Aedion had ridden straight in from the Staghorn Mountains, stopping only once before reaching Orynth. He'd spent two weeks with the Bane in their new military outpost. His men would guard those mountains from any threat that came their way, or they would have to face The Wolf of the North.

Aedion rode hard through the outer streets. Orynth was nothing short of glorious; at its center lay the stunning theatres and marketplaces and architectural wonders that made it famous. His Queen had rebuilt and restored them all in the past half dozen years. Her people adored her; that she was battle-hardened and scarred only made them love her more. She was one of their own. She had suffered as they had suffered, and now as they rejoiced, she rejoiced. Aedion was fond of the City Center, but he was riding at too fast a clip to tear through people-choked streets. He was late, though not by much—and his Queen would give him hell for it.

The White Palace dwelled over the city, its walls carved from glittering marble veined in Terrasen silver. It glowed in the winter sunlight; spring was only weeks away, and then the sprawling gardens would be choked with colour. As it was the castle—surrounded by fountains and statues, a masterpiece of design and heritage, symbolizing everything this country had worked for—was absolutely breathtaking.

The outer gates were surrounded by people, selling wares, chatting, hoping for a glimpse of the royals. It was even more crowded than usual, what with the guests dwelling inside those walls, and the extra guards lining the roadways. Aedion slowed his pace, keeping his face hidden until he was standing over on of Aelin's men.

"State your name and business," the guard said, in a polite tone. Aedion shrugged off his hood, grinning rakishly. "Aedion Ashryver. I'm here to see my cousin."

"Right away, sir," The man said, bowing briskly. He shouted at one of his comrades, and the gates split open like the entrance to a legend. Whispers trailed Aedion as he spurred on his horse, the massive wrought-iron gates clanging shut behind him. This was the outer courtyard, little more than a road winding around to the East Wing of the palace where the proper courtyard— definitively less pretty than the front lawns—lay.

He pushed the horse as far as it could go; it was on its last legs as he clattered into the real courtyard. He dismounted midstride, breathing in the scent of home and horses, one of the stable boys already leading the mount away. He ran up the steps into the great front hall; he could already catch her scent. The massive oak doors peeled open and there she stood, arms crossed, looking extremely smug.
"You're late," she said primly, and he broke into a massive grin. "Did you expect anything less?"

"Shut up, you oaf." She walked towards him, the dusky red folds of her dress swirling behind her, and squinted up at him. "You smell like other females."

"I'm sure you mind terribly." He laughed then, a big, warm laugh, and enveloped her in a hug. She hugged him back, her grip fast and sure, and yet—he stopped. Something was off.

He pulled back, sniffing. "You smell weird."

She made an exasperated noise, rolling her—their-identical eyes. Her hair was pinned back, braided with satin ribbons. The guards closed the hall doors behind them, and Aedion blinked. It was blindingly bright out, and while the massive windows on all sides let in plenty of light, his overly sharp eyes had to adjust.

"You do," he insisted, as she took his arm.

"You smell like shit and horses."

"Stop changing the subject."

She sighed. "Here I was, missing you, and then you come back even more annoying. Different how?"

"You smell like Rowan."

She narrowed her eyes. "I always smell like Rowan. Have the mountains stolen your sanity as well as your morality?" She was changing the subject again. He glared, inspecting her—he couldn't place what was different, exactly, but something was off.

"Are you sick?" He asked, a sudden knife of fear spearing his chest.

"No." She frowned, overly casual, though the answer was blindingly honest. "Why? Do I look sick?"

"No," he admitted. She wasn't telling him something. It hurt him that she kept secrets, but she always had her reasons. Still, if he didn't find out in—

"There you are." Rowan was striding towards them. As per usual, Aelin's entire demeanour lit up when he appeared.

"I found a stray ruffian," Aelin chirped, linking Rowan's arm with her own free limb. Rowan's sharp gaze raked over Aedion, a brother checking a brother. "He doesn't look like much."

Aedion scoffed. "You're the one who turns into a bird."

"Shut up, you two, or I'll stage a revolt just to get some peace," Aelin scolded. "Aedion, you really do smell terrible. Go take a bath and then meet us in my rooms."

Aedion was reluctant; he wanted to know what she wasn't telling him, but she also had other guests, some of them very important. He sighed. "Fine. Then you're feeding me."
"When have I ever failed to feed you?" Aelin demanded, her gaze dancing. It was so good to see her—it warmed him to his very core, even after six years of being by her side. He bowed. "Fair point, my lady."

She grinned, pointing to the grand staircase sweeping up to his rooms. "Go."

He obeyed, trudging wearily upwards. He paused briefly at the top of the stairs, watching the couple below walk out of the hall. Aelin smiled at Rowan like he was her guiding star, and when she glanced down to hitch up her skirts he looked at her like she should be looked at—like she was his entire galaxy, his sun.

Aedion trusted Rowan with Aelin. Trusted him every damn day. He would keep Aedion's Queen safe.

That would have to be enough.