she croaked.

He laughed and opened his arms. “Yes.”

That single word had his mate choking on a sob and running at him. She threw her arms around his neck, crashing into him hard enough that he almost went stumbling back. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and lifted her up, breathing her in. Rowan couldn’t help but try to memorize the feel of her, memorize this moment. Just as he would probably try to memorize every moment that followed, for however many decades or centuries they had together. 

Aelin gripped him harder, perhaps thinking the same thing. She trembled against him, face buried in his neck while she cried. Slowly, the sniffling subsided, and Aelin stilled other than the delicate rhythm of her steadying breaths. After long minutes, she withdrew far enough that their foreheads touched. Her hands fisted in his shirt, keeping him close. 

He kissed her brow softly. “Aelin.”

“Buzzard,” she murmured in return.

Rowan laughed, and it was the lightest he’d felt in days–until his stomach turned. He pulled back to look at her, Aelin’s eyes fluttering open with the movement. He knew he needed to say this, knew that she would probably need time to trust him again–time that he would give her. There was no amount of sincerity or regret that would do his next words justice, but still, he said, “I’m sorry I left.”

Her gaze fell away from his face, down to his chest. There was no reproach in her features, only something that looked a little bit like guilt. She breathed out, “At first, when Aedion told me you were going back to Doranelle, I was … I didn’t understand. I was angry, and it was like all my worst fears were confirmed.” 

“I’m sorry,” was all Rowan could say. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. He would do anything to wipe away her fears, to show her that he was hers for however long she wanted him.

But Aelin shook her head. When she finally looked at him, eyes watery again, the fear and distrust he expected to find in her gaze were not there.

“I left you first,” she admitted, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear it. Her head bowed in shame. “I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.”

Rowan brought up a hand to lift her downturned chin, unwilling to let her shoulder all the blame. “I still shouldn’t have left,” he said. It was true. He should have fought harder, he should have waited longer. Rowan held her gaze with such intensity, letting her see every bit of truth in his heart, his soul, and promised,  “I won’t make that mistake again, Aelin.”

Emotion rippled across her features–his promise finding its mark and settling in. “Neither will I,” she whispered and then added with just the ghost of a smile, “You’re never getting rid of me now.” Aelin dug her fingers into his shirt in emphasis.

“Good.” There was more to discuss, more that he knew they both needed to say, but this was real. Inevitable–perhaps it always had been. There would be no more uncertainty or what-ifs. They were stuck with each other now. Aelin was his, and he was hers. They’d figure out the rest one day at a time.

And they’d do it together.

“I love you,” she murmured delicately as if still testing the words out. A small smile bloomed across her face and she repeated more firmly, “I love you.”

He returned the smile, lifting a hand to pull a twig from her hair. “I love you too.”

“You’re going to kiss me now.”

“Thank the gods,” he chuckled but leaned down to capture her lips with his own.

This kiss was unrestrained in a way the others hadn’t been before. Slow. Thorough. Every touch of their lips was filled with love and a promise for more when they found their bed again. Aelin’s hands made their way into his hair, pulling him closer. She sighed, collapsing into him as his tongue parted her lips and his hands slid down to her hips. 

Rowan could have happily died right there and then. Could have backed her up against a tree and slipped his hands under her tunic, but everywhere his fingers went, they found twigs, leaving him with a burning question.

They broke apart, and he chuckled again, removing more foliage from her hair and looking pointedly down the hill she’d climbed. “Why didn’t you take the path?” he said softly. Because as flattering as it was that she’d gone to such lengths, he wanted to know–

“There’s a path?” an angry male voice came from behind him.

Rowan turned to find Aedion Ashryver gaping at him. Aelin’s cousin was just as filthy as she was. More cuts and bruises and leaves and twigs. The only difference was the absolute exasperation in his features.

Rowan smirked. “Of course, there’s a path.”

“You dragged me up this entire cliff,” Aedion roared at his cousin before turning back to Rowan, “and now you’re telling me there’s a path? ”

Aelin squared her dirty shoulders. “I mean, you obviously didn’t know about the path either.”

“We look like skinwalkers, Aelin.”

She snorted. “You’ve never seen a skinwalker.”

Aedion just made a screeching sound.

Aelin turned back to Rowan. “Is the path close?” she asked.

He jerked his chin to a spot over her shoulder. “I think it’s a ten-minute walk that way.”

“Ten minutes–” but Aedion cut himself off and started walking–no, limping in the direction Rowan had indicated.

Alone again, Aelin barked out a quick laugh and rested her head on Rowan’s chest. Then she turned in his arms, getting a better look at the valley before them, where Enda and Fenrys were slowly coming back. 

“I don’t know why he’s so upset,” she murmured. “I’m really pleased to know that we don’t have to climb back down the way we came up.”

Rowan just loosed a breathy laugh and hugged her closer, still more concerned with savouring her presence than worried about how they were planning to get off the cliff.

Aelin looked up at him. “How long is it going to take Enda and Fenrys to bring the horses back up here?”

“A while,” he laughed. They were probably going to be pretty pissed off for a few hours before they found it in their hearts to be happy for him. 

And in the end, it did take a while, and Enda and Fenrys were pissed off.

But Rowan didn’t give a fuck.

Chapter Text

When Aelin got home, she wanted nothing more than to stumble through her bedroom doors with Rowan, leaving a trail of clothes to the bed. She wanted to hold him, cling to him with everything she had, and lose herself in his touch. But it wasn’t to be because the peace ball was not two hours away.

She had suggested they skip it on the journey back to the castle. She didn’t want to dance or eat cake or wear a pretty gown. In fact, she didn’t want to wear clothes at all. She wanted Rowan in her bed–in her –immediately.

Her mate had been incredibly tempted by the offer, knowing exactly what she was wanting to do instead, but had ultimately declined. Rowan had explained that this ball, like it or not, was important for them. Considering their relationship, it was probably best to show their support for the friendship between their kingdoms. She supposed it was sort of poetic. That didn’t make her any less impatient for what would happen later, though.

The ride back to the castle had been torture. Refusing to let Aelin go for even a moment, Rowan had helped her onto his horse and then climbed up behind her, holding her close the whole way back. His hand on her thigh was a distracting and welcome weight that had her cursing the presence of their companions. At least Rowan had kept them at the back of the party with enough distance that she was optimistic nobody had caught the change in her scent.

The privacy had been nice, as there had been much to discuss. It was one thing to make declarations of love on a cliff, but there were logistics to consider before they got back to the real world. They’d spent much of the journey murmuring quietly about Rowan moving to Terrasen, where he would be living, that sort of thing. She wanted him in her room, but Rowan had gently pointed out that a foreign prince moving in with her before marriage might raise some eyebrows. Logical Rowan was right, of course, but that didn’t stop her from pouting.

They didn’t discuss marriage itself; he didn’t ask about the ring. She wasn’t sure she was ready to anyway. Everything she had told him was true–she did want to marry him, and she did want to spend her life with him, but she needed a few days to figure out how fast she could go. Luckily, Rowan didn’t seem tense or upset as they both expertly dodged the subject. If anything, he seemed the most relaxed she’d ever seen him. Perhaps they both knew the details didn’t matter anymore. They were permanent, no matter what happened or when.

In the end, they had agreed that Rowan would live in the castle and stay close, but in his own rooms, and in six months or so, they would travel to Doranelle together. That way, Rowan could take care of a few things back home, and Aelin could meet his family and see what his life had been like before her. Having never been anywhere further than Adarlan, Aelin was extremely excited. She wasn’t excited about telling her mother she wanted to go to Doranelle, but that was a problem for another day.

Tonight, she only had two things on her agenda. The peace ball and sex. And she was willing to go without the first one.

But Aelin dutifully ran herself a bath knowing that she couldn’t very well show up to either thing looking like this. She settled into the cool water, moaning in delight after a day spent under the boiling sun, and let herself just sit for a minute. It all felt like a dream, but it was so real that she could hardly contain herself. Could hardly sit still and wait for Rowan to fly to her rooms.

She wanted to announce their mating bond as soon as possible. She wanted the whole bloody kingdom to know that Rowan was hers, but she wasn’t ignorant of their reality. The Westfalls were still in Orynth for another day, and even after they left, rumours would still reach them. 

Last week, before Aelin had found her future engagement ring, she and her father had started discussing next steps. There was no reason to have come all this way and put in all that work to manipulate the Westfalls only to reveal the plot right after they left. After a month or two, the king wanted to lie and announce an arranged courtship and eventual marriage between her and Rowan. He wanted to say that with the peace treaty in place, Terrasen and Doranelle wanted to strengthen their relationship via marriage. It would make the information easier to digest when it eventually made its way to Anielle.

Aelin didn’t love the plan–it meant there would be more lying. It was a step up from sneaking around and keeping their relationship contained to her bedroom, but she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do yet. 

The soft sound of fluttering wings and echoing footsteps across her now rugless floor had her heart racing. 

He was here.

The door creaked open, and Rowan appeared, wearing fine black clothing for the ball. Aelin had to hold back a groan. He wasn’t helping anything by looking so good. 

“You redecorated,” he said in greeting as he walked into the bathing room and perched on the wooden stool next to the clawfoot tub. She almost laughed at the sight. The stool was usually used by her ladies in waiting while they scrubbed her down and pulled at her hair. Needless to say, it was comically small compared to Rowan.

But Aelin considered his comment and chewed on her lip. She knew what he was referring to–the now missing rug that she’d burned to a crisp. “Not exactly.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“After we … last saw each other,” she began, regret slashing through her chest, “Chaol paid me a little visit.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Did he now.” 

“Mm-hmm. And you won’t believe what he said.”

Rowan’s face turned both skeptical and vengeful, but he gestured for her to continue.

Aelin gave him a hesitant look, knowing he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear. But she needed to tell him. She wanted him to know. 

“You have to promise not to kill him.”

“Okay.”

“No, you have to actually promise.”

“You act like I go around killing people all the time,” he scoffed.

Her eyes widened. “You threw an ice dagger at Fenrys’s head last week.”

“I knew he’d dodge it.”

“Later the very same day, you made a death threat against Chaol.”

He snorted. “And yet, he lives.”

“Rowan.”

“Fine,” he sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the edge of the tub. “I promise not to kill Chaol. Today.”

Aelin smirked but deemed his answer to be acceptable enough. She sat up, weaving their fingers together. 

“Chaol came by to tell me that he was in love with me and that he still wanted to marry me.” She added slowly, “He said we could still make things work.”

Rowan went still, a million different types of rage flashing across his face. That was the other reason she wanted to tell him now–before tonight. While she hadn’t experienced it first hand, she knew Fae males had trouble controlling their more territorial impulses after taking a new lover. She didn’t blame him for the instincts he couldn’t control, but if Rowan found out that Chaol had made a move on her after they slept together, her mate might very well go all the way to Anielle to kill him.

That wouldn’t help anything. She really was adamant about the no-killing thing.

Luckily, Rowan took a deep, calming breath instead of setting out on a murderous rampage. “What did you say?”

She gave him a lazy smile. “Not much. But I think my magic got the message across just fine.”

He raised his eyebrows. 

Aelin chuckled again, the world around her fading away as she recalled the fond memory. “I made a giant snake out of fire and chased him out of my room.”

“You … did what?”

“I–I chased him away with a giant fire snake–”

“No,” Rowan laughed. “Sorry, I heard you. It’s just so–”

“Extreme?”

“I was going to say typical.”

She splashed him in the face.

Rowan recoiled and wiped the water away but laughed some more nonetheless. “And the rug?”

“A casualty.” 

They smiled at each other, Aelin realizing his laugh was her favourite sound in the world. 

 She studied the lines of his face, the harshness softened into handsomeness by happiness, and found herself wanting him more than ever. She hadn’t thought it would be possible at this point, but maybe it was just going to get harder and harder until she combusted. 

Aelin leaned back in the tub, arching her back in a way that had the clouded water sliding along her skin and exposing her breasts. One last feeble attempt at getting him to skip out on the ball and lounge around in bed all evening.

To his credit, Rowan tried really hard to hold her gaze. But when his eyes darted down, glazed with lust as the bath oils sparkled on her skin, she knew she almost had him. She arched some more, slid a hand along his arm. “You could join me in here, you know?”

He was silent for a moment as his gaze trailed along her body, and it was obvious from what was happening to his body that he very much wanted to accept her invitation.

“I will. Next time,” he promised eventually, the words strained. “But with the ball in less than an hour, we don’t have enough time to enjoy it properly.”

Aelin sat up straight, bringing their faces close, and tilted her head as if to kiss him. It had the added benefit of exposing her neck. “And what exactly does enjoying it properly entail?” she breathed.

Rowan leaned in and placed a single kiss along her jaw, whispering onto her skin, “I’ll show you tonight.” 

She almost moaned at the promise, at the roughness of his voice. Her magic sparkled, and from the satisfied smile on Rowan’s face, she knew he’d noticed the room’s temperature spike. 

How the hell she was going to get through this ball, she did not know.

______

Aelin and Rowan were late to the ball. They arrived separately but still late. She hated that she wasn’t in bed with her mate, but he had thwarted all of her last-minute seduction attempts, so here she was, in a pretty gown, circling the room.

In the end, she had to admit that she was glad for her attendance. For the first time in her life, Aelin walked into a room that contained friends. A good number of them too. 

Lysandra (in her true form) and Aedion were already there, dancing together as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. Enda had ditched Fenrys to do some final schmoozing before he went back to Doranelle in two days–political to a fault, he was. Fenrys, entirely unbothered by Enda’s absence, was charming all the pretty females he could find. He was probably relieved to be done with the work portion of his trip. Was probably excited to drink the night away, and possibly the next two days as well. Elide was also around somewhere–an exciting prospect because she needed to pass along some gossip.

And then there was Rowan. Both her dearest friend and not exactly a friend at all. Her favourite of all of them. And gods, did he look tall tonight. Had he always looked so lovely? Or was he perhaps feeling as happy and love-addled as she was? Whatever it was, it was working. She resisted the urge to haul him back into the secret room as she had on the solstice. They could save that for the next ball.

Her mate was chatting with her father, Rhoe looking utterly fascinated by what he was saying. Perhaps they were discussing that book about swords Rowan had selected. She chuckled at the thought, imagining the conversation they might have.

Have you read Swords?

I have not! What is it about?

Swords, your majesty!

Swords, you say! How marvellous!

Gods, she needed to start speaking with an actual person. 

Aelin cut through the crowd searching for Elide. She wanted to tackle the gossip first. She was enjoying being frivolous for a bit. A gentle tug on her arm derailed her quest, but she wasn’t upset when she discovered who it was.

“Care to drive Rowan crazy by dancing with me?” Fenrys asked in that alluring, charismatic way of his. He offered his hand and waggled his eyebrows playfully. 

She laughed and took his hand. “How could I resist such a charming offer?”

“You couldn’t. Rowan’s most enjoyable when he’s infuriated.”

Aelin happened to know that Rowan was most enjoyable when he was naked, but she didn’t think Fenrys needed to hear that.

They joined the sea of dancers, twirling in the middle of the ballroom. She briefly caught Rowan’s eye, enjoying the silly, little scowl that fell over his face when he saw Fenrys. She just winked at him.

“I confess, I have another motive for asking you to dance,” Fenrys said after a moment. “I wanted to ask you something.” His smile was hesitant–something that Aelin didn’t know was possible.

She hoped her face was encouraging when she said, “What is it, Fenrys?”

He twirled her away for a second, as the dance dictated, and when they came together again, he was chewing nervously on his bottom lip. “Since Rowan is staying here now,” he started slowly, “I–uh–I was wondering if I might be able to stay too?”

“Oh!” she said, surprised but pleased by the question. “Of course, you can. Orynth would love to have you. Don’t you have a twin to get back to, though?”

Fenrys frowned. “Yes and no. We aren’t on the best of terms these days.”

Aelin determined this was not one of those times to pry, but Fenrys seemed to read the curiosity in her face and answered anyway.

“Maeve wasn’t … good for our relationship. I think Connall needs space. He needs the chance to build his own life that isn’t following after me or serving a sadist.”

She nodded slowly, not quite knowing what to say, not knowing how to offer comfort. But she supposed he wasn’t really asking for any. “Well, you’re welcome to stay, Fenrys. Of course, you are. Any idea what you’d like to do here?”

“Yes, actually,” he answered quickly, the darkness in his eyes shifting into something brighter. “I’d like to serve you. I’d like to join your court.”

Her gasp was lost in the crowd of dancers as Fenrys twirled her again. “I don’t know what to say.”

His smile wasn’t all that convincing. “Say yes?”

“I want to,” she chuckled. She really did. “I just don’t know if they’ll allow me to bring in someone who used to serve Maeve. Maybe when I’m queen one day–”

“I had a thought about that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

The look he gave her was strange. There was no humour or pretense, just something that looked a whole lot like reverence. “Let me swear the blood oath to you.”

“W–what?” she managed to sputter.

“Let me swear the blood oath to you.”

Yes … yes, that’s what she thought he’d said.

“But you just got your freedom–”

“From Maeve, yes,” he breathed. “But she was not what you are–not what a ruler should be.”

“I don’t–”

“Aelin, it’s in our blood to want to serve a greater cause. To protect something precious. Ask Rowan, and he’ll tell you the same thing,” he explained. “You are … what you represent–what all of Terrasen represents is worth protecting.”

“And what would that be?” she asked, stumbling over her feet a bit.

Fenrys caught her arm, stopping her fall. He pulled her to look at him, grinning widely. “A better world.”

She loosed an awkward chuckle. “I think you’re giving me a bit too much credit.”

“I’m not,” he said fiercely. “Aelin, your kingdom is one of the most tolerant places I’ve ever visited. The demi-Fae are treated well–as are the humans and Fae. And you–the queen to be–you represent them all. The rest of the world is not like this.”

Aelin felt a bit blank. A bit humble, a bit flattered, a bit blank.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now.” He schooled his features to be casual. “Just think it over.”

She let out a long breath. “I’ll have to ask my father and Aedion how they’d feel about a second bloodsworn warrior … but I will. I’ll think about it,” she promised.

Fenrys beamed at her. “Thank you.”

And Aelin couldn’t help but smile back.

______

To say that Rowan was frustrated was a massive understatement. He’d managed to survive Aelin’s bathtime seduction attempt unscathed, but even though they had made it to the ball, even though she was fully dressed and halfway across the room from him, he wanted her badly. It was easy to put some of the blame on the fact that Aelin had fully accepted the bond, but in the end, the reasons didn’t matter. He wanted her. Now.

For once, his mate had chosen a slightly more modest gown–something fit for a political affair. But it was still enough to hold all of his attention. The gown was green for Terrasen with long sleeves and a neckline that just hit below her collar bones. What made it beautiful was the embroidery that ran down the back. Like all the tapestries and artwork in Orynth, Aelin’s gown was covered in vines and leaves, brought to life by beading that sparkled in the light. 

It was almost too much.

But Rowan restrained himself, staying away for now and leaning against a wall. Chaol was around here somewhere, and Aelin, understandably, didn’t want him to figure things out tonight. It still took a considerable amount of effort to not kill him, but he would manage because Aelin asked him to.

After a quick conversation with Rhoe, who didn’t say anything particular but gave him all sorts of knowing looks, Rowan had kept to himself.

Whatever annoyance he felt at seeing Fenrys dance with Aelin faded quickly. He had to admit that Fenrys was a suitable friend for Aelin. They were both sort of … wild. And as much as Fenrys would deliberately try to annoy him, Rowan knew he wouldn’t actually cross any lines. Wouldn’t behave like Chaol. Who Rowan was definitely not going to kill. So he did his best to ignore the part of him that tensed at the sight of them dancing. 

He was grateful for the distraction when he spotted Enda approaching, a tired but optimistic smile on his face as he navigated the crowds. His cousin stopped beside him, leaning against the wall and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“So, I guess you’re staying then.”

Rowan watched Aelin as she danced and laughed, twirling around in that beautiful gown of hers. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Enda said, following his gaze to Aelin. “Do you think you’ll ever go back to Doranelle?”

