Since I've been gone for so long and am literally the worst person in the entire world, here's a bonus update before the next actual chapter goes up! Long story short, the past few months I've been running around like crazy trying to get my life in order (college, junior courses, etc, etc). I needed a good long while to recover from KOA, and then I was drowning in the sea that is NaNoWriMo and working on my own personal writing. For those of you who have stood by this story, thank you so so so much. I'm eternally grateful.
This chapter is Rowan's POV from the HOF excerpt in the exclusive Target edition. It takes place between chapters 43 and 45 of Heir of Fire and includes a visit by some Fae nobility to Mistward, plus lots of Rowaelin fluff. For those of you who have read it, I hope you enjoy this and for those of you that haven't, I'll link it below. Happy reading!
Here's the link to the excerpt! (not mine) : https/amp/bookofademigod./post/150043620861/master-post-of-the-target-empire-of-storms-short/amp
Rowan's POV
"What's your favorite food?"
Aelin's voice broke the peaceful silence they had settled into, cleaving the seductive lull of the afternoon heat. Sunlight streamed down into the clearing, heating the smooth surface of the boulder beneath them, it's steady warmth so different from the crackling embers and roaring flames of the woman sitting beside him.
The same sunlight turned Aelin's hair into molten gold as she tipped her head back, tossing a nut into the air and catching it in her mouth. The hours spent training under Wendlyn's sun had darkened her pale skin, as well as adding layers of muscle and curves to her lithe form. Aelin had never been weak, even when Rowan had found her drunk and wasted on the rooftops of Varese, but these past weeks she seemed more... alive. Not just physically, but emotionally. As if the fire fueling her will to live had been rekindled.
"Whatever keeps me alive at the moment," Rowan said, not taking his eyes off the rolling green hills and valleys of Wendlyn stretching out below them. They had climbed high enough Mistward was nothing but a cluster of grey amidst a sea of vibrant greens and browns, it's inhabitants invisible even with his eyesight.
Rowan had brought Aelin up here with the full intention of training, honestly. Then, he'd remembered what he planned on asking her today and decided they could both use a break. Aelin was nowhere near ready to face Maeve, but she'd been training relentlessly since her burnout. This past week, the barrier of fear she'd used to control her powers had begun to fracture, aided by each test of strength and control Rowan had thrown her way. And as for what he planned on asking her...
"Could you be any more of an animal?"
Aelin's response broke his train of thought, the look of disapproval in her gaze making Rowan momentarily forget why he'd brought them up here in the first place. He gave her a look, eyebrows raised.
You do remember what my other form is, don't you?
Rowan could practically hear Aelin rolling her eyes at his lack of a proper answer, but when he looked at her there was no anger in her gaze, only a familiar expression of exasperation and annoyance.
He was still getting used to it, this new dynamic between them. Aelin's anger still made an appearance, along with her pain and grief, but it had softened slightly. Not because of her burnout, but because of what had followed it. The story she'd shared with Rowan in the quiet of his rooms, the story of her, of her past and how she'd become so broken. Rowan tried not to think about it, or that night in general. Not because the memories were unpleasant, but because they're weren't. Listening to her tell that story, seeing the scars on her back, had awoken some deep, slumbering part of him. One Rowan was nowhere near ready to face.
So he tried to ignore those memories, to forget how Aelin had laid her head on his chest, her hand a steady warmth in his as they'd drifted off to sleep. The smile on her face when he'd run his fingers through her hair, filled with contentment and joy from simple human touch, had stayed with Rowan like a shard of ash buried beneath his skin. The warmth that had flooded his chest at the sight of it had hit him like a physical blow, it's talons sinking into his frozen heart and thawing the ice he had encased it with for centuries. The desire to see Aelin smile like that again was powerful enough he'd had to restrain himself from touching her every night since.
Aelin and him shared a burden that could only be eased by talking about it, a truth they'd been slowly exploring since her burnout. It had become normal, this game of questions between them. Sometimes, like right now, the questions were as harmless as the steady, unintrusive warmth of the boulder they were perched on. Other times, they burned and bit like the flames and ice the two of them wielded. Like the heat thawing the ice in his chest, Rowan still hadn't decided how he felt about it. Still, talking with Aelin felt... good. Sharing his past with someone, even if it was through these little shreds of information, felt good.
"There's a street vendor in Doranelle who sells meat on a stick."
Rowan regretted the words the moment they passed his lips and Aelin turned to look at him, her lips pressed together in a gods-awful attempt to hide her smirk. "Meat on a stick."
It wasn't a question.
"And I suppose yours is some confection or useless bit of sugar," he snapped.
