The nightmares were unbearable, as always. Aelin awoke with sweat on her brow, limbs intertwined with the sheets, and her throat raw. She reached across the bed, searching for a familiar warmth, but no Fae prince greeted her.
Right.
Her mate was still away on a diplomatic mission. They were rarely ever separated, and not having that solid strength at her back made her uneasy. Especially after Maeve's torture...Aelin did not do well being alone. For months after Rowan had fussed over her, slowly putting her shattered soul back together as he had done after Mistward. He was always there. Always. The swift, mysterious wind, the cunning hawk, the sharp Fae warrior...hers. All hers. And she missed him dearly. Missed his words of comfort, his strong arms that wrapped snugly around her lithe figure. Missed his swagger and sarcasm and the way that his eyes conveyed words to her. He was her mate.
Her carranam. Her husband. Her buzzard.
Now, alone in the darkness that reminded her far too much of that gods-damned coffin, and of her horrible time in Endovier, she felt helpless.
No.
She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynious, and she would not be afraid.