“Yes,” he answered. “In a few months, maybe–once things have settled. There are some things that need to be taken care of before I move permanently.” He smiled to himself. “And Aelin said she’d like to come with me.”

“Everyone would love that.”

“I know.” He stifled his cringe. His family was going to be absolutely smothering when he brought Aelin to Doranelle.

“Are you getting married?”

“Gods above, Enda,” he sighed. “Did you smack your head and forget the events of this last week?”

His cousin chuckled. “I just don’t see why you’d wait. This seems very … permanent.”

It was. But still. Rowan shook his head–not to say no, but rather a refusal to answer at all.

“I’m happy for you, Rowan. No matter where you go from here,” Enda said eventually. “And … seeing you with your mate has made me realize it’s time for me to fight a little harder for mine.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Probably something dramatic, like chasing him through a forest and screaming his name from a cliff,” his cousin said wryly. “I hear it’s effective.”

Rowan snorted. “I’ve heard the same thing.”

Enda sighed, a long and tired sound. “Well, as much as I’m happy for you, I’m not looking forward to making the trip back to Doranelle by myself. That will be terribly boring.”

The news struck Rowan. “What do you mean by yourself? ”

His cousin smirked. Just smirked and pushed off the wall, retreating back into the crowd. 

A pit of dread formed in his stomach. “Enda! What do you mean by yourself?” Rowan repeated, shouting after him.

But Enda just laughed maniacally and disappeared.

_____

Aelin had just finished updating Elide on her plans to bring Lorcan Salvaterre to Orynth. She’d sent a letter to him before the solstice, and though it would take weeks to receive a reply, she was incredibly excited about her plan. Aelin wasn’t totally sure that Lorcan would bother responding–he might ignore it completely or just show up out of the blue. But she had high hopes he would take the bait. Fenrys obviously needed something new in his life, and were Aelin wanting to give her mother a heart attack, she might make an attempt to collect all of Maeve’s discarded warriors. She had a feeling they were all feeling a bit adrift right now. But she’d see what happens with Lorcan.

It was thrilling to play match-maker. She’d never had people to match together before. Had never been privy to other people’s love lives. It was a shame that Lysandra had already paired off with Aedion–a decision that Aelin could not understand whatsoever –because she would have enjoyed trying to find someone for her too.

“Rowan and Fenrys said he’s a bit unpleasant. Doesn’t smile much,” she revealed, not wanting to get Elide’s hopes up. “But he is tall and good-looking. I had that confirmed.”

Elide grinned. “Did you tell him why you wanted him to come to Terrasen?”

“I told him that there was a woman in Terrasen who could crush his soul with a single glare,” Aelin explained. “Do you think that will entice him?”

Her friend laughed, the joy making her beautiful face even more devastating. “He’ll come,” Elide said with absolute certainty. “He’ll tell himself he won’t at first–might even burn the letter. But he’ll give in. A male like that won’t be able to live with the curiosity.”

“That was my thought as–”

“Aelin?”

A chill went down her spine. 

Very slowly, Aelin turned on the spot to find Chaol Westfall standing before her.

Elide stepped up to her side, delivering that withering glare they’d just been discussing. Chaol shrunk under the weight of their hatred, his shoulders falling, but he held Aelin’s gaze.

“I–ah–I was wondering if I could talk to you?” he asked, throat bobbing.

Aelin’s blood boiled. “What could you possibly have to say to me?” After the horrible letter he’d written to Prince Dorian, after what he’d said to Rowan on the solstice, after he’d barged into her rooms the other day and lied to her face, telling her that he loved her–

“Aelin, I know you’re mad at me, but please. I’m not asking for your friendship or your hand. I just don’t want us to leave things like … this.”

Fully determined to rip into him, Aelin nodded at Elide–a signal to give them some privacy. Her friend gave Chaol one last murderous glance which he received loud and clear before wandering off.

She crossed her arms and looked at him. Surely he must know how this goes by now.

Chaol coughed and started to stutter out an apology, speaking much more quickly than usual. “I’m sorry for everything, Aelin. I know that–I know you don’t believe me, but I really didn’t steal the Kingsflame,” he rambled. “I’m so … embarrassed by everything. By how I’ve treated you, by all the strange things that have happened while I’ve been here.” He shifted on his feet, looking awkwardly at the ground. “I wanted you to know that I’m sorry.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe you,” she lied, knowing very well he was innocent of said crime. “I don’t understand, Chaol. I don’t understand the things you’ve said to me and my friends. I don’t understand why you kept crossing boundaries.”

Chaol shrugged. “I don’t really understand it either,” he admitted. “So I’m not going to give you excuses. You deserve better than that. Just know that I’m sorry and hope that our territories can work together peacefully.”

Aelin considered him. He was asking for the very thing she’d set as her goal when this whole debacle had begun. All she’d wanted was for him to leave with no bad blood between Terrasen and Anielle. This was it, she realized. And it was her responsibility to ensure that peace, that stability. It was up to her to make sure their territories still had a good relationship when they both assumed their future roles.

So with that in mind, Aelin said, “I accept your apology. I’m not sure there’s anywhere for us to go from here personally, but my kingdom will bear you no ill will.”

He smiled a little. “Thank you, your highness,” he said, letting formality back into his tone. But then he added with a bit of mischief, “And I promise not to ask you to marry me again.”

Despite herself, she loosed a breathy laugh. “I’m glad,” she chuckled before turning serious. “I think it was for the best anyway.” Chaol raised an eyebrow, so she continued. “I don’t think I’m really ready to be in a romantic relationship,” she lied again, softening the blow. “It wasn’t the right time, and I would have made a terrible wife. ”

“Fair enough,” he said with a nod and a weak grin. She noticed that he didn’t contradict her last statement, but let it go. This was almost over.

Chaol held out his hand. “I’ll see you around then?”

Aelin accepted the offering and gave his hand a shake. “See you around.”

And then, for the very last time, she watched Chaol Westfall walk away.

_____

It was getting toward the end of the ball when Rowan finally dared to approach his mate. Chaol had retired for the evening, looking quite dejected. He had seen them talking, of course–Aelin and his nemesis. But from the awkward handshake and look of loathing on Aelin’s face, he hadn’t been bothered by the interaction. In fact, Rowan had rather enjoyed watching her give the man the cold shoulder.

But now Chaol was gone, and Lord Westfall had never been here to begin with, so Rowan made his way across the dancefloor. Aelin was with Elide again, giggling and definitely gossiping about Lorcan. He was still horrified at the thought of Lorcan Salvaterre coming to Orynth but felt better knowing that there was no way he’d bother to make the trip. Lorcan wasn’t captivated by promises of romance.

There was no way he’d come here.

No way.

His mate caught his eye as he wandered over, and she quickly bid Elide goodbye, offering her a brief hug before setting out to meet him halfway. She glided past the other dancers, her gown sparkling as she went. It was a surprise to find that he was nervous. Still frustrated, still nearly blinded by lust, but also nervous. 

Aelin showed no evidence of such a thing, however. Her smile was bright and confident and full of love when she stopped before him, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. 

“Hi,” she said quietly.

Rowan grinned and offered her his hand. “Hi.”

She accepted the invitation without missing a beat and slid her free hand up to his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her waist, happy to have her back in his arms. Her body was warm and firm beneath his fingers as he traced over the embroidery on her gown. 

Rowan spun her around gently to the slow and soft music that was winding down the festivities. Her skirts fanned out around her, sparkling under the golden glow of the ballroom. Each step was flawless and delicate. He knew her every move, and she knew his, as though they had been dancing together all their lives. It was perfect. 

She was perfect.

They danced quietly, never faltering, staring into each other’s eyes like love-sick fools. There was no need to speak–nothing to say that hadn’t already been said. If anyone bothered to spare them a glance, they would probably see every emotion written plainly on their faces. And if anyone bothered to listen, they would hear the way Aelin’s voice trembled as she pulled them to a stop and whispered, “I’m going to retire to my rooms now.”

She dropped his hand, the invitation sparkling in her turquoise eyes, and turned on her heel to exit the ballroom.

Rowan didn’t take long to follow after her.

____

Aelin’s heart was pounding in her chest when she got back to her room. Rowan wouldn’t be far behind her, only needing to find a secluded area he could shift in before flying over.

Despite her earlier seduction attempts, she was jittery. Not in a bad way–not at all. But the kind of nervousness one feels before doing something important. Something permanent. 

The theatrical part of her wished she had time to change into something scandalous. Clothes had always been a weapon for her, and dressing the part might have given her that extra boost she wished for. But that wasn’t really the point, was it? With Rowan, she didn’t need to curate or calculate. She didn’t need a courtly mask or put up walls. Which was what made it all the more terrifying.

As it happened, Aelin did have time to at least set the mood. She doused the fire and candles with her magic, first plunging the bedroom into darkness before replacing it with light of her own.

Satisfied with the romantic setting, Aelin pulled the pins from her hair and walked out onto the balcony to wait for her mate. She was amazed at how far she had come with her magic. Was amazed that she could leave her flames burning in the room behind her without a worry. It was no strain to keep them in check. Not anymore.

She discarded her hairpins on a table and leaned over the railing, gazing up at the sky. It was a clear summer night, the moonlight illuminating everything in its path so that the world was bright and lovely before her. 

And touched by that soft light, in the distance, was Rowan flying toward her. 

Aelin’s already racing heart surged with anticipation. She straightened, taking a step back to give him space to land. Her mate swooped down, slowing to a stop a few feet away, and with a flash of light, shifted into the male she’d come to love more than she’d ever loved anything. 

Aelin could have sworn that time slowed down as she took in every detail. The silver of his hair, illuminated by the moonlight, longer than when he’d first arrive in Terrasen. Every sharp angle of his face, the green of his eyes almost black. Rowan studied her in turn as if he could see right through to her heart, pounding with want.

She thought she might say something–was struggling to find any words to capture what this meant to her. The hunger in his gaze made it hard to think. His eyes were gliding over her body like he was trying to decide where to begin. 

“Rowan,” she breathed. Aelin didn’t know what she was planning to say–didn’t have a chance to find out before something in him snapped, and he was on her. Before Rowan crossed the distance between them and grabbed her up in his arms, the sound of his name pushing him over an invisible line.

His mouth was warm and desperate as he kissed her deeply–the same desperation that had her coiling around him, melting into his body as he hoisted her up. Aelin moaned against his mouth, moaned at the hands that had already found their way to her bare thighs. They had waited so long for this. Denied themselves for reasons she couldn’t quite remember as she kissed him back with equal fervour. She wasn’t going to wait another minute.

Rowan carried her into the bedroom, not breaking the kiss as she tore through the clasps on his tunic. She needed bare skin, needed to get out of this dress before her flames burnt it to ash. 

He set her down so that she could push his tunic off his shoulders, breaking the kiss for only a second before their tongues tangled again. Her hands slid over his glorious body, every inch of him so warm, so inviting. She scraped her nails across his skin as she explored him–his strong arms, his muscled abdomen, the expanse of his tanned skin–delighting in the way his muscles jerked in response. 

“The dress,” she ordered breathlessly before claiming his lips again. Vague instructions that he seemed to understand, hands going to the back of her gown and finding the laces. Rowan pulled at them with an intensity that had her wondering if he might just give up and rip them–

She gasped as Rowan spun her around to do just that. Before she knew it, her gown was pooling at her feet, his hands firmly gripping her hips, hardness pushing into her back as he chuckled onto her neck, “Of course, you’re not wearing undergarments.”

She smiled to herself and turned in his arms to look at him. “I’m not really sure why you keep expecting me to at this point.”

Rowan smirked at her for a moment until his gaze caught on something behind her–finally noticing what she’d done. His eyes widened slightly, the golden light of her magic brightening the shadows on his face.

Drawing up the flames that she used to hate–the very thing she used to fear and wish she could be rid of–she’d filled the room with dozens of tiny, heatless flames, each one glittering like a star, making her room look like the night sky. 

Aelin blushed a bit as the silence stretched, suddenly worried he might think it was silly. The space between them was a tangible thing as she waited for him to say something. But the fear was smoothed away when he brought a hand to the back of her head and crashed his lips against hers.

Rowan’s tongue swept in with all the finesse and heat she’d grown accustomed to. “You’re magnificent,” he said onto her mouth, crowding her backward toward the bed. He wasted no time taking advantage of all the newly exposed skin. His hands skimmed over each curve of her body, teasing and electrifying everywhere he touched. She kissed him, blinded to her surroundings by lust, his teeth catching on her bottom lip, making her gasp. Each movement of his mouth was achingly slow–he was savouring her. She fell onto the soft mattress when the back of her knees hit the bed. He leaned in to follow her, but she lifted a hand to his chest. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked coyly, eyeing his pants.

Rowan loosed a dark laugh and straightened, looking her over as his hands set to work.

Aelin moved to the centre of the bed, not taking her eyes off him as he started to remove his pants, the metallic click of his belt ringing through her and heating her core.

She bit her lip as he stepped away from his clothes and started prowling toward her, every bit a predator, and imagined all the ways she wanted to touch that body. Feeling more than a little light-headed, impatience and warmth spreading through her veins, she opened her legs for him to settle between. Aelin almost moaned just from the sight of him hovering above her, from the way the mood shifted when his hips came down to nestle against her own.

She whimpered as he rolled his body, the hardness of him pressing against her, his weight pushing her down into the pillows. Rowan grazed his lips along her breast, then his tongue, and her eyes drifted closed, every sense focusing on the feeling of his mouth. 

“There’s so much I want to do to you right now,” he whispered, echoing her own thoughts, his hand trailing along her inner thigh. 

She didn’t stifle her moan this time. Just the sound of his voice, rough and deep, nearly made her combust. “Like what?” she barely managed to say.

Rowan pulled back to smirk at her as his hand found her centre, Aelin throwing her head back when he dipped a finger into her.

“Some things we’ve done before,” he said, lowering his mouth to her throat and adding a second finger, “some things we haven’t.”

His teeth closed gently around her lifeblood as if in emphasis, his fingers started stroking inside her, and she thought she might actually start begging. For what exactly, she wasn’t sure yet, but she definitely wanted it. She wanted him to take, wanted to give him everything. So she just dug her nails into his back in answer, pulling him closer and delighting in his responding groan. 

“I suppose you’ll just have to impress me,” Aelin finally answered between ragged breaths, her voice not quite matching the nonchalance of her words. Speech became distant again as Rowan continued to pump his fingers, continued to nip and lick along her neck. Even with her eyes closed, she could see the light of her magic brightening, her flames flaring with each wave of pleasure. Then she was writhing beneath him, the cries of his name turning more demanding. 

He chuckled for a second before the sound shifted into a moan as she reached between their bodies and started sliding her hand along him. Rowan’s head dropped down against her shoulder, and the curl of his fingers slowed–as if her touch was too distracting, too pleasurable for him to focus on what he was doing. 

Aelin could feel him holding back, could feel him almost trembling with restraint as he tried not to thrust into her hand. If she could just push him a little further–

But he growled, withdrawing his fingers and gently grabbing her wrist.

“I don’t want your hand right now,” he ground out, guiding her wrist away.

“Then do something about it.”

He raised his head to meet her gaze again, heat pounding through her core as those pine-green eyes flicked down to the apex of her thighs. As if by their own accord, her legs folded around his body, an urgent request for more, more, more . He growled again as she bucked her hips against him, unable to resist answering with a press of his own hips. Rowan’s eyes came back up to find her own, and the look on his face–the overwhelming need–

“Please,” she added in a whisper. There was so much that Aelin wanted to say but couldn’t put into words, and as his forehead came down to rest against her own, all that came out of her was a small needy sound. She didn’t want to wait anymore.

“I love you,” he murmured, his uneven breaths fanning across her mouth as he pressed a light kiss to her lips. “More than I’ve ever loved anything.”

The flames fluttering around them turned to pure gold at those words–words she’d heard before now but still filled her with awe–erupting and illuminating the room. 

But still, she managed to answer, “I should hope so.”

Rowan only let out a hoarse laugh as his hand slid along her thigh, hooking it more firmly around his hip. He kissed her softly, his tongue sliding back into her mouth for an electrifying moment while he lined up their bodies. Just the gentle touch of him made her gasp, and she shifted her hips encouragingly. He drew back to look in her eyes–one final look of love and confirmation–and slowly, he pushed into her. 

They both moaned as their bodies came together, the feeling of him filling her inch by inch so much better than she imagined. So much more.

Aelin slid her arms around his back, desperately pulling his body into hers. Her nails sunk into his shoulders as he sheathed himself all the way inside her, surrendering to each other finally. She whimpered at the burst of pleasure, at the stretch. Heat blazed in his eyes, but he paused, giving her a moment to adjust.

Aelin could hardly catch her breath, could hardly make sense of the way he felt. It was nothing like the way they’d touched each other over the last few weeks. Nothing like the thoughts or dreams that had plagued her since she’d first seen him standing before her in the throne room. Her imagination had not done him justice. 

The look on Rowan’s face, hovering only an inch or two above her own, the intensity of his eyes, told her that he was feeling the same way. Not willing to wait a second longer for him, for this, she lifted her hands to his cheeks and pulled him down to kiss her. 

He started moving, finding a lazy, gentle rhythm. Aelin dragged her nails down his back, no doubt leaving marks, but it only seemed to spur him on. Her hands roamed lower, feeling every ripple of his muscled back, every stroke of him into her. She lifted her hips in time with him, trying to get him deeper and deeper.

Aelin didn’t need to open her eyes to know that magic was skittering across her skin, flames spreading over every inch of her body. Before she could worry about it, before she could blink against the brightness around them, she heard his answering groan, felt the ice-kissed wind rush against her skin, joining her flames.

There was nothing but Rowan. Nothing but the upward push of his body and the feel of him between her thighs. Nothing but their magics twining and swirling around them.

Rowan’s mouth found her neck, her jaw, peppering soft kisses against her skin as their bodies came together over and over. He started moving deeper and harder, breathing I love yous onto every part of her that his mouth could reach. Aelin gasped at the change in pace, the tension in her core tightening with every thrust of his hips. 

His teeth started grazing over her throat, and she whimpered–his name, a moan, an order–she wasn’t sure. The growl that rumbled in his chest, the wind that roared across her body, told her he knew exactly what she wanted. She panted, holding back her desperation, trying not to beg when– 

Rowan’s teeth plunged into her neck, and she cried out, release crashing through her then and there. The act was so claiming, so feral it had her biting her lip to keep from screaming. Her mate didn’t falter, his movements still sending waves of pleasure down her spine.

As Aelin came thoroughly undone, the feeling of pure ecstasy settling into something softer, she dragged his face back to hers, capturing his mouth again. She could taste herself on his tongue as she kissed him viciously, fingers fisting in his hair. 

And when she could feel Rowan’s pace becoming uneven, when she knew he was right on the edge of that cliff, she broke the kiss and plunged her teeth into his neck, marking him just as he had marked her.

He roared as he fell over the edge, hips stuttering against her. Aelin held him close, keeping her teeth buried in his neck until he’d spilled himself inside her. Only when he stilled did she draw back.

They laid there, breathing heavily, Rowan’s head on her shoulder for long moments. Slowly, their pounding hearts steadied, and the magic that had been thrashing around them settled. The room fell into darkness as Aelin’s flames winked out.

She could hardly form a thought. Apparently, she’d been doing it wrong until now. Or maybe Rowan was just that good. 

But her mate was no more coherent than she was, only moving slightly to kiss along her cheek, her temple. He stayed in her while they waited for their trembling bodies to settle.

Eventually, Rowan raised his head, lifting a hand to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. His calloused fingers came to rest on her cheekbone, and he kissed her deeply. She sighed into the kiss–this time an exhausted but satisfied sound.

With a sigh of his own, he drew back, drawing a whimper from her lips as their bodies came apart, and rolled to the side. He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. When she met his gaze, his green eyes were soft. Loving. It looked like he was trying to find the words–

“We should have done that the night we met,” Aelin breathed.

Rowan chuckled, his breath ghosting across her lips. “Yes, we should have.”

She brought a hand to his cheek. “I’ve never … It’s never been like that before–for me.”

He leaned down so that their foreheads touched. “Me neither,” he agreed hoarsely to her great satisfaction.