Aelin leaned closer, the rings of gold in her eyes glowing like threads of flame. "Sweets aren't useless. And yes. I'd crawl over hot coals for a piece of chocolate hazelnut cake right now."
Aelin's voice remained even as she spoke, but Rowan didn't miss the shadows that darkened her gaze. Another memory from her past coming back to haunt her, dragging her down into the pit of emptiness and grief they were both so familiar with.
Rowan ignored it.If she wanted to tell him, she would. Until then, Rowan wouldn't push her. It had been their promise from the beginning. To give each other space to sort out their wasted, ruined selves. Even if some primal, male part of him wanted the exact opposite.
He chose to attack the second part of her answer instead. "What good could that possibly be for keeping your body strong? With your magic, you'd burn through it and be hungry again within half an hour."
Aelin propped herself up on an elbow, amusement driving back the shadows in her eyes as she turned to face him. Something in Rowan's chest eased at the sight, a tightness he hadn't noticed until it vanished. He ignored that too.
"Your priorities are obscenely out of order," she said, that wicked, glorious amusement once again dancing in her gaze. "Not all food is for survival and strength-building. You didn't even try one of the chocolates from that town. I guarantee the moment you do, every time I turn my back, you'll be shoveling them down."
Aelin was clamping her lips together to contain her howls even before she finished speaking, and Rowan was about to demand they start training just to shut her up when—
"Favorite color?"
"Green." The word was past his lips before Rowan even considered not answering her.
"I'm surprised you actually know," Aelin quipped, staring far too intently at the valley below in an attempt to avoid his glare.
Rowan glared at her anyway, but didn't voice the retort that sprung to his lips. Halting it, along with the urge to see how quickly that sass of hers would disappear if he started sending ice daggers her way. Not that it had done anything but infuriate her the first time.
"What's yours?" Another part of the deal they'd made. Information for information.
"For a while, I made myself believe it was blue. But— it's always been red. You probably know why."
Red for the flames she had once loved so fiercely, and then for the blood she'd allowed to stain her hands in their place. Rowan huffed a sound of grim understanding, but didn't say anything as Aelin laid back against the stone and raised a tan, scarred hand above her head. After a moment, a tendril of fire appeared between her fingers. A living ribbon of flame that slithered down her palm and curled itself around her wrist.
"Good. Your control is improving," he said, watching the flames flicker against Aelin's skin.
Aelin hummed her agreement, lifting her other hand as rings of fire encircled her fingers. She was silent as she began to carve patterns into the bands of flame.
The silence, the threat of the shadows returning to her gaze, had the words tumbling past Rowan's lips. "Try it on me."
Aelin turned to look at him, her fire jewelry flickering like a mirage in the afternoon sun. She frowned at the suggestion, but Rowan opened his mouth before she could protest.
"Do it," he said, not taking his eyes off hers. A request, not an order. Not with this.
Rowan didn't dare move as a crown of fire appeared on top of his head, it's flames licking the tips of his silver hair. No heat emanated from it, even though the flames were as real as the rock beneath them.
Aelin still didn't say anything, her attention entirely on the crown of flame she'd created. Rowan could see the fire flickering in her gaze as she began to create individual leaves out of the flames. A wreath of molten, jewel-toned fire.
Rowan chose his next words very carefully. "Bold move. One that doesn't have much space for error."
"I'm surprised you're not encasing your head with ice."
The comment was casual enough anyone else might have missed the flash of vulnerability in Aelin's gaze. A girl who had spent her entire life with people who had taught her to fear her power, to fear herself, until she had come to believe everyone else would too.
It was the look on her face, the vulnerability in her voice as she waited for him to show some sign of fear at having her flames so close to his head, that made Rowan say his next words.
"I trust you."
It was barely more than a murmur, but that didn't stop Aelin from tearing her gaze away from her flames to look at him. Her blank expression cracked, surprise and gratitude breaking through at his admission.
It was true, though. Rowan hadn't realized it until now, but he trusted her. Perhaps in more ways than he was ready to admit. The least important of them being control over her magic. Still, the least he could do was show her a small piece of that trust, the same one she'd given him by allowing her flames so close.
"And now one for you," he said, summoning a bite of cold to break through the afternoon heat on a roaring, snow-kissed wind and forming a crown of ice in the space between them. Emotion pooled in Aelin's gaze, but she was silent as Rowan lifted the crown and placed it on her head. Its delicate spikes sparkled in the sunlight, ice gleaming against her golden hair. A crown fit for a queen.
Aelin certainly looked like one, with the fire flickering in her gaze and her flame jewelry burning alongside the crown of ice he'd made for her.