“Let’s do it again.”

Rowan huffed a laugh. “Right now?”

“It can wait a few minutes.”

She was almost blinded by his smile as he laughed. And when those minutes were up, and the laughter stopped, Aelin got exactly what she wanted. Twice.

Chapter Text

Chaol Westfall wanted nothing more than to go home. Humiliated, defeated, and a little bit drunk, he was ready to go back to Anielle and forget any of this had ever happened. He’d had his fill of Orynth, and he was tired of feeling sorry for himself.

Tomorrow, he and his father would leave. Chaol had wanted to go home sooner, but his father had explained that fleeing immediately would only make them look more guilty. It didn’t matter that Chaol wasn’t guilty at all. Nobody believed that he had not stolen the Kingsflame. 

Chaol wandered down the castle halls, mercifully encountering only the occasional drunk courtier. The ball was still raging on downstairs, so most people were too preoccupied to whisper about him as he walked by. 

There’s the man who stole the Kingsflame.

Why was he pardoned?

He should be dead.

He wasn’t going to miss that.

Chaol still couldn’t understand how any of it had happened. Not just what happened on the solstice, but everything. Aelin was supposed to be his. And because of all sorts of bullshit outside of his control, now she never would be.

It wasn’t that he had been thrilled with the idea of marrying her. Sleeping with her again, yes. Even being friends with her, sure. But she wasn’t the sort of woman he’d imagined marrying. Aelin was right when she’d told him she would have made a terrible wife. She didn’t care about obligations or propriety. She was utterly wild. He doubted there was anyone out there who could handle her.

But he had still been willing to marry her, mould her because it was right. For the world, for everyone vulnerable to her magic. He had accepted his duty because he would be saving the world by doing so. And now he had failed his kingdom, failed the promises he’d made to his king about subduing her. 

At least Dorian would be happy. His friend had hated the plan from the beginning. If the king hadn’t started monitoring his correspondences, Dorian absolutely would have written to Aelin himself to warn her. Even if it put Adarlan in danger.

Chaol couldn’t understand that. Couldn’t understand either of the heirs putting anything before their duty to their kingdoms. And Dorian … he didn’t realize what a threat she was. He just didn’t see the devastation that could be caused by magic like that. Chaol had told Aelin he loved her and her answer was to almost kill him. He had been lying, of course, but that was still an unacceptable response. 

Chaol found himself in a darkened corridor, staggering through a long-forgotten part of the castle. It was a welcome solitude. He was so fucking embarrassed. And angry too. Unbelievably angry. But there was nothing to do with it. 

Before, he’d been able to channel it into his hatred of Prince Rowan Whitethorn, the Fae bastard that had the audacity to look at Aelin like he had any right to her. Chaol had come to Terrasen because she was supposed to marry him, for gods’ sakes. They had practically been engaged the whole time, and still, Prince fucking Rowan wanted her. It didn’t matter that it was one-sided. It didn’t matter that Aelin paid him no attention when Chaol was around. The Fae still wanted her.

Then the brute had attacked him on the solstice. Actually tried to strangle him. Chaol had never wanted to kill anyone more. And he’d thought about it. Imagined ways to get past his defenses, to somehow survive the prince’s magic, but he’d come up short. Dorian destroying that magical suppression spell had also destroyed his plans. It didn’t matter how much Chaol wanted him in the ground.

And now that he was thinking about it, why was Prince Rowan let off for attempted murder while Chaol was nearly thrown in prison for theft? They hadn’t even looked for the merchant who had planted the Kingsflame on him. No benefit of the doubt, just automatic guilt while Prince Rowan went around strangling people.

Chaol supposed none of it mattered now. He was to return to Anielle in shame, and the Fae delegates would head back to Doranelle within days. In the end, nobody won Aelin. It was the only bit of solace he could find.

He reached the end of the musty old hallway too soon. On one side there was a spiral staircase, illuminated by moonlight from a window he could not see. With nothing better to do, he climbed the stairs on wobbly legs and found the source of that light. It was a recessed stained glass window, large and beautiful. The centre panes made up the image of a stag, and around it was clear panes that allowed him a view unto the outside world. 

Chaol slumped down in front of it, disturbing the dust as he tried to get comfortable, and leaned back against the stone wall. He didn’t want to go back to his rooms yet. His father would just hunt him down to let him know that he had failed generations of Westfalls by ruining the engagement. Again. It was one of the only conversations they had anymore. King Rhoe had obviously called off the deal to help relocate the Wildmen, and his father had nearly lost his mind. Apparently, Chaol was now solely responsible for the continued border dispute.

As if Chaol didn’t already have enough to be bitter about.

Head falling to the side, he finally looked through the stained glass. His heart stopped when he saw Aelin in the distance.

She was standing on a balcony that led into her bedroom and reaching into her hair. The golden strands tumbled down, shimmering under the moonlight, and then she rested her elbows on the railing.

He should look away. Chaol wasn’t a voyeur after all. But he allowed himself one small moment to watch her. She really was beautiful. It made him clench his fists. And behind her, he could see her room filled with tiny lights that looked like stars. Flames, he realized. She was using magic to light her room. Chaol had to admit that he was pretty grateful to not be in that room right now. Because when Aelin finally lost control and burned her kingdom to the ground– like he knew she would –he wanted to be as far away as possible.

But despite leaving her room in flames, Aelin looked relaxed. Clearly, the prince’s tutorage had changed her since the Spring. 

When he’d met Aelin, she had been far more reasonable. She understood that her power was dangerous. She had always been on edge, controlling her magic, keeping it buried–as she should. Rowan Whitethorn had ruined her. Filled her head with ideas that ordinary people would have to pay the consequences for. The two of them acted like gods, and it was terrifying. Thank the actual gods that the prince and princess hadn’t teamed up.

Chaol realized that this was probably one of the only windows where you could get a glimpse of her balcony and bedroom. The layout of the castle made it a very private space. She probably hadn’t even considered that someone might find the only window that offered a view.

With a deep, gloomy exhale, Chaol decided to leave. He shouldn’t intrude on her like this. She’d told him in no uncertain terms to leave her alone. Almost being burned alive was a very clear message. It was pretty fucking rich of her to be mad at him considering how psychotic she’d acted. Aelin–and Prince Rowan too, were pretty lax when it came to valuing human lives. And yet, somehow, Chaol was the bad guy.

Fuck that.

He moved to stand, to storm off and drown his sorrows in more ale but stopped when something caught his eye outside.

A white-tailed hawk was flying around the castle, past his window, and toward Aelin. She looked up at it too, backing away from the railing.

Perhaps she had trained it. Aelin had told him there were lots of white-tailed hawks in Terrasen. He had only seen one before now, and they seemed to like hanging around the castle.

Intrigued by the bird, he would stay until it landed or flew away. Then he would leave, he decided. 

It swooped down to the balcony, and Chaol leaned forward, trying to get a better view of Aelin’s bird as it landed on her arm.

But … it didn’t.

It fluttered down, slowing to a near-stop beside her, and then there was a burst of light. It was bright enough that Chaol looked away for a second, utterly confused.

And when he turned back, there was no hawk on Aelin’s arm. 

No, there was only a familiar, silver-haired Fae standing before the princess, staring intently at her.

What?

Chaol started to panic. Why would Prince Rowan fly to her rooms? Was she okay–

Rowan closed the gap between them and–and Aelin … Aelin stepped forward too. 

He felt the colour drain from his face.

What. 

The

Fuck.

Bile rose in his throat. He wanted to pound on the window and shout at them to stop. 

They stared longingly at each other for a moment, and when they kissed deeply and without hesitation, Chaol almost screamed. His blood boiled as hot as if Aelin herself had sent her magic spearing into his soul.

Whore.

How long had this been going on? The way they were kissing–it wasn’t a one-night stand following a drunken night of dancing. It was the way you kissed someone when you loved them. When they were yours. 

Rowan lifted her up into his arms, Aelin’s legs wrapping around him as he carried her into her room. Into her bedroom. Into the romantic, twinkly setting she’d created.

He wanted to roar as he shoved his face into his hands. 

Had Rowan Whitethorn been fucking her the entire time? Had he been laughing behind Chaol’s back while doing so?

And the white-tailed hawk– it had been him. That day in the gardens when Chaol had followed Aelin into the maze. She’d told him she was alone, that she hadn’t seen Rowan. But the Fae bastard had been there, watching them from the tree. Rowan hadn’t followed an unwitting Aelin into the maze. They’d snuck out together. And then she’d lied to Chaol’s face.

Just as she’d lied this evening when he’d been forced to apologize by his father. I don’t think I’m really ready to be in a romantic relationship, she’d said. She had lied to his gods-damned face about everything. All those times Rowan had looked at her longingly–it was because they were together. Everything started falling into place. Rowan taking her home from the tavern that night, them dancing at the ball … None of it was one-sided. It had never been one-sided.

And Aelin had been lying to him the whole time.

Had she even wanted to get married? Was she just leading him on? But she accepted the engagement ring. Why would she do that if she didn’t want to marry–

His stomach turned. Chaol had no proof. Nothing more than a sinking feeling and a suspicion. But what if she accepted the ring because … because she knew she was going to have an excuse to give it back?

The rage that tore through him was almost enough to send him running, swords out, to her room right now. A room that–oh, gods.  

No.

Chaol made the mistake of looking back out the window, only to see, through the balcony door that they’d carelessly left open, the two of them in bed while Rowan Whitethorn thrust into her. Only to see Aelin clinging to him, head thrown back with pleasure, her flames burning brighter with each movement of her lover’s hips.

Oh, gods. 

He tore his eyes away as if they’d been burned.

Chaol wanted to scream. Wanted to pound on the stained glass window and shout his despair into the void. Didn’t she know? Didn’t she know that Rowan Whitethorn was a violent brute? Choal himself had told her Prince Rowan was a ruffian. He was barely more than an animal–he was every bad thing Chaol had been taught about the Fae.

But … he was also a prince. A prince of Doranelle. A much more enticing match, Chaol realized. Terrasen’s relationship had been rocky with Doranelle for centuries. Of course, they would want to trade up and marry Aelin off to the Fae prince. What could Anielle offer that compared?

And if they were in love, too?

Good gods, what could they do with their combined magic? What would their children’s magic be able to do?

Fuck. 

This was a fucking disaster. He could not allow it to happen.

And with a punch to the stone wall that nearly shattered the bones of his hand, Chaol Westfall totally lost it.

Chapter Text

Rowan awoke to what was possibly the hottest day in Orynth that he had yet experienced. 

His mate was quietly sleeping in his arms, her back to his chest, lost to the world. He smiled down at her and brushed the hair from her beautiful face. She looked so peaceful in sleep–exhausted, but in a good way. It wasn’t a surprise that she was tired after the night they’d had. Aelin had been insatiable, and in fairness, he had been too. Nothing compared to her, the way she felt. He’d never had anything close to her before.

Rowan almost didn’t believe any of it was real. To be this happy, to love someone this much … it didn’t feel possible. But somehow, it was. They were together, and the Westfalls were gone, and finally, everything was perfect. There was nothing else he could ask for.

Except perhaps for the heatwave to end. Aelin had told him this weather was absolutely unheard of for Terrasen. The sun was burning into his bare skin as it streamed through the open curtains. They hadn’t bothered to close them, and he was regretting that decision now. Unwilling to break contact with Aelin’s skin, he chose not to get out of bed and deal with the sun, but rather, drew up his magic, cooling the air around them. His mate moaned happily, even in sleep, as he used his ice to cool his skin. 

The sound sparked something in his blood. Reminded him of everything they’d done last night. And he wanted more. So much more. 

Rowan couldn’t help himself as he leaned down to tug on her earlobe with his teeth. As he started peppering kisses along her neck, slowly bringing her back to consciousness. 

“Good morning,” she said right before a sharp gasp as he pulled her hips back against his own.

“Good morning,” he murmured onto her skin. Regrettably, it was still smooth, no claiming marks to prove what they’d done last night. They had both wanted the marks but they hadn’t had anything on hand to seal them. And Rowan hadn’t felt like flying to the kitchens to get salt when he could stay in bed with Aelin.

But it just meant they’d get to do it again. And again and again.

They didn’t talk again as he ran a hand over her breast, down her waist, along her thigh, and back up. He continued kissing, biting, licking that spot between her neck and her shoulder, making her moan. Aelin ground her backside against him in demand, and he growled in answer.

Not one to ignore an order from his favourite queen, Rowan hooked an arm under her knee and lifted her leg. He nudged her entrance, still kissing her shoulder, and when he couldn’t hold off any longer, he slid into her slowly. 

The sound Aelin made was sinful, as was his own groan as he buried himself inside her. Rowan tightened his grip on her leg, pinning her hips in place, and started moving. 

His mate whimpered his name as he pulled out nearly all the way and then pushed back in. Every thrust was torturously slow. Last night they’d had plenty of frenzied sex, both too wound up from all the waiting that it had been difficult to slow down and take their time. But today, only half awake and with nothing they needed to do, Rowan wanted to spend as long as possible learning all the ways he could make Aelin moan.

She twisted against his chest, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him down for a kiss. She opened for him, their tongues moving as slowly as their hips. Gods, he would never get enough of her. Rowan decided then that he never even wanted to leave this bed.

But she pulled away, their bodies separating. He almost hauled her back to him, desperate to be inside her again, but she pushed him onto his back and threw a leg over his hips. Aelin sank down onto him quickly and set an equally languid pace, taking control. 

She threw her head back, pleasure contorting her features, golden hair illuminated by the sunlight–looking more like a sun goddess than a human or Fae. Then her hands were on either side of his head, and she fell forward to kiss him. Kissing him and riding him until she was on fire and screaming his name.

_____

Aelin was an addict, and she didn’t care. 

All she wanted to do was have sex with Rowan for the rest of her life. Nothing else compared. Nothing else was even half as good as the feeling of him.

She could still feel his fingers digging into her hips, still hear the sound he’d made when–

Aelin shook her head, clearing it of those thoughts. They were in public now, and she needed to focus. 

Originally, they’d hoped to spend all day in bed, but just before lunchtime Aelin had received a note, written in her father’s scrawl and slid under the main door, requesting that she and Rowan attend the farewell lunch for the Fae delegates. Now, Aelin had managed to poach two-thirds of the party, but it was still Enda’s last day in Orynth, and she knew Rowan would want to see him before he left.

So they were going to lunch. Walking through the halls, shooting each other hungry, sidelong glances. It was torture. Actual torture–she was sure of it. This was definitely the maximum amount of pain that her body could feel. Aelin’s hand kept trying to reach for his without her permission, and every door they passed was a potential broom closet they could stop at. 

She’d thought it would be out of her system by now, but it wasn’t. Aelin was desperate for more of him. Being apart now felt like she’d taken a deep breath and couldn’t release it. She needed him again, his body again.

Rowan wasn’t faring much better. Every male guard and servant they passed got pinned with a glare that had them flinching. And all the staff with Fae blood–there was no question of what Aelin and Rowan were to each other. It would be no mystery what they’d done last night. And this morning. And right before they’d left. The staff that weren’t on the receiving end of Rowan’s warning growl gave them smug, knowing looks. Like they’d just won good money on a bet.

When she realized that everybody knew anyway, and remembered that Chaol had probably already ridden off into the sunset, she finally crossed the distance and grabbed Rowan’s hand.

He relaxed immediately at the touch, his eyes lighting up as he looked down at their joined hands–the first time they’d done anything like this in public. 

It was a mistake, though, because as soon as their hands touched, she needed more.

Abruptly, Aelin dragged him down a narrow corridor that split off from the main path.

“I thought we were going to lunch,” Rowan said, not resisting whatsoever as he detected the change in her scent. 

She shot him a mischievous look over her shoulder. “By all means, go to lunch if that’s what you want.”

He did not.

They turned a corner, revealing a locked door and a dead end, but at least they were out of sight from the main hallway.

Aelin grabbed her mate’s shirt, pulling him with her as she backed up against the door. 

Her magic tingled a second later as Rowan’s magic swept through the air, blocking off the hallway, preventing anyone from turning the corner. 

But Aelin gave him a sultry, reckless sort of look and ordered, “Drop the shield.”

Rowan’s eyes flared, his body showing her he was more than willing to take a risk. His magic fell away, and then he was on her.

His mouth crashed against her own, the kiss so frenzied she struggled to hold back her moan. She fumbled with his belt as his hands found her bare thighs beneath her skirts. Rowan lifted her up and pressed her against the door. Aelin got past the belt, his pants, and undershorts, and then her hand was on him, guiding him. 

When he thrust into her, she had to bite her lip to stay quiet. He chuckled against her lips, now knowing exactly how loud she would be if they were in the privacy of her room. She tightened her legs around his waist, impatient for him to move.

He laughed again and set a rough pace that had her reaching, scrambling for something to hold onto–for a tether. But her fingers only found the smooth wood of the door behind her, so she gripped his shoulders tightly. Aelin buried her face in his neck, but not before she saw, with some satisfaction, that the smug smile had been wiped off his face. Rowan groaned quietly against her neck as his hands tightened on her thighs, as his thrusts became harder. 

Aelin’s own smugness vanished as release crested in her, and she didn’t totally succeed in staying quiet. She gasped and moaned and whimpered while waves of pleasure rolled over her, while her mate kept moving. 

Coming down from her high, she realized she could die from this. From pleasure, from happiness, from him. At this rate, she probably would, considering that they’d skipped breakfast and hadn’t even made it to lunch. Not that she cared. All she could think about was Rowan.

Fueled by never-ending need, Aelin kissed him–a kiss that was all teeth and tongue. Rowan’s hips snapped into hers, his steady rhythm faltering as he went over the edge, groaning her name loudly.

When his movements stopped, and he withdrew from the kiss, she opened her eyes to find him already looking at her, the hunger in his gaze reigniting the fire in her core. If her breathing weren’t already frantic and uneven, the look on his face would have made it so. He wanted more; so did she.

It’s never going to be enough, is it?  

Rowan read the words in her eyes and smiled–a loving, reverent smile that had her imagining exactly what a thousand years together would bring.

No, I don’t think it is.

_____

Rowan knew that what he was feeling was unreasonable, he really did. Logically, he knew that the guards over there were more terrified of Aelin than they were interested in her. He also knew that whatever last dredges of secrecy they had regarding their relationship were gone now. Aelin was his; he was hers. They had claimed each other, and it was permanent. But all of that didn’t stop him from growling at every male they passed.

Running embarrassingly late, the two of them half-jogged hand-in-hand toward the royal family’s private dining hall. Enda was leaving for Doranelle tomorrow, and depending on how things worked out it could be months or even years before Rowan would see him again. It was the only reason why he’d capitulated when Aelin had suggested they leave their bed. 

It was a wistful thought, going separate ways with his family after so many centuries together, but it didn’t feel wrong. Rowan would miss his family, but he wanted Aelin more.

Something that Rowan had been looking forward to missing, however, had decided to stay in Orynth and worm its way into Aelin’s court. After they’d worn themselves out the night before, Aelin had explained to him between yawns that Fenrys had decided to move here too. Rowan couldn’t make sense of the male’s request to take the blood oath. In fact, he was still downright floored by it. But he supposed Fenrys would elaborate over lunch.

Seeing Fenrys right now was probably the riskiest thing he could be doing. Other than Chaol, who was hopefully riding through the sweltering heat of the plains now, Fenrys was most likely to test his limits. Not because of any genuine interest in Aelin (though Rowan didn’t doubt he found her beautiful), but because he would find it fun . 

Rowan’s suspicion was confirmed the second they stepped into the dining hall.

The guards closed the doors behind them as Aelin’s family and Rowan’s companions studied the two of them, a healthy assortment of reactions forming on their faces. Rowan tensed at the sight of other males, at the instinct to eliminate potential threats, but breathed through it. For Aelin’s sake, he was trying. A territorial Fae bastard she would call him if he got into a brawl right now.

“Sorry, we’re late,” Aelin said with her usual amount of confidence. “We were … held up.”

Aedion’s face was somewhere between frightened and disgusted. Enda had the decency to pretend he hadn’t noticed the change in their scents. And luckily, Rhoe and Evalin, who had no supernatural senses whatsoever, just looked them over with a sort of intentional obliviousness. 

But Fenrys, the most amused of them all, smirked. “I bet you were,” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair to get a better look at them. 

Rowan knew what he and his mate looked like, of course. There was no explaining away the mess that his hair had become or the flush in Aelin’s cheeks. His face slipped into a glower, and he growled menacingly–a reminder for Fenrys to keep his mouth shut. Obviously, everyone knew what had happened, but that didn’t mean they needed to talk about it. Aelin’s parents were sitting there, for gods’ sake.

Fortunately, Fenrys deemed that teasing enough. Or maybe he had more respect for the line Rowan was walking than he let on. Regardless of the reason, he gestured to the seats next to him, an invitation to sit down.  

Aelin tensed a bit as her eyes fell on her mother. Rowan stroked a thumb over her wrist and found her pulse was racing. They had a choice: they could sit next to Evalin or Fenrys.

She had told him about her fight with Evalin, how she’d finally expressed her anger about the iron tonic–something Rowan wholeheartedly supported. He had lots of opinions on the subject. But they hadn’t discussed resolutions yet, and Rowan was pretty sure that Aelin wasn’t quite ready to go there.

So he brought his palm to the small of Aelin’s back and guided her into the seat beside Fenrys. Rowan stifled his growl when Fenrys winked at his mate and dropped into the chair next to her. While he fully intended to support Aelin behind the scenes, Rowan wasn’t going to intervene. 

There was a long, uncomfortable silence while everyone deliberately ignored the feud between the two women, but soon enough, conversation flowed–mostly thanks to Enda, who engaged the king and queen in a debate about livestock, Aedion even pipping up to express his preference for cows.

Which left them with Fenrys.

“Any progress on what we talked about?” he began coyly.

Aelin huffed a laugh. “No, until right now, I’ve been … ”

“Held up?” Fenrys filled in the blank, waggling his eyebrows. She blushed a bit at the words.

“Mind what you say, Fenrys,” Rowan warned in a low voice.

Fenrys clicked his tongue. “I thought you’d be happier now that all the tension has been resolved. But you’re just as miserable to be around as you were yesterday.”

Rowan snarled in answer, but his mate opted for speech. “You’ll have to stop your bickering, if you’re both going to be in my court,” Aelin threatened, crossing her arms.

“We don’t know there’s a place for him in our court yet.” Rowan slid an arm around her shoulders–a proprietary gesture. He couldn’t help the emphasis on the word our court , even knowing his mate wouldn’t appreciate that sort of pettiness in this context. 

Aelin punished him with a smack to his thigh. “Hush,” she warned.

“Yes, Rowan. Hush, ” Fenrys mocked. Then his eyes lit up. “You know … everyone is here. We could resolve this now.”

“No!” Aelin whisper-yelled. “I just … I need to bring it up in the right way. It can’t be a surprise attack.”

Fenrys sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

“Consider it your first task, Fenrys,” Rowan condescended. “If you can’t keep this secret, then you’ll be useless to us. And perhaps in the meantime, you can prove your worth.”

Fenrys shot him a hard glare. “Bastard,” he muttered.

Rowan just rolled his eyes. He was torn between wanting to support Aelin’s wishes and not wanting to see Fenrys every day for the next thousand years. But maybe they could assign Fenrys to some mountain watch … 

The peace and quiet only lasted a moment, however, as voices rose in the hall. Everyone tensed and turned to the door, Rowan shifting so that his body blocked Aelin slightly. It was ridiculous–probably just courtiers bickering. And Rowan could use his magic to dispatch whatever came through that door, but hell, he was just that jumpy today. 

The voices grew louder, guards telling someone to go away.

And just as Rowan recognized one of those voices, Chaol Westfall and his father burst into the room.

_____

Aelin felt like she was falling. Like someone had tipped back her chair, and she was stuck in a perpetual freefall as she waited for it to finally hit the ground and end her suffering. Rowan was rigid beside her, the muscles tensing in the arm that he had around her shoulders. She wasn’t sure he was even breathing.

Why weren’t they gone? They were supposed to have left?

“My, aren’t we looking cozy,” Lord Westfall drawled as he sashayed into the dining hall, Chaol on his heels. His expression was predatory, like a skinwalker eyeing a new pelt. He turned a pointed look on Rhoe. “My son and I thought we were about to deliver some embarrassing news for you, your majesty, but it seems you already know.”

Her father’s eyes tightened, calculating their intent, figuring out how to play this. He raised a hand, sending away the panicked guards by the door. “I’m not sure I catch your meaning, Lord Westfall.”

As if on cue, Rowan withdrew his arm, but the damage was done. They hadn’t been prepared, and the Westfalls had seen too much. 

A cruel grin spread across the lord’s face. “Oh, were you not aware? Did you not realize that your daughter has formed an attachment with Prince Rowan, here.”

Aelin felt the blood drain from her face. She finally met Chaol’s gaze and found that he was glaring at her, enough hatred burning in his eyes that she might have sworn he had some fire magic himself. Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she argued, “You don’t know what you’re saying–”

“I saw you,” Chaol spat, cutting her off. He charged into the room, a finger pointed at her as he ignored Rowan’s warning growl. “Last night, I saw you. Perhaps the next time that brute”–a jab of his thumb toward Rowan–“is fucking you, you should at least close your curtains, you whore –”

A choking sound interrupted his vitriol, Chaol gasping and sputtering as Rowan launched from his chair and pulled the air from the bastard’s lungs. Aelin didn’t stop him. Nobody did. 

There was a roaring in her ears, a burning in her cheeks as her magic thrashed beneath her skin. How could he say such a hideous thing? Her parents were right there–

“Stop!” Lord Westfall shouted as he fell to his knees and grabbed at his son. “ You’re killing him! Stop! ”

But Rowan ignored those pleas, eyes cold as he watched Chaol’s face turn blue.

Enda leaned across the table and gripped his cousin by the arm. “Rowan, let him go,” he ordered. Her mate did no such thing, continuing to suffocate Chaol, and finally, Aelin snapped out of her daze.

“Rowan,” she murmured, launching to her feet. She rushed around so that she was facing him, standing between him and his prey, and brought a hand to his cheek. “Let Chaol go,” she said, repeating Enda’s order. Her other hand came up, forcing him to look at her, forcing those cold eyes to focus on her and she breathed a sigh of relief when his face softened. 

The choking, sputtering sounds behind her told Aelin that Rowan had listened, that Chaol was alive–and regrettably, still conscious. 

Not deterred in the slightest by the near-murder of his son, Lord Westfall shouted, “You are a disgrace to your kingdom!” 

Aelin turned and found him glaring at her like he wished someone would come along and suffocate her instead. Rowan wrapped an arm around her waist protectively, pulling her back as Lord Westfall advanced and Fenrys closed in on her other side. It would have been a touching moment to have Fenrys defend her, were the horribleness of the situation not distracting from it.

Lord Westfall’s face was red, his chest heaving with furious breaths. “How dare you entertain this animal while you are promised to another! How dare you sully yourself–”

“He’s my mate.” The words slipped from her without permission. Quiet and defeated, she said it again, imploring the Westfalls to understand. “Rowan is my mate.”

The room went quiet once more as everyone processed the airing of that information. 

And to her great surprise, Lord Westfall shut his gods-damned mouth. His face turned a sickly shade of green, understanding settled over him. After a long look at Aelin, while he grappled with this truth, those hateful eyes landed on Rowan. His scent shifted with terror. 

Lord Westfall might very well be the biggest idiot that Aelin had ever met, but apparently, uneducated he was not. From how he was looking at Rowan, there was no doubt he knew the reputation Fae males had when protecting their mates. Wars had been fought over such things. Aelin knew Rowan wasn’t the type to wipe Anielle off the map just to fend off a suitor, but today, right after the claiming … well, this wasn’t a great day for the Westfalls to be pushing him–something that Lord Westfall was seemingly picking up on.

Chaol, however, did not find this new information as noteworthy as his father. With a hand wrapped protectively around his throat–a lot of good that would do–he ordered roughly, cruelly, “You cannot marry him. I will not allow it.”

“You have no say in who I marry,” Aelin growled. 

Chaol laughed at the words, a glint of cruel humour in his eyes. As if he found her declaration of autonomy charming but foolish. Then he turned to Rowan, disregarding her entirely. Lord Westfall grabbed his son’s arm–a warning that Chaol shook off and ignored.

“Prince Rowan,” Chaol said with bitter resolve, “I challenge you to a duel.”

Another tense silence.

Aelin was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. Her mate had gone absolutely still behind her, in as much shock as she was. He couldn’t possibly want to fight Rowan–her Rowan, who was one of the most powerful warriors in existence. Not when Chaol was just … Chaol. Even Aelin could defeat him in swordplay, and she just trained casually in the evenings. Rowan was a hardened warrior with hundreds of years of training.

A vivacious laugh shook her from her thoughts. That laugh turned into many laughs and then into an-all out laughing fit as Fenrys doubled over himself with amusement. “You what?” he squeaked out between guffaws. 

Chaol repeated, albeit, with a new tremor in his voice, “Rowan, I challenge you to a duel–”

“That’s what I thought you said!” Fenrys roared, his voice high-pitched as he laughed hysterically. With great effort, he managed to stand up straight, revealing the joyful tears streaming down his face. 

Chaol shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “No magic or Fae tricks. Just steel,” he continued with feigned confidence, trying hard to ignore the way Fenrys was now hyperventilating.

“He’ll kill you!” Fenrys choked out with a clap of his hands. Then he was laughing so hard he lost the ability to form words, but Aelin could have sworn he was trying to repeat his warning over and over. Rowan will kill you!

“The winner gets Aelin.”

That shut Fenrys right up.

Aelin scoffed and shook her head, dismissing Chaol. What a preposterous suggestion. To think he could win her like a trophy. To think that any of them would agree to such a thing. She turned to Rowan, seeking a mirror for her outrage, but instead found her mate’s face spreading into a savage smile. Like he wanted to say yes and accept the challenge.

And she realized that perhaps today and only today, Rowan might actually give in to his territorial instincts. Might be willing to piss Aelin off for a sanctioned opportunity to smash Chaol’s face in.

Abso-fucking-lutely not, she thought. Aelin would put a stop to that nonsense right now.

“This is insanity! You cannot win me in a duel!” she scolded. Mostly, she directed her fury at Chaol but didn’t forget to shoot Rowan a reproachful glare of his own. Her mate didn’t even notice–too busy sizing up his opponent. Too busy giving himself over to what was no doubt a month's worth of pent-up bloodlust.

Aelin looked to her father for confirmation, and he nodded. “Aelin is correct,” Rhoe said, making her relax. “You cannot lay claim to her if I do not recognize the validity of the duel.”

Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me?” she almost screeched. “Are you saying that if you approve of this madness, they can win me in a duel? That’s bullshit!”

The king’s expression turned sheepish. “I’ve been meaning to change that law for a while–”

“Change it today!” she ordered, slamming a fist onto the dining table.

“It has to get reviewed by all the lords–”

Aelin cut him off by bringing her other fist down. “Then start today!”

What the fuck was happening? Had all the males in her life lost their gods-damned minds? Was she seriously going to be offered up as winnings in a bloody sword fight because the men who ruled hadn’t found this issue pressing enough to change?!

Rhoe nodded vigorously as she straightened back to her full height. “Of course, Fireheart. And to clarify, I am not backing this duel,” he said with a hint more composure.

Chaol stammered out a sound of protest. “You must! This duel will happen!”

It was Rowan who answered, wrapping his arm around her shoulders again, saying pompously, “Why would I fight you for something that is already mine?”

Gods above.

Aelin opened her mouth to shout at him for his idiocy, lifted a hand to pinch him in the side, but didn’t get the chance.

“If I lose … ” Chaol trailed off dramatically, “Anielle won’t hold a grudge against Terrasen.”

Her breath caught.

“That’s what you want isn’t, it?” he continued with a cynical laugh. “You want us to go back to Anielle with our tails between our legs so that you can live out your little fairytale.”

Yes. That was exactly what Aelin wanted. 

But this was still really stupid.

She looked up at her mate. His smile was feral–totally fixated on Chaol.

“No,” she hissed at him. When he didn’t react, she punched him in the shoulder. “No,” she repeated as if he were a mischievous dog about to jump into a mud puddle.

But Rowan wanted to jump. And apparently, so did her father.

“We’ll let you know,” Rhoe said guiltily to the Westfalls.

“No!” she growled at everyone. At the gods. At the massive step back for women’s rights. 

Chaol ignored her and pointed at Rowan. “Tonight. Midnight.”

“Why midnight?” Rowan asked, crossing his arms.

“At the clearing where the wolf attacked my father,” Chaol continued as if her mate hadn’t spoken.

“You want to fight me in the dark?”

“Be there if you dare.”

And then Chaol walked backward out of the room, pointing at Rowan the whole time. Lord Westfall hovered beside him awkwardly, having utterly lost control of his son. They disappeared into the hallway, doors swinging closed after them.

Aelin took a long, deep, calming breath and walked to the front of the room. When everyone could see her, when all eyes were on her, she smiled peacefully, lulling them all into a false sense of security.

When Rowan visible relaxed, and the others started smiling back, Aelin opened her mouth and screamed at each and every single person present, “What the FUCK–”

______

Rowan was in more trouble than he’d ever been in before. 

Following behind Aelin as she rampaged through the halls and back to her room, he wondered if he was about to die. If she was going to just kill him and be done with it.

He’d lived a good life, he decided. More would have been preferable, but he would accept his fate, whatever Aelin deemed it to be.

She didn’t speak to him the entire way, and he desperately wanted to hear her voice, to tell her he was sorry. But heatless sparks kept radiating away from her, hitting him in the face with a little too much accuracy, so he knew it was better to stay quiet.

Rowan had behaved rather poorly. He knew that. He almost regretted it. Not quite. He was able to think more clearly now that Chaol was gone again, but his instincts were roaring at him to hunt the man down and put an end to this farce. When a growl escaped him at the thought of it, another blast of sparks exploded into his face, and Rowan forced himself into silence again.

They reached her rooms, Aelin flinging the doors open with reckless abandon. Rowan followed after her, much more nervous now that she had the privacy to yell at him–or drag a hunting knife across his throat. He closed the doors softly behind him and padded quietly into the bedroom.

Aelin was standing at the balcony door, arms wrapped tightly around herself, glowering out into the city. Rowan didn’t approach, opting instead to linger in the middle of the room, awaiting instructions.

After a long moment that had him wondering whether his punishment would be to never hear her speak again, Aelin said with quiet menace, “Aren’t you going to grovel?” 

Rowan considered that for a moment. She would probably enjoy seeing him on his knees begging for forgiveness, but he wanted to, at least, try to preserve some of his dignity before going to such lengths. “I’m sorry, Aelin,” he said simply, meaning it. 

“What are you sorry for?”

He grimaced. “For … being a territorial Fae bastard and letting my instincts cloud my judgement.”

“Is that it?”

“No?”

She made an unsatisfied sound and spun around to pin him under a glare. Even though he stood taller than Aelin, right now, he felt impossibly small.

“Don’t be shy,” she pushed–not that her voice was very encouraging.

“Aelin–”

“How could you agree to something like that?” she snarled, cutting him off. 

“Technically, I didn’t agree–”

“You wanted to!”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he tried, opening his palms. “Chaol was disrespecting you, and he literally asked me to kill him.”

“So, you want to win me in a duel to defend my honour? This is chivalry, is it?”

 Rowan cringed. “It sounds worse when you say it like that.”

His mate groaned and crossed the room. Stopping before him, she tipped back her head to hold his gaze. “I know that today is difficult for you, and I’m not going to ignore that,” she sighed, “but you were still an ass.”

“I was,” he agreed enthusiastically, “but I promise that I don’t think of you as a prize, Aelin. I just want to get rid of Chaol. And he offered–”

“Why would I fight you for something that is already mine?” Aelin mimicked in a silly, unflattering voice. 

Right. He had said that. But only because he wanted to piss Chaol off. “That–” he paused and ran a hand through his hair, “that was not my best moment.”

“No, it was not,” she said with a scowl.

Not wanting to dig himself a deeper hole by talking more, Rowan opened his arms–a timid peace offering. Aelin studied him closely, eyes tight. If she wasn’t so scary, he might find her rage cute. Might want to smile at the exaggerated frown on her face. But as it was, his mate was terrifying, so smiling was out.

To his great relief, Aelin sighed and accepted the hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. She didn’t even try to kill him.

Emboldened by her touch, he said onto her hair, “I’m sorry for disrespecting you and females everywhere by wanting to participate in such an archaic and out-of-date custom.”

Aelin tilted her head back to look at him. “Perhaps I’ll just leave you in the stables with the rest of the beasts,” she grumbled.

“At least then I won’t have to hear your snoring.” 

“I don’t snore,” she huffed with a pinch to his side.

“You definitely do. Loudly.”

“First you try to win me in a duel, and now you’re spreading lies about me?” She looked away from him–an act of theatrical indignance.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, leaning forward to nip her ear. A shiver went down her spine that, for her sake, he pretended not to notice. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Aelin looked up again, meeting his gaze, amusement finally flickering in those turquoise eyes. And?

“And I was very, very rude and wrong, and you are absolutely right to sentence me to the stables.”

She arched an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk gracing her lips. And?

He chuckled. “And I’m the stupidest person that’s ever existed, unlike you, the smartest and most beautiful.”

Aelin pursed her lips, holding back a smile. “I am quite beautiful.”

Rowan grinned. “You are.”

“And you are quite stupid.”

“I am,” he agreed.

She beamed at him, finished with her bantering. “You’re right, though. You should duel Chaol.”

“What?”

Aelin just shrugged. “As Chaol said, if you win, Anielle won’t hold a grudge against Terrasen. It’s a good deal.”

“But … What?” 

“It’s practical.”

Rowan’s eyes went wide. “After all the shit you just gave me–”

“You deserved that,” she said sternly. “And I want you to duel Chaol, but for the right reasons.”

“But I already told you I wanted to duel him to get rid of him.”

“I know,” she simpered. “I just needed to make sure.”

“Gods above, Aelin.” Rowan loosed a humourless laugh.

His mate stepped away from him and started pacing around the room–a habit of hers, he’d come to realize. Her eyes slid along his body, assessing. “I presume you actually know how to use all those muscles, and your magic hasn’t made you lazy.”

Rowan scoffed. “I know how to use a sword, yes.”

“Just checking,” she said with mock apology. “You did take that book about swords out from the library.”

“Not because I don’t know how to use them. That was–” he trailed off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. I can win without magic. Easily.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to end up marrying Chaol because you were overconfident.”

“I won’t let that happen,” he growled. “And haven’t you beaten Chaol plenty of times?”

Aelin smirked. “Yes, he’s not very good,” she admitted, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Rowan crossed his arms. “Then why are you so worried about me losing?”

Her smirk transformed into a toothy grin. “I’m not. I just like when you get all worked up.”

He realized then that he was going to spend the next thousand years being teased relentlessly. Rowan padded over to the bed and sat down beside his mate. “You are going to be the death of me.”

Aelin shuffled closer and brought a hand up to his cheek. “You love it.”

“I love you. This is a regrettable side effect of loving you.”

She laughed, entirely unoffended, and brought her mouth to his own in a slow kiss. She murmured onto his lips, “I have a favour to ask.”

Rowan pulled back a bit and asked, “Are you trying to soften me up with kisses?”

Aelin kissed him again, and he felt her smile. “Maybe. Is it working?”

“Maybe. What do you want?” he chuckled.

“Don’t kill Chaol.”

Rowan groaned and fell back onto the bed. “Aelin, that’s not how duels work,” he said to the ceiling. “If you’d read Swords, you would know that.”

Aelin smacked his arm and chided, “I know my kingdom’s traditions! You can also incapacitate him.” Then the ceiling was replaced by her hesitant face as she crawled on top of him. She peered down and said, “He doesn’t have to die. Just knock him out, and Lord Westfall will take him home.”

“But I want to kill Chaol.”

“I don’t want you to. It isn’t fair. He doesn’t understand what he’s getting into.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Rowan.”