Rowan opened his mouth, but Aelin smiled and anything he might have said flew right out of his head. It was the same smile she'd given him the night of her burnout, and it still made him damn near speechless. Then, it had been hindered by her sweat soaked skin and pain dimmed eyes but now... now there was nothing to hide the quiet joy on Aelin's face.
Rowan smiled back at her, a small, steady thing, but as soon as the happiness crossed Aelin's face it disappeared. Her smile fell, the fire in her eyes dimming. The flames decorating her hands flickered and vanished, followed by the crown of fire on his head. Aelin didn't look at him as she stood, stalking down to the edge of the boulder and wrapping her arms around herself.
Rowan dissolved the crown of ice on a breath of mist chilled wind. He hadn't meant it to be, but now realized how it only served as a reminder of the past she was trying so desperately to escape. A crown of ice for a queen without a throne. The shadows had returned to Aelin's gaze, her face carefully blank.
Still, Rowan didn't push. He was the last person with the right to demand someone face their past, and Aelin didn't need him repeating the thoughts already running through her head. She tortured herself enough without his help.
Rowan rose to his feet, sliding down the boulder to stand beside her. One look at the expression on her face told him this wasn't a time where talking about her pain and grief would help. So, he decided to choose a different route. One that would hopefully distract her, but was also the reason he'd been so eager to distract himself this morning with their game.
"We're going to have visitors tonight."
Aelin still didn't look at him. "Should I be concerned?"
"I— need your help."
There. At least he'd gotten that part of the conversation over with.
"Ah. So that's why you let me have an afternoon of peace."
Rowan snarled at the jab, the blatant lack of respect, but the sound died in his throat when Aelin turned to look at him. The shadows were still there, but they had faded into the background. And even without the crown... Aelin looked regal. With her Ashryver eyes and golden hair, she might as well have been a living flame.
Aelin raised an eyebrow at him. "Will I finally be meeting your mysterious friends?"
Rowan almost laughed at the question, but stopped when he thought of Aelin actually meeting his... cadre, as she liked to call them. He knew she was only bringing up the topic because he'd reacted so strongly the first time she'd mentioned them, but the thought of her meeting any of his brothers made Rowan's blood run cold. Even Fenrys, who seemed more inclined to make Aelin's blood run hot than anything else.
As soon as the thought entered his mind, Rowan buried it. Fenrys and Aelin were what he needed to be thinking about, now or ever. Especially if he wanted this conversation with Aelin to be a pleasant one.
"No," he said. "They're Fae nobility, passing through the area. They requested a place to stay for the night, and will arrive around sunset. Emrys is making them dinner, and I am expected to... entertain them."
Rowan met Aelin's gaze and when he just stared at her for a few moments, she caught on.
"Oh, no. No."
"They will not condescend to dine with the demi-Fae, and–"
"I'm even less acceptable than a demi-Fae!"
Rowan doubted any of the Fae would dare accuse Aelin of having diluted blood if they saw what a demi-Fae like her could do, but that wasn't the point.
"If I have to play host to them all evening, it will likely end in bloodshed."
Another truth, one Rowan hoped she would understand without him having to clarify why he wanted her help. Not to impress the Fae, but to keep him from splattering them all over the walls. Which was likely considering who was attending this evening.
Aelin blinked once. The only sign of surprise she'd show at the realization he was asking her for help. "Not favorites of yours?"
Not in the slightest, but Rowan still found himself avoiding the insinuation out of habit. It wasn't like Aelin would even recognize anyone he named, but the last thing he needed was it getting back to Maeve he was bad mouthing her little... visiting party.
"They're typical nobility. Not trained warriors. They expect to be treated a certain way," he said, fighting to get the words out past his gritted teeth.
"So? You're in Maeve's little cabal. And you're a prince to boot. Don't you outrank them?"
Technically, yes. Even if they won't act like it.
If there was one thing the Fae nobility and Aelin had in common, it was their complete disregard for Rowan's authority. The Fae only cared about his position when it could be used to their advantage. Aelin however... Rowan had a feeling Aelin would do anything short of facing the creature that had attacked her in the barrows before she treated him as her superior. It didn't bother him as much as it should have.
Rowan was careful to keep any emotion from entering his voice as he answered her. "Technically, but there are politics to consider. Especially when they'll be reporting to Maeve."
Aelin groaned. "So what— I'm supposed to play hostess?"
No. Yes. Gods, this was turning out to be a hell of a lot more confusing than Rowan had expected it to be. Asking Aelin to attend tonight's dinner, to help him deal with the Fae, had been a quick, selfish decision. Even with him as the meditator... this evening could easily become a disaster. Especially if Aelin exercised her delightful, raging temper on their visitors. And as for who they'd be entertaining...