“Aelin.”

She clicked her tongue at his immaturity and sat up, straddling his hips. “Everything is out in the open now. You’ve already won. Just let him live and go home to his miserable life. You’ll never have to see him again after tonight.”

Rowan considered her words–and found them lacking.

“That’s not true. When you’re queen, we’ll probably have to see him for negotiations and balls and other horrible things.”

His mate frowned. “I suppose. But by then, he’ll be old and married to someone else,” she capitulated. Then she leaned forward to kiss his throat. “And you will be with me.” 

Her lips roved across his skin, her hands sliding underneath his tunic. Rowan knew he was being manipulated, obviously. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to care when Aelin was touching him like this.

“Fine,” he relented while Aelin unbuckled his belt. “I won’t kill him.”

She smirked down at him and said, “I know.” And that put an end to the talking.

Chapter Text

As he had warned, it was indeed very dark at midnight. Aelin’s flames lit the way for their party as they rode down into the Oakwald, seeking out the clearing where Chaol would be waiting. Not that Rowan needed the boost to his eyesight, given how bright the moon was shining tonight, but he appreciated the flames nonetheless.

He and Aelin were riding in with Aedion and Lysandra, the latter stalking beside them in her ghost leopard form. Even now, Aedion cast her the occasional worried glance–as if he needed to be sure she hadn’t wandered off and been replaced by an actual ghost leopard. And Rowan could have sworn that with every one of those glances, Lysandra responded with an amused, feline smile.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Aedion asked, clearing his throat for attention.

Rowan rolled his eyes. The entire journey into the Oakwald, Aelin and her cousin had been pelting him with advice. And it was a long ride. Both having defeated Chaol in the past, they believed it was imperative that Rowan knew his opponent favoured his right side and typically put a bit too much force into his swings. It was getting rather annoying.

Aelin had never seen him fight before, and it was her future on the line, so he didn’t blame her for the repetitive tips and tricks. But Aedion had lost dozens of times to him while sparring. He hadn’t beaten Rowan even once. Aedion was an impressive fighter–the best he’d seen in Orynth, and he wasn’t even close to a match for Rowan. Chaol was going to be child’s play.

“No, I stopped listening to you an hour ago,” was Rowan’s wry reply. 

Aedion groaned. “I know you’re skilled, but this is Aelin’s hand you’re dueling for,” he lectured. “It wouldn’t hurt to take it seriously.”

Rowan bristled. Particularly at the underwhelming summary of his abilities as skilled. “There’s nothing I take more seriously than Aelin,” he growled back, reaching for her hand between their horses. “I just don’t need your advice.”

Aelin clicked her tongue but kept his hand wrapped in her own. “I’ll kill you if you lose, you know.”

“If Chaol manages to win, it will be because he already found a way to kill me.”

She pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. For all the confidence she’d had earlier in the day, she seemed to be getting more nervous now that it was actually time to meet Chaol.

Rowan wasn’t worried, though. And he was grateful for the bizarre scheduling in the end because it was, at the very least, cooler. Not cold. Definitely not cold. But cooler. The heatwave had reached its peak, and every step their horses took through the forest made crunching sounds. Rowan would have been very dismayed to have to fight during the day. Chaol wasn’t worth the sunburn. 

Up ahead, lights were flickering through the thick trees, Rowan and his companions the last to arrive. Silence fell as everyone noticed them.

Rhoe was surrounded by a small group of guards. He’d gone ahead hours earlier to survey the area or perhaps prevent anyone from booby-trapping it ahead of time–Rowan wasn’t entirely sure. Fenrys and Enda had also arrived before them, both able to shift and travel swiftly. But Rowan had wanted to stay with his mate, so they’d taken horses, Aelin insisting he preserve his energy for the duel.

Noticeably missing was Evalin, the queen having quietly said she wouldn’t be attending the duel before they went their separate ways after lunch. Rowan had felt Aelin’s despair down the bond, but she hadn’t commented on it, so he’d left it alone. They’d deal with the Westfalls first, and then they could turn their attention to more serious matters.

On the far side of the clearing, looking very much like they wanted to slaughter everyone present, were the men themselves. Every single one of Anielle’s guards was present–about seventeen of them if Rowan’s lazy counting was correct. Perhaps an intimidation attempt?

 The guards, however, were nothing compared to Chaol Westfall and his father. The Lord was glaring his typical glare, but with a focus on Aelin that made Rowan twitchy. And Chaol … Rowan was shocked to see he’d managed an even more hateful glare than his father. In his head, he’d been privately referring to Chaol as his nemesis for some time now, but this was the first time it felt equally reciprocated. This truly was the most anyone had ever hated Rowan.

 Aelin squeezed his hand anxiously as they rode forward.

“So you decided to show up,” Chaol shouted across the clearing.

Fenrys’s giggle echoed through the trees. At least someone found the dramatics amusing.

“We didn’t have any better plans,” Aedion shouted back for them, dismounting his horse. 

Everyone tensed as Lysandra stalked out of the darkness, brushing against Aedion’s side, still very much in ghost leopard form. She growled, low and threatening, at the Westfalls. 

When Chaol was done blanching at the sight of her, he turned his attention to Aelin. He glowered at Rowan and his mate, their interlaced hands. Rowan couldn’t for the life of him figure out why hand-holding was so shocking if he’d seen them last night. But he smirked at the man before dismounting his horse and reaching up to help Aelin with hers.

“You prick,” she muttered, rolling her eyes at him, not needing any help to get off a horse. But she allowed it nonetheless. They’d decided, possessive as it was, that it was only to their benefit to flaunt their relationship in front of Chaol. The more upset he became, the sloppier his fighting would be.

At least, that was the rationale Rowan provided for Aelin. He mostly just wanted to rub it in Chaol’s face.

Tying off their horses, Rowan reached for Aelin’s hand again, leading her further into the clearing. The pretty flames she had floating in the air around them went out, letting the torches everyone else had brought take over the task of lighting the area. 

Before Chaol could shout more silly things, Rhoe broke off from his group, jogging over to meet them, his guards following suit. 

The king stopped right in front of them, nervously glancing between his daughter and Rowan. 

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” he said quietly, seriously. “Are you sure about this plan? I don’t mind dealing with them the old-fashioned way.”

Rowan deferred to Aelin. Her opinion was the only one that mattered. 

“I’m sure,” she confirmed, not actually sounding very sure. “Chaol isn’t a very good fighter.”

Rhoe flicked his eyes to Aedion for confirmation. 

“She’s right. Chaol isn’t a match for Rowan.”

“Very well.” The king nodded to himself. “I wanted to give you something,” he said to Rowan. “Or lend you something, rather.”

He raised an eyebrow as the king untied the sword hanging from his belt and held it out to him. Rowan had brought his own sword, of course–an excellent sword–so he didn’t know why this one mattered so much–

“No way!” Aedion blurted as Aelin barked out, “What!”

Rowan’s eyes widened, looking between the cousins, trying to make sense of their reactions.

“You’re giving him Goldryn? ”

“You never let us use it!”

“That’s so unfair!”

“He’s not even part of the family–no offense, Rowan.”

“He hasn’t done anything to deserve it!”

Rhoe rolled his eyes, apparently not shocked by this reaction. “I’m just lending it to him for the duel.”

“Unbelievable,” Aelin muttered, dropping Rowan’s hand as if she now found him disgusting.

But Rhoe ignored her ire. “There is nothing more important to me than my daughter,” he said, putting a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “This sword was brought back by Brannon himself after the great war. By using it, you represent Terrasen tonight,” and with great emphasis, Rhoe added, “Your kingdom.”

Rowan was … touched. He had heard of Goldryn in legends told by storytellers back in Doranelle. To be honest, he hadn’t really believed it existed. But there it was, in Rhoe’s hand, thrumming with power. He took the sword with two open palms and managed to get out a quiet, “Thank you, your majesty.”

Rhoe nodded, releasing his shoulder. And then he was off, crossing the clearing to speak with Lord Westfall. He tied Goldryn’s scabbard to his belt and removed his current sword, passing it off to Aedion who scowled.

Aelin’s eyes were wide and greedy. “Can I hold it?”

Rowan’s hand came to rest protectively on Goldryn’s hilt. “No, your father gave it to me.” 

His mate lifted her hand delicately to his chest. “ Please, ” she said, using the same voice she used for … other things.

“No, it’s mine now,” he said smugly and she growled at him–actually growled, all pretense of seduction gone. Apparently, her love for him was nothing compared to her lust for this sword. Luckily, before she could pounce on him, before she could take the sword by force, Fenrys and Enda appeared. 

Aelin crossed her arms and returned to a calm yet indignant decorum–but not without saying under her breath one more time, “Unbelievable.”

Fenrys was almost hopping in place, he was so excited. “Have you decided how you’re going to kill him yet?” he asked, eyeing Chaol closely. “Because if not, I have some requests.”

“He has a written list,” Enda sighed, “and unfortunately, he read it for me this afternoon. It’s terribly gruesome.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Fenrys said, ignoring Enda and coming to Rowan’s side to advise, “I don’t like his ears. Not because they’re human ears–it’s his ears specifically that I don’t care for, and since you’re going to be killing him anyway, it might be interesting to see what he looks like without them–”

“Rowan is not going to be killing Chaol,” Aelin announced with her nose turned up.

Fenrys stared at Aelin for a long pause, confused and frowning before his bright smile returned. Chuckling, he said, “Sorry, for a second, I thought you said Rowan was not going to kill Chaol. Which would be ludicrous because everyone here wants Chaol to die a horrific death–”

“Chaol is not dying today,” Aelin repeated. “Rowan, tell him.”

Rowan grimaced down at the grass. He could feel his mate’s eyes on him, expectant and uncompromising. With more than a little effort, Rowan dredged up every syllable, one by one, to painfully force out the words, “I … am not …”–he clenched a fist in the air before him–“ allowed … to kill him.”

Fenrys’s joy came crashing down. “But why?” he cried. “It’s–you can’t–I’ve been waiting all month for this!”

“Tell him why, Rowan,” Aelin instructed with an encouraging tap to his arm.

He took a deep, loathful breath.“Because … killing the weak and pathetic is … wrong.”

Aedion’s snort ripped through the clearing. He said nothing as Rowan shot him a murderous glare, as Lysandra batted a reproachful paw at his leg. It didn’t matter, though. Rowan could read the judgement on his chuckling face.

 Aelin nodded triumphantly and gave his shoulder a proud squeeze. Rowan would have to deal with the hit to his reputation later.

“That’s very civilized of you, Rowan,” Enda said politely– mockingly. Traitorous bastard. He might be more of a courtier than a warrior, but Rowan’s cousin had killed plenty of people in battles under Maeves’ rule–

“Thank you, Enda,” Aelin smiled on his behalf. She turned to the blonde, still-gaping male. “I don’t know what to tell you, Fenrys. Terrasen is just a civilized sort of place.”

“But–he–”

“If you want to live in a kingdom with modern policies,” she continued, “you’re going to have to face the reality that we don’t kill people here just because we don’t like them.”

With that, Fenrys walked right up to Aelin, affronted and devastated. “You … have ruined everything.”

“You’ll live,” she laughed.

“I know, Aelin! Everyone will live!” Fenrys yelled. “That’s the problem–”

“Could I have everyone’s attention?” The king’s voice cut across the clearing.

Just like that, the pleasant atmosphere faltered. His mate’s grin fell, and her breathing hitched as Rhoe walked into the center of the grasses. Rowan wove their fingers together and squeezed her hand.

“I suppose we all know why we’re here,” Rhoe began, looking around at everyone. “Lord Chaol Westfall has challenged Prince Rowan Whitethorn to a duel for Princess Aelin’s hand. For the right to marry my daughter.”

Rowan studied his opponent while the king spoke, looking for a hint of fear–a hint that the boy understood what he was getting into. Chaol just watched with spiteful determination, arms crossed, even as Lord Westfall murmured anxious words in his ear.

“Would you each come forward,” Rhoe said, gesturing vaguely at Rowan and Chaol. 

Chaol took slow, deliberate steps, looking surprisingly predatory as he advanced. But Rowan didn’t move, opting instead to hook an arm around Aelin’s waist and pull her into her a dramatic kiss. 

The second their lips met, Aelin threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with everything she had. He felt her love and desperation down the bond. A farewell that Rowan knew she needed–and that he wanted Chaol to see.

They only stopped–seconds, hours later–when a hand landed on each of their arms. Rowan opened his eyes to find Aedion prying them apart, looking like he’d rather bathe in the sewers than have to touch them right now. 

“Please go fight now,” he croaked out before pulling away his hands as if they’d burned him.

Rowan chuckled and kissed his mate’s forehead quickly. “I’m going to win, Aelin,” he reassured her one last time. He would. Rowan didn’t have a single doubt in his mind that he would win this duel. He would die before letting Chaol take his mate away from him. Before letting anyone take her from him.

If Aelin read that confidence on his face, she didn’t show it. But she nodded almost imperceptibly and whispered, “Don’t embarrass me.”

With a laugh, Rowan left to finally vanquish Chaol Westfall.

_____

Aelin’s throat closed up when Rowan stopped in the centre of the clearing, across from Chaol. Despite his abilities, despite how utterly impossible it would be for Chaol to defeat him in a fair fight, she couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t going to be that straightforward.

“The rules for this duel are simple,” her father explained. “You can win by killing, maiming, or knocking your opponent unconscious. You may not use any hidden weapons. You cannot summon anyone to help you. No magic is to be used by either side. To break any of these rules is to forfeit.” 

She could have vomited at the very mention of rule-breaking. Though it was unlikely, in the back of her mind she was worried that Chaol might have something sinister up his sleeve. Ever since reading his letter to Dorian–about how he wanted an anti-magic spell, she couldn’t help but wonder. 

Now, if Chaol actually wanted to win her hand, cheating wouldn’t accomplish that goal. But if he was just here to kill Rowan … yeah, she could have vomited.

“Please confirm that you each understand the rules and want to continue. This is your last chance to back out,” the king said with a pointed look at each of them.

Rowan nodded his understanding, arms crossed and disinterested.  

“I understand, your majesty,” Chaol affirmed. 

Oh, gods. This was actually going to happen–

“Then,” Rhoe said, backing away from the males, “begin.”

At that word, the battle cries and charging that Aelin expected didn’t happen. 

Rowan slowly drew Goldryn, the ruby embedded in its golden hilt catching the firelight while Chaol pulled out his own boring regular sword. They sized each other up.

Fenrys rubbed his hands together like a pleased, little fly. “This is going to be wonderful,” he snickered. “Not as wonderful as it could have been but–”

“Shut up,” Aelin hissed, pinching his arm. 

Chaol started to prowl to the right, and Rowan smiled–far more primitive-looking than usual–and fell into motion too. They circled each other, Chaol looking for an opening, his body ready to pounce. Rowan’s form was relaxed, unhurried like he had all the time in the world to counter a surprise attack. He even twirled Goldryn in his hand as he walked.

Fear fluttered in her stomach as she realized her mate was going to toy with him rather than end it quickly. She should have known–she should have specifically told Rowan not to do this. The longer this went on, the more chances Chaol would have to surprise them.

“You know,” Chaol drawled, each word drenched with vicious hate, “you really shouldn’t be so proud of yourself. Aelin’s not that difficult to get into bed.”

Oh, shit. She hadn’t realized there was going to be talking during the duel.

Rage flickered across Rowan’s face before he tamped it down and shrugged. “Neither am I,” he said mildly, refusing to rise to the taunt. But Aelin caught the way his knuckles had turned white where he gripped Goldryn’s hilt.

Chaol caught it too. He smiled a bit and went on, “It was almost too easy for me. She was practically begging me to fuck her in the spring. I usually prefer a bit more of a challenge.”

This time, Rowan didn’t fully succeed at hiding his fury. Wasn’t able to veil that Chaol had landed a blow. Aelin prayed that he understood what Chaol was doing–that he was trying to rile him up, make him careless. 

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Rowan said through gritted teeth.

“But especially Aelin, right?” Chaol chuckled, giving his own sword a twirl. “I mean, you’re not exactly what comes to mind when I imagine a future king.”

It was Aelin’s turn to grit her teeth. She could handle insults being flung against herself, but Rowan –she wanted to burn Chaol’s smarmy face off– 

“Perhaps not,” her mate replied, “but at least I’ll never have to scheme my way onto a throne.”

Chaol’s face darkened. Until now, he hadn’t known that they were onto his plan.

“I wouldn’t really call it scheming,” he answered, all false nonchalance. “Maybe if Aelin didn’t open her legs for every foreign lord or prince that came to visit, it would have been more difficult.” Noting the way Rowan had gone stiff, he added, “Or did you think it was just the two of us she set her sights on?” 

Her mate didn’t reply.

“Isn’t that right, General Ashryver?” Chaol called out to Aedion. “How many men would you say you’ve snuck out of the princess’s bedroom?”

Aedion growled and stepped forward, a hand on the sword tied to his belt.

“No,” Aelin hissed, grabbing her cousin’s arm firmly. “He’s trying to get us to break the rules.” She shot a commanding glare at her friends to make sure they all got the message. Aedion scowled, ready for every kind of violence, but stood down.

Chaol just laughed at them all simmering on the sidelines. Then he bared his teeth in a sadistic grin and turned back to Rowan. “Did she tell you about Prince Dorian?”

Though she believed that nobody should feel ashamed for such things, though she hated herself for her reaction, her cheeks heated. She hadn’t told Rowan about Dorian. There wasn’t much to tell really, and she had been working up to it–

“Can we not do this?” Rowan sighed to her surprise. “I really don’t care who Aelin’s slept with.” He looked down at his sword, bored. “Clearly none of you were worth a second go anyway.”

Chaol’s bravado faltered a bit. 

Her mate wasn’t wrong. At the time, she’d thought her experiences with Chaol were decent enough, but now … he hadn’t even made her catch fire. She supposed that was a good thing. If she’d really enjoyed herself, Chaol would probably be dead.

“Considering how fast she gets around, I doubt she’d be able to schedule me in–”

“I. Don’t. Care,” Rowan repeated flatly with a roll of his eyes. Then he stopped his circling and lowered his sword to the ground so he could lean on it. The utter image of disinterest. “Let me know when you want to fight.” 

Chaol’s eyes tightened. He studied Rowan closely, looking for a hint that he wasn’t as unbothered as he claimed. But her mate remained where he was, Aelin’s jaw unclenched–just a little.

In a sharp, sudden movement, as if intending to take his opponent by surprise, Chaol raised his sword over his shoulder and lurched forward, battle cry flying from his mouth as he charged Rowan. 

Her mate grinned. 

In spite of what Aelin knew about each male, no matter how confident she was that Chaol was outmatched, terror coursed through her veins at the sight. Rowan stayed where he was as Chaol ran across the distance, making a show of examining Goldryn’s sparkly blade. 

Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he raising his sword?

Please, don’t be a trap, she prayed. Please, don’t be a trap.

Chaol had almost reached his target, another battle cry ripping from his lungs as he further raised his sword, ready to slice it through the love of her life. He fully intended to end this battle by killing Rowan. The one person she absolutely could not live without. Bile rose in her throat, and Rowan still didn’t move until–

Just as Aelin was about to scream, Rowan sidestepped the attack with immortal speed and stuck a foot out to trip him. Chaol plummeted to the earth, getting a mouthful of crunchy grass. He rolled onto his back and swore–the only sound in the clearing. Rowan smirked. 

Fenrys nudged her with her elbow. “And you were worried,” he said, beaming and massively entertained.

Overhearing the comment and apparently still using half of his attention to focus on Aelin, Rowan walked casually around his opponent’s groaning body and winked at her. 

Holy gods. She’d barely even seen Rowan move. He had been little more than a blur.

She must have been gaping because Aedion leaned over and said, “Now you see why I kept badgering them to train with the Bane.”

Gods, did she ever.

Before Aelin could reply, or even just loose the breath she had been holding, Chaol was up again, growling with fury and pointing his sword back at her mate. This time, when Chaol rushed him, Rowan allowed their blades to meet, the clash of metal ringing through her. Her mate parried Chaol’s attacks effortlessly, advancing on him as though Chaol were little more than a daisy going up against … well, a daisy going up against a really big guy with a sword. 

He even moved like the wind. She’d never seen anyone fight like that. Aedion was amazing, but Rowan was a tier above. She could hardly follow his movements, didn’t even recognize half the moves he was using.

Chaol was having trouble following the fight too. When he nearly stumbled backward into his group of guards, Rowan lunged–an efficient maneuver that had Chaol’s weapon flying out of his hand.

“Good one, Rowan!” Fenrys shouted. “Now, let’s deal with those ears!”

Rowan sighed. 

Perhaps wondering exactly what Fenrys meant by that, Chaol’s face turned green, eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he beheld the death that stood before him. He looked like he might fall to his knees, like he might start whimpering pleas–

“Unfortunately, begging for mercy was not one of the ways to end the duel,” Rowan pointed out for her.

Fury returned to Chaol’s face, and he ripped a torch out of his guard’s hands. “Never,” he roared. And then, “To the death!”

Fenrys shrieked with merriment.

Chaol’s torch cut through the air, the firelight dancing across Rowan’s smug face as he dodged each swing with ease. Her mate brought down his sword in a slashing motion as if to slice Chaol clean in half, but Chaol managed to escape–Rowan allowed him to escape–with a clumsy step backward. As he tried to refind his footing, Chaol swung his torch outward, the motion ripping it out of his hand and flinging it into the air. 

And that’s when Aelin realized … there was no trap. Gods, he couldn’t even keep hold of his weapon. There was no plot or strategy, no scheming or anti-magic spells. Chaol had shown up as himself, exactly as he was.

And as himself, he was going to lose.

The torch arced up into the sky with impressive force before Aelin lost track of it and turned her attention back to the fight. It was just in time to see Rowan’s fist colliding with Chaol’s jaw, sending him shooting to the ground. Aedion made a sympathetic ooh sound, and even Lysandra’s big ghost leopard eyes winced a bit. 

Chaol moaned up at the night sky, still conscious, face mostly intact, yet totally decimated. Rowan stood there for a moment, looking down at him, waiting for him to get up, before plunging Goldryn into the ground and asking loudly, “Is that it, then?” 

From the stunned silence of the audience (excluding Fenrys, of course), it was obvious that nobody knew what to do with that. Aelin knew her own mouth was hanging open, her own heart was stuttering into a strange calm. 

Was that it?

After everything, was that all the fight Chaol had in him? It was so … anticlimactic. So pathetic. So unnecessary. Why had Chaol bothered to do this? Aelin looked to her father, needing him to make sense of this and declare the fight over, but Chaol sputtered out a sound–trying to say something?

He sputtered again, and with excruciating movements, pushed himself onto his knees and raised his fists. He growled at Rowan, “ You’ll have to kill me– ”

“Gods know I’d like to,” Rowan muttered, gently pushing Chaol over so that he fell back into the grass. It seemed to dissolve the last bit of spirit Chaol had, and he remained there, curled up on the ground.

Her mate retrieved Goldryn and sauntered away from Chaol, making his way over to the group. And while Rowan spoke to the king, he kept his eyes firmly on Aelin. 

“I believe this means I win.”

Aelin barked out a bewildered laugh.

Her father startled as if lost in thought and pulled his frazzled focus from Chaol’s crumpled body. He said, in spite of his pale face, “Ah–yes. Yes! I think we have our winner. Congratulations, Prince Rowan!”

Rhoe started to clap–a bit quietly, lacking rhythm. But soon enough, others joined, and the sound of slow, stunned claps filled the clearing. And then Aedion was booming his congratulations, joined by Fenrys and the roars of a ghost leopard. Rowan was swept up by the king, receiving praise or instructions–she couldn’t hear. 

And that was that.

Right?

“Well, that was underwhelming,” Enda sighed beside her. He ran a hand through his silver hair and slid a sympathetic glance over to Chaol. “I’m not sure he’s actually injured … but I suppose the least we can do is heal his bruise.” Not bruises. Bruise. Singular. 

Ever the diplomat, he trotted over to Chaol and knelt by his side, starting to heal the really quite minor wound Rowan had bestowed upon him. Lord Westfall was there in an instant, shouting at Enda to get away from his son, and to take his blasphemous magic somewhere else. Somehow, Enda endured it. 

Lysandra finally morphed back into her human form, stepping quickly into a cloak that Aedion was holding out for her. “That was sad,” she concluded. “I wanted to be prepared in case something went wrong … but it wasn’t at all necessary.”

“Sad but fun, ” Fenrys corrected her first statement, still chuckling. 

Aelin gnawed on her bottom lip. “You don’t think it was … too easy?”

Fenrys snorted. “No, that’s about how I expected it to go.” 

“Me too,” Aedion agreed.

“Are you sure–”

“You really don’t think much of my fighting abilities do you?” a deep voice laughed across the group.

Aelin looked up to see Rowan making his way over to her. He stopped right in front of her, close enough to touch, a wry smile on his face.

Aelin pursed her lips. “Maybe I’m just the only person who truly understands how deep your arrogance goes.”

“It’s only arrogance if it’s unwarranted.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

His smile widened.

It was only when Rowan’s eyes darted away that she noticed their friends had fallen silent to watch them smile at each other. Her mate cleared his throat pointedly.

“Well,” Aedion started, taking the hint with a knowing smirk, “It seems Prince Rowan would like some privacy to collect his winnings. Perhaps carry her off to some cave. I don’t know what you two are into–”

“Gods, you’re such a bastard,” Aelin seethed, shooting out an angry hand to punch her cousin in the ribs. He only just managed to jump out of the way. “And I am not winnings! And there will be no caves. ”

Aedion just laughed and waved a hand over his shoulder, beckoning the others as he started marching away. 

“Bastard,” she growled after him, repeating the insult for good measure.

Fenrys and Lysandra laughed at her insolence, but followed after Aedion without question, meeting up with Enda across the way. Finally, she and Rowan were alone. 

Aelin flung herself onto him before he could get a word out. “You won,” she breathed. “You won.”

“Yes, legally you belong to me now.” 

She pinched him roughly in the side, hard enough that he actually made a sound of pain. But she didn’t pull away, still holding him close.

“I hate you,” she murmured into the fabric of his shirt. 

Rowan gripped her tighter. “I love you.”

Aelin coiled around him so tightly, she was certain she was cutting off his circulation. But Rowan didn’t seem to mind, his lips finding hers and drawing her in deeper. 

“I love you,” she managed to say between kisses when she took a half-second to come up for air. Rowan only grumbled in response, licking his tongue along the seam of her lips. Just like that, she was lost in him. He was everywhere, and she was nowhere, the clearing was gone, the people around her were gone. 

When he drew back, she almost collapsed forward trying to follow after him.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispered, green eyes lit with something wicked.

One side of her mouth quirked up. “I’m wondering,” she purred, “if you’d like to celebrate with ale or sex.”

Rowan laughed and brought his lips to that spot beneath her ear. “I wasn’t aware one had to choose between those things. ”

“Greedy,” she hummed, eyes closing under his touch.

“Is that so? I guess I will take the ale then.”

Aelin smacked his arm as she cackled. “You know that’s not what you’re supposed to–”

A shout interrupted whatever flirty thing she’d been intending to say next. Aelin and her mate clung to each other, turning to find a guard pointing at the trees that stood between them and the plains.

Something cold and numb sluiced down Aelin’s spine as she located what he was pointing to. Holding her breath, she disentangled herself from Rowan and took a shaky step toward it. He said nothing as she started to move, as she picked up her pace, as his footsteps followed behind her. Aelin hit the treeline and broke into a desperate sprint. Her mouth went dry, and her breaths came in gasps, but she followed the evidence without hesitation. 

She already knew in her heart what she was going to find, but still, she ran, beating back the dread and hoping she was wrong. Aelin ignored the lights glaring between the trees–lights that should not be there at night. She ignored the cries coming from behind her, ignored the ways she kept stumbling over roots. 

But when the trees finally thinned, when she skidded out onto the plains that led right into the heart of her city, Aelin almost fell to her knees. Because starting from the torch that Chaol had accidentally flung into the trees was a trail of flames.

The Plains of Theralis had erupted.

Chapter Text

Aelin had never known such fear.

She had never seen something so vast, so thoroughly insurmountable as the flames before her at this moment.

Over the years, she had thought a lot about how quickly fire could spread. With the right wind, in the right landscape, it could devour dozens of miles of land per hour. She knew that. Had intellectualized and used it as an admonishment against her own powers many, many times. 

But to live it was something else entirely.

From where she stood, Aelin could see all the way to Orynth, perched at the base of the Staghorn mountains. Between her and her city, where the grassy Plains of Theralis should have been, was a sea of fire pulling in like the tide. Molten reds and oranges, relentless and roiling toward her home, sending up sickly grey smoke so thick it blotted out the moonlight. 

The fire was spreading rapidly, the dry grasses of the plains feeding it, propelling it forward. Even the edges of the Oakwald were starting to wilt away under the flames, the trees blackening and curling in on themselves. A reminder that the plains were just the beginning.

She couldn’t stop the breathy whimper that escaped her, the sound of it lost over the crackling of the flames. For she knew. With all her heart, she knew. Even if she’d already started running, the fire would still spill over the city walls before she could get there. While she ran like hell, crossing miles of open land, the wildfire would wrap around Orynth and press in. By the time she got close enough to see the city gates, the fire would have won.

Aelin had seen this before. In her nightmares, she had seen her city burn. She had seen the world burn. Fire–unstoppable, monumental power devouring everything she’d ever known.  All while the Fire-bringer watched it burn– 

A familiar breeze swept away the smoke and smothered the flames around her, feeding clean air into her lungs. “Holy shit,” came Rowan’s quiet gasp beside her. His hand landed on her shoulder, the only comfort he could offer.

Aelin turned to look at him, finding the face that she loved most was no more than a blur, listing instructions and plans that echoed in her ears. He wanted her to move, maybe? Or perhaps he was going to move? She was too dazed to listen.

How many people would die if the fire reached Orynth? How many of the Little Folk would perish and lose their homes if the forest burned? How much of Terrasen would be left?

It wouldn’t take long to find out.

She drifted further into the plains, smothering the little bits of flame at her feet. Useless. What a useless effort against a wildfire that had already conquered Theralis. That would destroy everything she loved–everything she was born to protect. 

Rowan caught up and shook her gently. “Aelin, we have to move.”

She could barely suck any air into her lungs to speak. Didn’t really understand what he was saying. She could only take in the scene around her. 

They were already surrounded on all sides. Where there should have been heat smothering them, smoke choking them, was an invisible wall, holding it all at bay, fire hammering against it as if it were glass. 

On instinct–because there was nobody else she wanted to turn to when she was afraid–she choked out, “ Rowan– ”

But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. With barely a wink of concentration, a roaring wind barrelled across the plains and through the forest behind them, suffocating flames and leveling what remained, forming a narrow path all the way back to the clearing. 

Holy gods.

They weren’t that far from the clearing but holy rutting gods.

She was too dumbfounded to gasp. Aelin had known Rowan was powerful, had felt the raw magic rolling off him, but to see it … He had been holding back. All this time, the little bits of power he’d shown her had been nothing more than party tricks– 

Rowan released her shoulders and grabbed her hand, towing her toward the group that was running down the path he had cleared. From a distance, muffled as if she had been submerged in an icy lake, Aelin heard people yelling. Whether it was shouts of horror or an argument, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t really matter. She had something else in mind.

“Put out the fire,” she ordered, pulling Rowan to a stop.

He spun on his heel, confusion plain on his face. “What?”

“Put out the fire,” she repeated, gesturing in the direction of the city, her order changing to a plea. “You said you could do it–when I asked what would happen if I set the plains on fire. You said you would stop it.”

Rowan’s face fell, grief and guilt finding their way into his features. “Not one of this size,” he admitted quietly, taking her face into his hands. “This cannot be stopped.”

She gripped his wrists. “But you said–”

“I know.” His voice broke on the words. “I know. I’m sorry. But it’s too late, and I need to keep you safe. Please, let me keep you safe.”

Rowan’s arm came around her waist, steering her quickly toward the others. Aelin let him, leaning into his side, not fully able to process the helplessness in his eyes.

Aedion was barking orders while her father stood vacantly nearby–in shock just as she was. Rhoe allowed his nephew to take the lead, silent and numb. What could the king do against a disaster like this? 

“We’ll head South toward Perranth,” Aedion was saying. “The fire seems to be moving north.”

A chill went down her spine. What about the city? What about our people?

“Rhoe and Aelin are our priority,” her cousin continued. “We need to take them as far away from here as possible.”

“And what? Leave Orynth to burn?” Lysandra spat at him.

“There are plenty of magic wielders in the city,” Aedion rebuked. 

Fury swept across Lysandra’s face. “Nobody in Orynth is even a fraction as powerful as the people standing here right now.”

The shouting continued, the others joining in. And Aelin couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear their fear or their anger. The buzzing in her head reached a fever peak, layering with their voices, drowning her, smothering her. It needed to stop. All of this needed to stop–

“For now, keeping my future queen alive is what matters.”

“She can help! More than anyone else! ” the shifter shouted and threw out a frustrated hand.

Enough, she wanted to scream. She just–she needed a moment. She needed them to shut up so that she could think–

Aedion glared back. “She needs to be protected–”

“No!” Aelin screamed to everyone and no one. The flames just beyond Rowan’s shield went dark with the word, her magic suffocating the life out of them and leaving the earth rumbling in its wake.

Silence fell. 

She shut her eyes tightly against their frightened faces, their furrowed brows, the fire that still raged in the distance. She gasped in a terrified breath, forcing it to slow, forcing calm into her body. Aelin listened to the snapping of the flames and pounding pulse, felt the warmth of her mate against her back. His thumb rubbed soothing circles on her ribs.

Very carefully, Aelin opened her eyes. 

“No,” she repeated softly.

No more fear. No more hesitation.

Aelin walked into the centre of the group, taking control. Everyone was there, she realized with a jolt. She hadn’t even noticed Enda and Fenrys arrive. Had forgotten the Westfalls even existed. But she surveyed each person, assessing their strengths and weaknesses, sorting them into categories, ways she could use them. And while she calculated and prepared, Aelin started her descent. When she spoke, she barely recognized her own voice, its usual lilt replaced by cunning and command. 

“I’m going back to the city,” she declared. Her mate inhaled sharply at the words. Aelin shot him a look, daring him to say it, daring him to tell her that fleeing would be best for her people.

The unnatural stillness of his body betrayed him, but Rowan didn’t speak.

Aedion’s mouth dropped open. “Cousin, you need to survive this–”

Aelin rounded on him. “There is no way in hell that I will watch from the safety of a shield while this fire does what it pleases.”

“Aelin–”

“Stand down, General,” she snarled.

A flicker of hurt flashed across Aedion’s face. She had never pulled rank on him before, had never silenced his opinions instead of listening to them. He was an excellent general, a genius at strategy, but he was letting love and devotion cloud his judgement. Right now, she had no time for arguing, for voting, or anything silly like that. Right now, Aelin was in charge.

She considered the gentle wind touching her face, blowing the smoke away from them. 

“Enda,” she began, not bothering to see if he wanted to volunteer, “there’s a village to the north, and your Fae form is the fastest. I need you to fly there and shield them.” Aelin wouldn’t have time to go anywhere other than Orynth.

Enda gave her a serious look. “I can extinguish the flames as well–”

“Just shield. Don’t waste your energy,” Rowan cut in with a shake of his head, already falling into the role of commander. Her commander. Her second. And Aelin was grateful for his judgement. She didn’t know how deep Enda’s magic went, but her mate certainly did.

“Understood,” Enda said. He briefly gripped Rowan’s shoulder before shifting into his peregrine falcon form and surging into the sky.

Aelin turned on the shifter. “Lysandra, I need you to fly ahead to Orynth and make sure people are evacuating. Take them to the river.”

A voice in her head whispered, It’s too late to evacuate, but she couldn’t think about that now. She was too busy nearly choking on the terror crawling up her throat.

Lysandra nodded, a silent but efficient confirmation. Then she was changing into a perfect copy of Enda’s animal form and shooting into the sky. If any understanding that Aelin had a shifter in her court dawned on Chaol, who was lingering nearby, he didn’t show it.

“Fenrys,” Aelin continued, refusing to let her voice wobble, “you can shield, correct?”

He straightened under her gaze, awaiting orders. “I can’t clean the air like Rowan and Enda, but I can hold back the fire and heat.”

Aelin nodded to herself. “You will escort my family and the Westfalls South as per Aedion’s original plan.” And then, with a meaningful look, she added, “Do you understand what I am asking of you?”

She knew the others might deem it a condescending question. But not Fenrys, who understood it perfectly, whose eyes became solemn and reverent and determined all at once. 

Keep my loved ones safe, and you shall be invited to join this court.

Fail to do so, and there will be no corner of this earth for you to hide in.

“You have my word that they will be protected,” Fenrys vowed. 

Emotion fluttered in her chest before she smothered it. Her magic swelled–another barrier destroyed, another floodgate opening. “Good,” was all she said.

Fenrys bowed his head and shifted into a great white wolf, ready to run alongside the horses that everyone was currently mounting.

“The wolf!” Lord Westfall growled from his mare, drawing Aelin’s attention for the first time since sorting him into the useless category. “That was the wolf that attacked me!”

A cruel small twisted her lips. “I know,” she said sweetly.

Lord Westfall looked about ready to scream, but Chaol grabbed his arm, forcing him to stand down and let it go–not without a look of horror of his own, though.

And then Aedion was herding everyone who remained toward Fenrys, shouting angry orders at them that she knew came from a place of worry. After a brief word with her father, a quick squeeze of his hand in farewell, she and Rowan were alone on the plains.

“I need you to go with them,” she said softly. Aelin hadn’t wanted to ask in front of everyone else. Hadn’t wanted them to witness this fight. It wasn’t rational, and she knew Rowan would be more useful elsewhere, but she needed this. She needed to know he was safe.

Rowan levelled a glare at her, a hint of betrayal on his face. “Absolutely not.” His tone was final. Decision made.

“I can’t do what I need to do if I’m worrying about you–”

“Absolutely not,” he repeated, his voice a growl. “You are not running off alone so you can burn yourself out.”

“I have to save the city.”

“No.”

She opened her palms and growled back, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Survive," he said with a dark laugh. “Do you even have a plan?”

Aelin turned on her heel and said coldly, over her shoulder, “I’m going to put out the fire.”

“The whole thing? It’s too late, Aelin!” Rowan shouted from behind her. His hands landed on her arms, pulling her back, bringing her to a stop. “We’re better off shielding the people who manage to get beyond the castle walls, clearing their path–”

Aelin wiggled out of his grip and glowered at him. “ All of this is my fault, Rowan! ” she yelled, realizing the brutal truth of the words as she spoke them. “I have to do something!”

“There is no point! Orynth is already lost!” he shouted back. 

Their stand-off continued silently as they stared each other down, neither willing to compromise or yield. She could have laughed at how similar they were if not for the circumstances. And though Aelin would have liked to argue with him some more, remind him that he did not give her orders, she crumpled.

“I have to try,” Aelin whispered pleadingly. And she would. Even if he attempted to stop her. 

She had been so stupid. She should have never entertained her father’s plan for fooling the Westfalls. They should have come clean immediately. Instead, Aelin had almost driven her mate away, and now her kingdom was burning, and she was so gods-damned tired. 

Rowan continued to stare at her for a long minute–too long. They were wasting time. But she gave it to him anyway. It was the least she could do. 

His harsh face softened, but not with happiness, not with love like yesterday or this morning. “Okay,” he breathed. Her eyes widened, and Rowan mustered up a weak smile. “Let’s save the city. Together.”

Aelin’s heart lurched with horror. “No, you need to go to Perranth–”
“Without my magic, the smoke will suffocate you before you even reach the city gate.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but her words died on her tongue. He watched patiently as that truth sunk in, as the reality of things washed over her and turned horror and denial into sad acceptance. Her stomach twisted. If she was going to do this, he would be with her. That was his price. 

“Together,” Rowan repeated, bringing his hands to her face. “To whatever end.”

Aelin’s eyes fell closed, tears threatening to slide down her cheeks. Her chest heaved as she echoed, “To whatever end.”

But as she said the words, she couldn’t help but feel that they were a lie.

_____

When Rowan had seen the certainty in Aelin’s eyes, when he’d seen how far she would go to save her city, he’d made a decision. A decision that he didn’t very much like, but a decision nonetheless.

He wouldn’t stop Aelin from trying to save her city. There was no way he could convince her to play it safe and stay within her limits when her people were in danger. So he would go with her. Because Aelin would never abandon her people. Not if she believed she could save them, no matter how few that may be. And the best chance he had at keeping her safe was to go with her. If he was by her side, he could stop whatever insane plan she’d concoct to sacrifice herself. He could knock her out, or trip her up, or if it absolutely needed to be done … he could take her place. She might never forgive him for doing it, but every other potential outcome was preferable to her death.

But he still said, for good measure, “Let’s try not to die.”

Something flickered across his mate’s face, but she managed a ghost of a smile and nodded. “Top priority,” she agreed before rolling her shoulders. Her expression shifted, her body turning fluid–the future queen of Terrasen taking control.

He’d felt the drop, of course. The moment she’d started spiralling into her magic. Usually, it was slow and hesitant, as if she were climbing down step by step–careful. Heavily considered. But now, this time … Aelin had walked right up to that cliff and stepped straight off, plummeting into her power.

“I’ll put out the fires. You just redirect the smoke,” she said steadily, taking his hand and pulling him into a jog. “If the fire gets past the city walls, I want you ready to shield as many people as we can find.”

He nodded tightly, accepting his orders and falling into step behind her. Aelin kept their path narrow as they broke into a run–just enough space for them to slip through and aim for the city. Rowan’s shield was solid, blocking debris, his winds redirecting smoke while they clung to the treeline. He had barely even touched his magic yet, but still, he tried to use it sparingly. He didn’t know what the full extent of Aelin’s powers was yet, and he wasn’t optimistic about how his magic would fare if she hoped to save hundreds of people. If they got to Orynth before the flames did, if she thought he could shield the entire city …

Rowan almost ran straight into a faceful of flames when Aelin darted to the side, taking him by surprise. He just barely missed careening into a crumbling oak tree as she surged back into the forest, away from the plains. 

Boulder after boulder passed them by, each carved with patterns and whorls that Rowan had no time to interpret. They didn’t have time for any of this if they were going to have a chance of saving Orynth. He didn’t understand–

She skidded to a halt, and with a shuddering breath, Aelin raised her hand–falling back on the crutch to direct her magic. All at once, the surrounding area went dark. 

She’d extinguished–no, not extinguished–burned a small ballroom’s worth of land, scorching it to a crisp so that it couldn’t catch fire again. He didn’t understand what she was doing. The amount of magic it would take to do such a thing–they weren’t even near Orynth yet–

Rowan pulled on her wrist, having to raise his voice to advise, “Save your magic for the city.”

“Not all of my people live in the city,” she shouted back over the roar of the nearby fires. She turned from the area she’d just doused, restarting her path to Orynth. But Rowan lingered a second longer, taking in the scene that her body and the boulders and debris had blocked him from seeing.

In the middle of the scorched earth was a murky pond, ash floating on its surface. But what made him pause was the group of small, colourful figures huddled on its shore, large eyes staring back at him. He’d barely even seen the Little Folk before. For her to know where they live–for them to allow her to know where they live–

“Rowan!”

He shook off the pride that was welling in his chest and sent a burst of clean air sweeping through the glen. There wasn’t much he could do without staying close by, but it would help. The Little Folk just blinked at him, and he blinked back for a moment before running after his mate. 

They didn’t stop again as Aelin charged through the Oakwald ahead of him. She didn’t falter for even a second, knowing this forest like the back of her hand, never needing to think about or confirm where she was heading. 

The trees thinned out as they ran, each fall of his feet feeding the dread in his gut further. The fire had already consumed what he could see of the hills behind the city, only stopping where the trees gave way to rock and snow. If the fire had climbed up that fast, what would it look like below–

Rowan found out immediately. Because when they broke through the trees and spied Orynth in the distance, it was already engulfed in flames.

______

If Aelin weren’t so practiced at numbing her emotions, she might have disintegrated right there. Might have fallen to her knees and wailed at the sight of her home on fire.

The wildfire had formed a molten ring around the city. The flames had already managed to jump over the walls, using all their beautiful vines as a ladder, burning through thatched roofs and hopping from building to building, tree to tree. She only allowed herself a second to pause before she was sprinting again, heading right for the city gates. 

Aelin could only assume Rowan was with her, the air still clean and safe to breathe despite the expanse of fire they ran through. Her magic stamped out the flames in the grasses as they went, fighting to command the tendrils of red flickering in the trees. 

The closer they got, the more the sounds of screams found her ears, piercing straight into her soul. Her people were streaming through the gates, coughing on the smoke and ash raining down from the sky, spilling out toward the Florine River. 

Her fault, her fault, her fault.

But she gripped that despair with an iron fist and shoved it down.

A sob nearly escaped her when she spotted Lysandra just outside the Southern gate, wrapped in a new cloak and shepherding terrified people toward the river docks. Members of the Bane were helping the elderly, the sick, the vulnerable into the few fishing boats that were moored there. But it wasn’t a proper port. It wasn’t big enough for real ships. Those who could walk hurried along the riverbank instead. Aelin smothered more of the flames, widening their path.

The strain of reaching her magic out, of going toe to toe with an inferno that absolutely had the upper hand left her gasping for breath. And she realized that it would not be a matter of how much fire she could put out, but rather how far and how quickly she could stretch her power. 

A rush of cold, fresh air brought her to her senses, reminding her of their goal. Rowan’s magic hit Lysandra, and her eyes snapped up, settling on Aelin and her mate instantly. They ran to her, the females colliding in a tight hug.

“How many are left in the city?” Aelin asked before they could waste time saying anything sentimental. 

Lysandra shook her head, anguish in her grey eyes. “Most of the streets are clear–but, Aelin, the castle–” Her voice failed her, and she took a gasping breath. “The castle is surrounded. People are trapped in the towers.”

Raw panic sluiced through her as she looked up over the battlements. Even here, the smoke nearly obscured the castle that sat upon its hill. Even here, she could see the fires raging at the base of it, consuming the maze and great lawn and the courtyards she’d grown up in.

Her mother was in that castle. The Lochans were in that castle. So many of her people lived there.

“I’ll handle it,” was all Aelin said, stepping forward to start pushing through the crowd.

But Lysandra caught her arm. “Aedion–”

“He’s safe,” Rowan answered. “Fenrys will keep them all safe.”

Something tight eased in Aelin’s chest.

“Thank you,” the shifter whispered. Then that gentle whisper turned into an unforgiving boom. “ Clear a path for the princess! ” she shouted into the crowd. “ Clear a path for the Fire-bringer! ”

People parted as if the king had shouted the order himself. The ease at which Lysandra took control of the people of Terrasen had Aelin raising her eyebrows–even now, in this situation, where the tears had not yet dried on her cheeks. She was going to be a valuable asset to the kingdom, to Aedion, especially if Aelin wasn’t going to–

She buried the thought before her mate could read it on her face. Aelin squeezed her friend’s hand one last time and made her way into the city, Rowan on her heels.

When they cleared the initial backlog of people fighting to get through the gate, the streets were near-empty. Only a few stragglers remained–those carrying trunks or large valuables which Rowan occasionally pulled out of their arms and threw to the ground, followed by a harsh order to run. Thank the gods that this part of the city was mostly made of stone.

Her magic tore down the street, extinguishing what was blocking their path as they ran–not wasting too much, only dousing what was essential. She wished she’d had more time to draw it up safely. To spiral down into her magic for days in preparation for this, but she would work with what she had, whatever the extent of it may be. She would save however many people she could.

The main path to the castle was blocked by debris and crumbling architecture, forcing them down back alleys, making them weave through the city at an agonizing pace. As the streets grew denser, the core of the city more packed with modern, ever-changing wood-framed buildings, the fires became almost opaque. And she couldn’t put them all out. She didn’t have enough magic. She had to pick and choose what to extinguish and what to leave–reserve her magic for saving people rather than infrastructure. 

Aelin couldn’t even see through the reds and oranges as she smothered a path for them to run through. It was like a thick fog, where they could only glimpse a few feet in front of them, only up to the boundary set by their magics. But her breath caught, and the bravery in her heart stumbled as they emerged onto the street that housed the royal theatre, so large that even the fire and smoke didn’t hide it. She couldn’t help but stop and stare, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The royal theatre–the one she knew and loved, the one she’d taken Rowan to, the grand piano she’d always dreamed of playing was … gone.

The roof had collapsed, revealing a pit of fire that burned within. The rich paints and details that made the exterior so beautiful had been withered away to black. So much beauty, and culture, and optimism gone. Had Pytor gotten out–

“I’m sorry,” Rowan murmured, standing behind her and resting a hand between her shoulder blades.

Aelin blinked away the tears that threatened to spill and shook off his touch. “We’re wasting time,” she said, flat and cold, breaking into a jog again. Her mate didn’t say anything.

She left the theatre to burn. There was nobody left in there to save.

They turned back onto the main street that led to the castle, careful not to trip on the grooves that had been worn into it by centuries of carriages. The castle gates were open, and they didn’t hesitate to run in, nor did they question what had happened to the guards that attended it.

But Aelin faltered when they crossed into the courtyard, and she finally got a look at the castle’s main doors. 

Where the ornate entrance should have, was instead a wall of flame. Thick and unbroken as it climbed up the dense foliage, decimated the trees, caught on anything and everything that wasn’t made of stone. Why did they have so much flammable plant life in the city? And the grand wooden doors–the ones meant to protect the castle’s residents–were ablaze. 

Aelin burnt the doors to nothing but ash.

She held her breath.

She had hoped that by doing so, people would stampede over the threshold, finally free, the way finally clear.

But they didn’t.

Something cold and macabre ran down her spine. 

“Let’s go in,” Rowan urged, pulling her forward. “There might be other obstacles preventing people from fleeing.” 

It was only the warmth of his hand enveloping hers that made her capable of following. They didn’t run now, instead moving slowly and carefully, both perhaps afraid of what they were about to find. The smoke was so much thicker there–worse than anywhere else in the city and made worse again by being indoors. Hand-in-hand they crossed over the castle threshold, walking into the entrance hall–

“Gods above,” Rowan breathed before dropping her hand. 

While her mate sprinted into action, Aelin fell to her knees.

Scattered lifelessly across the chamber, like a steady river weaving its way right up to the castle doors, were dozens of people–maybe hundreds. 

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. A violent sob ripped out of her at the sight. She had been too late; she had let her people choke to death on the smoke. She had failed the kingdom she’d sworn to protect–

“Aelin!” Rowan’s voice cut through her devastation. “They’re alive!”

She looked up at her mate through blurry eyes and found him lifting someone to their knees. His magic streaked around the room, shield expanding to protect everyone, to force clean air down their lungs.  She scrambled onto all fours, barely able to see through her tears. But she crawled to the person closest to her–a human guard she recognized and felt for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. 

Another sob cracked out of her. She dropped the man’s wrist gently and looked to her mate again. Aelin couldn’t even conceive of how much magic Rowan was using right now. But she could feel it. Could feel him directing air to every person, hearing coughs as a few of them managed to climb back to consciousness.

Finally getting to her feet, she ran around to who she could, checking for injuries, praying to every god that existed that she could draw up some healing magic. It was so close, she could almost feel it at her fingertips. 

A hand wrapped around her boot, a feeble tug at her ankle.

“Maude!” she cried, dropping onto her knees and rolling the demi-Fae female onto her back. Her eyes fluttered open, widening when she recognized Aelin.

“What happened? Did everyone get out? Are you the last people left?”

Maude opened her mouth to answer but couldn’t, her throat too raw from all the smoke. 

Aelin tried so hard– so fucking hard –to reach her water magic, to settle into that place of calm and stillness like her mate had told her to all those days ago. But she just couldn’t. She wasn’t ready–or she hadn’t practiced enough. Aelin didn’t know. Tears of frustration ran down her face.

“Rowan,” she called, hating that she was asking more of him. 

Her mate was up and rushing to her side in a second, looking a lot more tired than he had a few minutes ago.

He dropped to his knees beside them.

“Can you heal her?” Aelin urged. “I need to ask her a question.”

Rowan just nodded and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead before the light of his healing magic illuminated the female before them. 

It took a few minutes but then she was coughing and sputtering–sounds that were a lot closer to speech than before. “It all happened so fast. The smoke–” Maude coughed. “We’re the only people that made it to the ground floor. And the lords–Lord Murtagh is so frail. I didn’t see him in the crowd.”

The only ones. 

That meant her mother was still here. Elide. That meant that hundreds of people were still in the castle. Trapped or unconscious or already dead. A group five times as large as the one Rowan was shielding now. Courtiers and visitors and all the staff. They employed so many people to run the castle. If they died because she failed to act , if Aelin left them there to perish–

She wouldn’t.

“Thank you,” she said to Maude, squeezing her shoulder. Aelin stood and pulled Rowan aside. She felt for her magic, stomach dropping when the answer was quiet–not the whispering abyss that she knew she needed. 

“There’s no way these people are going to be able to evacuate. We’ll have to stay here with them,” her mate supplied gently.

Quietly, she asked, “How long can you hold this shield?” 

“Long enough for the fire to burn itself out–as long as it’s the only thing I’m doing,” he answered, looking over her head to survey their lethargic group, marooned in an ocean of smoke. “I don’t think I can expand it.”

That would work. “Okay. Hold the shield,” she ordered weakly.

Rowan nodded and turned to attend to more of the injured, but she grabbed his hand and tugged him back. Before he could ask her what she was doing, she kissed him. 

If he was stunned, he didn’t deem there time to show it, gripping her tightly, kissing her like she was the only thing in the world–like the world wasn’t burning around them. Had it only been this morning that they were safe and happy in her bed? Had she really only gotten the one night with him?

When they broke apart, their chests were rising and falling, the adrenaline of the situation eclipsed by love. She studied the planes of his face, memorizing every line, the way the shadows cut across his cheekbones, the colour of his eyes. It took everything to step away from him. There was no numbness left to hold her together, nothing to stop the grief and joy and love from spilling out of her. But she’d known it might come to this. Had already made the decision when she’d seen her city aflame. 

“I wish we’d had more time together,” she whispered.

It took a second for the words to settle over him. “What?” he said.

She smiled at him. Just one last time. One last happy glance at the male she loved so that he could remember her like this. Because Aelin was grateful that she met him. Even if they’d only had a few weeks, even if she was about to spend every last bit of her magic, her life force to save her people, she was glad she met him. It had been the greatest honour of her life.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. Because she was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. She was Aelin of the Wildfire. And she would not be afraid. 

“Keep the shield up.”

And then, to the sound of Rowan’s screams, she ripped through that shield and disappeared into the flames.

Chapter Text

Her mate was never going to forgive her.

Unless she turned around right now and chose her own life over the people trapped in her castle, Rowan was never going to forgive her.

Aelin had known he’d meant to be with her if it came to this. Together, he’d said. To whatever end. Even to stand by her side as they both burnt out to save her kingdom.

But she’d never been intending to let him do so. Because she couldn’t bear to imagine a world where Rowan didn’t exist–even if she wasn’t in it anymore.

It wasn’t that she wanted to die. Gods, she hoped against all hope that she would manage to defy death. Prayed that what she was about to do wouldn’t need as much of her as she knew it would. But she had no illusions. Aelin was ready to give everything for her people. She owed them nothing less.

Rowan’s shield crumpled against her magic as she sprinted out the front doors and back into the courtyard. He was already spread too thin, shielding such a massive area, directing oxygen to so many people’s lungs. What was usually an impenetrable wall of air, just this once, had some weak spots. 

She ran through the courtyard toward the gate that led into the maze. Rowan’s shouts followed her, his footsteps pounded behind her, but if she got far enough, he’d have no choice but to cease his chase. 

And he knew it.

She didn’t look back as she ran. Aelin put everything she had into each step, praying she didn’t skid on the gravel as she went. He was faster, and she had to make the most of her head start. 

The maze came up quickly, the air thickening with smoke again as she made her mad dash away from Rowan. She stretched her hand out to reach for the gate, pushed her legs a little harder, just needing to outrun him a little longer–

“Aelin,” his broken voice came from behind her. 

She paused.

His footsteps had stopped, and she turned to find him watching her, lingering on some invisible threshold. His expression was one of pure devastation.

Because if he came any closer, he’d lose his hold on the shield he had around all the people in the entrance hall. If he came any closer, if he tried to come with her, hundreds of people would suffocate and burn.

Aelin had never intended for Rowan to die with her. She’d just needed to find a way to get him stuck. To force him to survive. 

“Please, come back with me,” he pleaded, opening his arms as if he would carry her back himself. When she didn’t answer, he looked like he might fall to his knees and beg. “This isn’t your fault.”

But it was. Aelin was the reason that Chaol had thrown that torch. Aelin had played games with the Westfalls, leading them to this point. Every way she unravelled it, it all came back to her. And even if it didn’t, was this not what she was born to do? To protect her people at any cost?

Still, she nearly choked on a sob, nearly ran back into his arms, and let the world burn. But as much as she wished she was a normal woman without duties or burdens, as much as she wished she was just Rowan’s, beholden only to him … she wasn’t.

Aelin was a queen. 

“My life never really belonged to me,” she whispered. A truth she’d never allowed herself to voice before. But she smiled. “You were the first and only thing that was truly mine, and I’m grateful for that.”

He shook his head, desperate and quick. “You don’t owe them your life,” he tried again, voice cracking.

“I love you,” she said, knowing it wasn’t enough but giving him those words anyway. Aelin kicked down the burning gate that led to the maze, the charred wood yielding easily. “I’ll always love you,” she repeated quietly, backing down the path. Wherever she ended up, she would love him.

Rowan just watched her. Too devastated or shocked or paralyzed with grief to act. She kept looking at him as long as she could, stepping back into the burning hedges, extinguishing them as she went. And when she reached the first bend, when there was no more time, no more excuse to delay the inevitable, she turned her back on him.

Aelin wiped away her tears as she started to run again. He didn’t call after her … and in some ways, that made it easier.

She tore through the maze–sometimes following the path, sometimes burning her own–thankful for every game of hide and seek she’d played in it as a child. Grateful for all the times she and Aedion had raced from one end to another. Her heart stuttered as she passed by the offshoot that led to the lookout, but she forced herself to remain focused, forced the happy memory of Rowan out of her mind.

Aelin needed space. She needed a close vantage point from where she could direct her magic. Rowan was right about one thing–without him, she wouldn’t last long in the smoke. So she needed a space that was relatively clear. She didn’t need to withstand the smoke forever … just long enough.

Which was exactly why she needed to get to the great lawn. It was central–close enough that hopefully, she’d be able to reach all the different wings of the castle. And if she didn’t have enough magic to put all the fires out, she might at least be able to clear the way for her people to evacuate onto the grass.

But from the silence in the maze, the lack of screams coming from castle windows, she knew that nobody was going to be running out of the castle. Which meant her magic had to go to them.

She near-tumbled out onto the grass, practically flying through the exit of the maze. Stumbling over her feet, knees shaking with fear, she continued to run, putting distance between herself and the hedges, getting a good look at the ballroom and the castle above. 

Lysandra had said there were people trapped in the towers and trapped they definitely were. Though the castle’s exterior was stone, the inside was not. Most of the windows were blown out, the fire already making its steady hike up the castle, no doubt burning every green tapestry and armchair to a crisp. Not that it would matter when the smoke had already devastated each level first.

Aelin slammed to a stop in the centre of the lawn and peered down. Not at the grass, but within. Despite how little time she’d had to spiral down, there was more power than she had expected, more magic begging to be released.

She had spent her entire life fearing that power, being told she was a monstrosity. One mistake away from burning the world to ash. One bad day away from ruining everything she loved. She had been called insane, terrifying, nothing more than a weapon set to erupt. Chaol had believed it–her own family had believed it–and she’d listened to them.

But not anymore.

She grabbed every hateful thing she’d ever believed about herself by the throat and shoved it out, out, out. Aelin was the Heir of Fire, and she would bow to nothing and no one. Not fear, not foreign lords, not anything. 

Not even fire itself. 

With a quivering breath and fear trickling down her spine, she dropped into her magic. Over and over, she gave in to her power, answering the scream to descend that she had spent her life ignoring. She abandoned every piece of who she was–no, who she’d been told she was.

It was time to finally test what lived beneath her skin.

And when every bit of magic she could gather was trembling at her fingertips, the Fire-bringer unleashed herself upon the world.

______

Rowan almost dropped the shield.

He almost traded hundreds of lives for one without batting an eyelid. 

He could live with it. There was no doubt in his mind that he could find a way to live with such a decision if it meant keeping his mate. If it ripped him apart and destroyed everything that he was, she was still worth it. 

But he didn’t. Even as a tremor ran through his body, even as all the hope and joy within him winked out. Because Aelin would never be able to look at him again. She would curse him to hell, possibly put him there herself, and she would never look at him again.

And perhaps just the thought alone proved he wasn’t the male that Aelin believed he was, but it didn’t matter. His mate wasn’t here to see the conflict on his face. 

He stared down the maze path, the place she’d disappeared. And he tried. Damn him, he tried to find some way to do both. To protect her people and to run after her. But with the little magic he had left ... he was going to need all of it to shield the people in the courtyard.

Rowan was such a fool. He should have known that Aelin wouldn’t accept his help. That she would find some way to leave him behind in safety while she died for her kingdom. He would have done the same. He would have sacrificed himself a thousand times if it meant she lived.

He was a fool.

And now he was going to stand by helplessly while she burnt out and the mating bond ripped in two. He would feel every second of it. Know exactly when she reached her limit, exactly when her life winked out. And at the end of it, he’d still be here, holding the shield. 

A rumbling shook the earth, and he froze. The gravel beneath his boots started to rattle, skittering along the ground. He felt it down the bond before he felt it prickle in the air–the mountainous power clawing its way out like a beast that had never seen the light of day.

His hand landed on his chest, over his heart, pounding in time with the waves of magic building and building. 

And then Aelin, wherever she’d ended up, erupted.

The wave of magic, invisible and heatless, barrelled through the courtyard–the world , knocking him clean off his feet, slamming him onto his back. 

Rowan gasped up at the sky and saw with dazzling clarity as the flames around him were snuffed out. Her magic wrapped around the castle like an invisible hand, commanding the fire to yield, gripping the stones, the air, the people with absolute control, and pushing down.  

Up and up, the fires went dark, Aelin’s power slithering up the towers, through windows, and over rooftops. Fresh plumes of black smoke rolled off the castle, and Rowan tightened his shield and just held the fuck on.

He’d known how powerful she was supposed to be, had seen exceptional strength from her on the plains, but this. For a moment, Rowan found himself with a glimmer of hope. To knock him on his back with less than an hour to spiral down into her magic, he had no words–

She wasn’t stopping. 

Rowan watched as every ember before him gave in to her monumental power, but still, her magic pressed down on him, expanding, growing.

She wasn’t done.

Rowan couldn’t see how much of the castle was on fire anymore. Black smoke formed walls on every side of his shield. Barely any light was filtering through. 

Aelin’s magic was a solid weight on his chest, crushing the earth beneath it as it climbed up the castle. But beneath it all, Rowan could still feel her–and she was faltering.

Stop, he ordered down the bond, praying that she would hear him the way he had heard her all those days ago. You’ve done enough.

There was no answer. Not even a flicker. 

But her magic kept sweeping upward and outward, away from wherever Aelin had planted herself, stretching into every tower and corner of her castle. 

You don’t have enough magic to reach that far, he tried again, anticipating her plan.

Again, he was ignored.

And when he started to feel the bond weakening, when the cord that tied them together started fraying in his chest, all he could do was wait for her to die.

_____

She was Aelin, and yet she was not. 

Her magic had filled every nook and cranny of her being, cutting away everything that tethered her to her humanity. There was a quiet order echoing in her head, a plea to stop, but it washed over her, no more than a breeze compared to the thrall of her magic.

Because even louder was a different sort of voice. The kind that wondered what would happen if she stopped smothering the fires. If she helped them. Her magic wanted to rip out of her. And it wanted Rowan. It wanted to twine with his power and find out how big it could burn with his winds feeding it.

With a stiff shake of her head, she tried to ignore those wants.

Her magic was tearing down every corridor, up every staircase, blasting through every door, trying desperately to smother the fire that trapped her people. She could feel them in there–the unconscious staff and courtiers. Her magic slid over them protectively. 

But she was losing her grasp on it. The further her magic ventured away from her, the more her hands started to shake, the more her lips started to crack. And she couldn’t move. Not just because of the raw magic paralyzing her, but because she would pass out in minutes if she tried to step foot inside with the smoke. 

High above her, Aelin could hazily see the towers, still aflame. She could see the exact one Lord Murtagh and his son Ren stayed in when they’d visit. She could see the window to Elide’s room. They were in there. She knew it. 

Aelin didn’t even dare look at her parent’s room for fear of what she would find.

But she remained, pushing and ripping herself to pieces as she went. 

_____

It wouldn’t be long now. 

Rowan was on his knees, hand over his heart, still staring in the direction of the blackened maze–not that he could see it through the smoke. He didn’t care to anyway. Because he knew it wouldn’t be much longer until Aelin died.

There were no tears on his face. He was in too much shock to react yet. All he could do was feel every little fiber of the bond snap, one by one. He focused in on it, counting down until the end. 

It lulled him into a strange sort of calm. A clarity. It almost surprised him, almost bothered him that he was planning ahead. How could his mind be on anything but the present moment? Aelin was burning herself out only minutes away, and there he was, thinking of what he was going to do after … how he could find her when she …

He tipped his head back to look at the sky. Beseeching the gods, maybe. He didn’t know. Didn’t care. The gods weren’t listening.

When something fluttered above him, Rowan wrote it off as a hallucination–he was just imagining shapes in the smoke. There was nothing that mattered anymore. All he wanted to do was help the people behind him survive the fire, and then he could go. He could find Aelin wherever she was. 

But the fluttering object came closer, getting larger and taking a more specific form. He squinted up at the night sky, the white and grey thing plummeting toward him at a rapid pace. It was only when Rowan realized it was about to crash into his shield, only when he recognized the peregrine falcon aiming at his head, that he pulled back his magic and scrambled out of the way.

With a flash of light, Enda shifted into his Fae form and frowned down at him. He looked– absolutely fine. Not at all like someone who had just shielded dozens of villagers.

“I was able to get the villagers to safety,” his cousin explained simply. As if he hadn’t just dropped into the worst moment of Rowan’s life. Then noting how he was splayed pathetically on the ground, his cousin added, “Tell me how I can help.”

Rowan just gaped at him.

Enda was here. Enda was here. That meant–

“Clear the smoke from the entrance hall,” Rowan gasped in greeting, jumping to his feet. He was about to shift when he turned back and ripped the dagger from Enda’s belt.

His cousin’s eyes were wide. “Where’s Aelin?”

But Rowan had already gone, launching into the skies to answer that very question.

His magic was in shreds. He put no fires out as he went, made no attempt to tackle the flames that Aelin’s power was still battling against. Rowan would conserve every drop of magic that remained for saving his mate. 

The bond was weak, but it gave him a general sense of where to go. Not that he really needed it. Aelin was a maelstrom of power, unmissable from her spot on the great lawn. And she was alive–swaying on her feet, glowing like the sun lived beneath her skin, but alive. 

And he just knew. He knew without a doubt what he needed to do, what all of this had been leading up to. Rowan cleared the maze in seconds and barrelled down toward his mate. When he exchanged his hawk form for his Fae form, and his feet hit the scorched grass, she turned to him.

Aelin’s eyes were vacant and tired, but she knew him. Even through the thrall of her magic, even so close to burnout, she knew him. And the faint smile she gave him was all the confirmation he needed.

Because while Rowan didn’t have enough magic to douse the fires alone, and Aelin couldn’t reach the people in the tallest towers, they just might be able to do it together.

So Rowan unsheathed the dagger he’d stolen from Enda and sliced the blade across his palm. 

______ 

She shouldn’t have been surprised to find him here. She didn’t know how he’d done it, didn’t know if she was maybe already dead, and this was all a beautiful illusion, but her mate was standing before her, extending a bloodied hand.

Aelin smiled again through her exhaustion. He had come for her. And maybe that decision would be the thing that ended them both, but for now, it was enough.

Rowan closed the distance between them, handing her the dagger with his uninjured hand. She took it from him almost automatically, his hand lifting to land over her heart. 

Rowan looked into her eyes, into the very core of her, and said, “Fireheart.”

It was enough to pull her out of her stupor, a flicker of love and emotion to bring her back to humanity–just a little, just enough. Aelin dragged the blade across her palm, knowing it would work. Knowing exactly what her mate was offering. Tears pricked at her eyes again, and as Rowan’s arm wrapped around her waist, she whispered, “To whatever end?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “To whatever end,” he confirmed and joined their bleeding hands.

Because they were carranam.  

Had Rowan not been holding her up, Aelin’s legs would have buckled as their magics melded, forging into one.  His magic was old and strange, so different from hers yet so familiar. Her own magic sparked in recognition, the force of it weakening what little grasp of her sanity she had left. But Rowan held her steady, the strength of him never wavering as he handed her all the magic he had left. 

Ice and wind turned to embers as they descended, their very souls twining. It wasn’t much, but maybe– just maybe –it would be enough. When there was nothing more to draw up, not one more spark or breath of wind to collect, she let their magic pour into the world.

She speared it with precision through the castle, into all the places she hadn’t been able to reach. She smothered every flame that dared to rise against her and her mate. On and on, their power stretched beyond them, Rowan never tearing his gaze away from her, always with her every step of the way. She watched her reflection glow brighter and brighter in his eyes, like a star threatening to explode through her skin. Perhaps it would, but she continued to wield their magic nonetheless. Fearless. 

Rowan’s eyes darted away–surveying the castle, the towers–she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t coherent enough to see it herself. But then he smiled, and she felt it. She felt the will of the wildfire bend and break. She felt what was once an unstoppable inferno turn to ash.

She was still glowing if the brightness of her mate’s concerned eyes were any indication. And he was talking, the worried notes of his deep voice ringing through her but forming no meaning. 

She gasped as he unclasped their hands, cutting off the blood connection, giving her a view of his palm. She gasped again, covering the sound of whatever he was saying now. It was blistered. She’d burnt his hand, only sparing the slice of the dagger down the middle.

Without a word, she lifted her free hand and hovered it over his palm, finding stillness in love, in him. It wasn’t difficult at all to draw up her healing magic. It didn’t take any effort for the blue-ish glow of her water magic to join the yellow of her skin. And she watched in awe as the skin of his palm knitted together, as blistering red turned back to the usual tan, while darkness hovered at the edges of her vision.

Aelin?

She heard that. Understood it. That was her name, wasn’t it?

Aelin met his gaze and smiled. Her mate was worried–he was always worried. But they’d done it. They’d extinguished the castle, they’d saved her mother. He was unharmed. Only a line of pink remained on his palm. She was healing him. She had healed him. It was blurry now–like he was no more than a dream drifting past her. But she was sure she’d done it.

And because he was safe, because she’d done what she was destined to do, when Aelin knew that there was no more magic within her to give, no embers, no water, nothing left whatsoever, she let the darkness take her.

Chapter Text

Aelin slept for three days. 

After what was possibly the most reckless display of magic that Rowan had ever seen, the most disregard for one’s own life he’d ever witnessed personally, Orynth had survived. 

And Aelin had driven herself to the point of burnout. 

It hadn’t surprised Rowan in the slightest, given how much magic she’d used. How much of his magic she’d filtered through her body and turned to flame. After she’d passed out, Rowan had experienced yet another of the most terrifying moments of his life. Seeing her glow like the molten core of a star in his arms while he’d desperately searched for healers … there were no words for how that had felt. He wouldn’t dare to ever admit what he would have done should Aelin not have survived.

But she’d done it. She was alive, and they’d extinguished the entire castle, saving hundreds of lives. The castle itself wasn’t unscathed, particularly the lower levels that had been blackened to a crisp, but it was usable. Some of the rooms on the upper floors were entirely untouched aside from some minor smoke damage, including her bedroom where Rowan had deposited her after the healers had finished with her.

He’d then collapsed himself, curling up next to her and sleeping for two days. He’d awoken yesterday to find that she wasn’t quite ready yet. Even knowing that she just needed a deep sleep to recuperate, he sat at her bedside, tapping an anxious foot and growling at visitors the whole time. 

Despite his determination to not let Aelin out of his sight, Rowan had been burning with questions. How far had the fire gotten before something put it out? What exactly had put the rest of it out? What was left of Orynth? Luckily, Aedion had come by last night to put Rowan out of his misery.

The Plains of Theralis were destroyed, but Rowan knew the grasses would be back next summer, just as green, like the fire had never happened. Even the Oakwald had skated by without much damage–the fire had moved much more slowly through the trees and as a result, only the edges were singed. Thanks to Aelin’s detour into the Little Folk’s territory, it seemed that they were unharmed as well. Not that the elusive Little Folk would allow anyone to actually confirm that.

Orynth, though … Orynth had not been so lucky. Yes, Lysandra had been able to evacuate most of the city, and yes, Aelin and he had put out the fires in the castle, but the city had been decimated. 

Most of Orynth’s citizens had lost their homes and businesses. The entire theatre district had been destroyed. The farmlands just beyond the city walls had been erased. The cost of rebuilding Orynth to its original splendour was going to be astronomical. Rowan had some thoughts about that, but these things took time. 

And he couldn’t start bullying her into taking his money until she woke up. Which she wasn’t doing.

Rowan thumbed through his mystery novel, only half paying attention. He’d nearly finished the entire stack of books he’d brought to Aelin’s room, having had nothing better to do. People had come and gone, including their friends and family. He could have sworn he’d even heard Fenrys padding away from the door right after he’d woken up. But there was no level of boredom that would take Rowan from his mate’s side. 

It was only when he gave up on the book entirely, setting it down in his lap so that he could rub his temples, that he heard Aelin’s breathing shift. 

Every sense focused in on her, embedded in a fortress of soft pillows–ones that Rowan had regularly fluffed even though she wasn’t using them. When her eyelids fluttered, and a soft groan escaped her, he launched from the armchair, taking up a spot beside her on the bed.

“Aelin?” he said gently, desperate to hear her voice again, desperate to just be with her again.

She groaned and scrunched up her nose, making him laugh. He lifted a finger, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. At that, her eyes fluttered open, confusion and grogginess on every line of her body. But those turquoise eyes found his own, and she reached up to hold the hand that had lingered on her jaw.

And with a serene smile, she closed her eyes and murmured, in greeting, “Fussy bastard.”

______

Her mate just chuckled. 

With great effort, Aelin opened her eyes again and pushed herself up to sit, Rowan’s hands hovering over her helping the movement in any way he could. 

“So fussy,” she repeated but finally looked at him properly, finally dragging her gaze across his body and up to his face.

Safe. He looked safe–

“Are we dead?” she rasped.

He slid a hand down her arm and grinned at her. “No.”

Alive. She almost laughed. Aelin closed her eyes, savouring his touch, absorbing the warmth of his skin, the beauty of that one reassuring word. Safe.

Rowan broke the silence. “How do you feel?”

Aelin groaned and lifted a hand to scrub at her face. “Like I was ripped out of my skin and then shoved back into it,” she grumbled.

“That can happen after nearly burning out. You aren’t to touch your magic until I tell you it’s safe,” he lectured.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, knowing that it was lingering fear adding that quiver to his voice, and said, “I don’t remember anything after becoming carranam.” She gazed down at her palm then, at the scar now marring her otherwise flawless skin. More proof of what they were to each other. A hint of a smile formed on her face.

“You slept through it all,” Rowan explained. “Which is lucky because the burnout can be agony.”

From the way he said it, Aelin had a feeling that it had in fact been agony–for him. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to watch one’s mate go through such a thing. 

“How long?”

“Three days.”

She frowned at that, but as the missing time started to settle in and her mind started to clear, that frown shifted into panic. Her open palm wrapped tightly around Rowan’s wrist.

“My parents–”

“They’re fine.”

“Aedion–”

“Alive and obnoxious as ever. More so,” Rowan assured her softly, shifting closer. “Everyone is fine.”

And as it truly dawned on her that they had made it, that her mate was fine, Aelin started to cry.

“Fireheart,” he murmured, moving to scoop her up into his lap, her arms coiling around his neck. She could have commented on his use of her nickname, how she loved the sound of it on his tongue, but she was just too happy, too relieved that he was okay. As long as Rowan was okay and at her side, she could handle whatever came next. 

Including whatever news he would deliver about the state of her kingdom.

But Aelin held him tightly, letting his scent settle her, proving that he was real and safe with her. For just these few minutes, she would savour that safety. She would revel in the blissful ignorance and pretend the world did not exist outside of this room. Outside of them.

When she was finally ready to face what came next, she opened her eyes and ordered, “Tell me everything.”

Rowan loosed a sad sigh. “The city will … need time to recover,” he summarized softly. Her mate told her of the destruction, how her people were without homes, how only a few spots in the castle were undamaged–like her room. He told her that her father had opened the castle doors to everyone–something that did not surprise her in the least but still made her unbelievably proud. He described the infrastructural and organizational problems in great detail, letting her know exactly where they stood. But Aelin noticed it. The way he kept dodging one subject. The one that mattered the most.

“–and Lord Darrow said that he could source more cows from the–”

“How many casualties.” Her voice was flat as she cut him off mid-sentence. Aelin did not care to hear about the cows.

Rowan’s face slipped into an odd expression that she couldn’t quite interpret. But then his lips twitched–a coy smile. He took a breath. “We’re not totally sure yet because they’re still sorting through the debris, and not everyone has been accounted for, but right now–”

Aelin swallowed hard, determined not to cry again before he finished telling her this–

“–as far as I know, there were no casualties.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“There have been no confirmed casualties,” her mate repeated.

“How is that possible?” Aelin gasped. She had to consider for the first time if perhaps Rowan was an absolute idiot.

“You evacuated the city.”

“Lysandra did–but–”

“Because you ordered her to. And you extinguished the castle.”

“What about–”

“Enda was able to protect the villagers.”

What the fuck. Aelin gawked at him. There was no way. Rowan was an idiot. It was certain now. She was mated to a fool. Oh, gods, she was going to spend the next thousand years with an imbecile–

“The rest of the fire,” she reasoned with her fool, “the city and the forest–I only put out the castle–”

Rowan shook his head. “It’s over. It’s not burning anymore.”

Aelin couldn’t believe her ears. “How?”

“A storm rolled in.”

“It started … raining?” she clarified with wide eyes. 

“Absolutely pouring. The biggest storm in five centuries, Phaendar’s saying.”

“That’s–” She couldn’t find the words. “That’s–”

“A bit convenient?” Rowan filled in for her with a smirk.

Aelin choked on a laugh. A loud, disbelieving laugh that quickly unravelled into a fit. How on earth had they gotten that lucky? There had to be some benevolent god watching over them–one that had decided they’d been through enough. It didn’t seem real. None of this was possible. But still, when she turned her head to glance out the balcony windows, there was indeed no fire. Not in her city, not on the plains, nor the forest beyond.

When she caught her breath and reigned in her laughter, Aelin smirked back at him. “All that work we did, and then a rutting cloud comes in to finish the job.”

Rowan’s laugh was a welcome rumble, echoing through her chest. 

“We almost died.”

“I know,” he chuckled. “Next time, we won’t bother.”

She beamed at him. “Agreed.” And then, face falling, she added, “I am sorry that we almost died.” They needed to talk about it– Rowan obviously needed to talk about it. Laughter aside, Aelin could see the pain in his eyes. What she’d done to him, how she’d left him behind …