Rowan would think about that particular problem later. How he was going to deal with his former lover, what to tell Aelin about her. Oh, gods. He hadn't even considered how Aelin would react to that particular part of his past.
Aelin was still staring at him, waiting for a response. Rowan sighed. "No," he told her. "Just— help me deal with them."
Aelin didn't give any indication she understood what the request meant, the small shred of trust it represented, but there were no shadows in her gaze when she asked, "And what am I going to get out of it?"
Rowan was tempted to tell her he wouldn't kick her ass but if tonight went well, if having Aelin there lowered the risk of staring a brawl that would get back to Maeve... "I'll find you a chocolate hazelnut cake."
"No." Rowan turned to look at her, eyebrows raised, and almost winced at the wicked expression on her face. "You'll just owe me. A favor that I can call in whenever I please."
It was a bad idea where Aelin was concerned, but Rowan couldn't bring himself to argue with her. Not when she was smiling like that, amused and mischievous and all sorts of wicked. Not when the shadows had finally vanished from her gaze.
Rowan sighed. Tonight was going to kill him, one way or the other. "Just look presentable at sundown."
Standing outside the fortress that evening with Aelin as they waited for the arrival of the Fae, Rowan had come to the conclusion that this entire situation was a mistake. A foolish, selfish mistake that would likely end in bloodshed.
The sun had already disappeared behind Wendlyn's rolling green hills, bathing Mistward in shades of violet and sapphire. Illuminated by the warm, golden light of the torches, the small courtyard was empty except for him, Aelin, and the guards on watch. As if the demi-Fae had heard who would be arriving tonight and had made the wise decision to stay as far away as possible. A decision Rowan regretted not making himself, not that he'd ever had a choice in the matter. The news of the Fae's arrival at Mistward and his role in entertaining them for the evening had come directly from Maeve. His personal feeling on the matter were irrelevant.
The sounds of jingling bells and chattering voices drifted towards them through the trees and Aelin turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Really? You need my help with these prancing idiots?"
Rowan glared at her, internally wincing at the volume of her voice. In the lights of the fortress, Aelin's plaited hair shone like coils of golden rope, her turquoise eyes glowing like jewels against her tan skin. "Keep your voice down," he murmured, shooting a pointed look at her ears.
Aelin rolled her eyes, but miraculously kept her mouth shut as the party made their way past the wards and into the courtyard. Rowan tensed as they approached, every muscle in his body going taut at the sight of the Fae and the Asterion mares they rode, their coats gleaming in the torchlight. Five of them, including the two solemn guards who fixed their attention solely on him as the party dismounted. Rowan ignored their stares, especially as he caught a glimpse of pale blond hair followed by a light, feminine laugh.
"Rowan!" Sliding off her white mare with immortal grace, Remelle was across the courtyard and standing in front of him before he could blink. She held out her hands, a smile gracing her delicate, perfectly arranged features when Rowan reached out and took them in his own. The pleasantly surprised tone, the delight in her cerulean blue eyes, were both clever tricks designed to make those around them believe she was genuinely shocked to see him. Unlikely, considering she'd been the one to engineer this meeting between them.
"Lady Remelle," he said, fighting the urge to flinch as she tightened her grip on his hands. Despite the rosy tint to her cheeks, Remelle's skin was ice cold.
In the centuries Rowan had known her, Remelle had never been warm. She never changed either, always eager to remind those around her of the obvious, undeniable beauty and grace she possessed. If there was one thing Remelle valued, it was her standing in society and as far as she was concerned, anyone who didn't help her keep or raise it was nothing but dirt beneath her expensive shoes.
As a member of Maeve's inner circle, Rowan knew Remelle saw him as a way to climb in Doranelle's hierarchy. Rowan had known it a century ago, when he'd first taken her to bed. He hadn't cared then. Remelle's iciness hadn't deterred him, or the fact that she viewed him as little more than a stepping stone on her way into Maeve's good graces. A prize to be tamed and used to her advantage.
Her allure had worn off quickly enough, and Remelle had become a nuisance rather than a convenient distraction. Rowan had ended things, and made it quite clear he wasn't remotely interested in round two. Not that it had done anything to deter Remelle. If anything, it had made her more determined to... acquire him. A curse of their shared immortality, to always want the things you can't have.
That desire was blatantly obvious as Remelle's gaze raked over him, hunger pooling behind the mask of superiority she always wore. She eyed their joined hands as if she expected Rowan to place a kiss there, the delight in her eyes faltering when he released them and turned to greet her companions without another word.
"Lord Benson," Rowan said, ignoring the irritation rippling off Remelle at his quick dismissal. The male stalked forward, nodding as he took his place at Remelle's side. Out of the corner of his eye, Rowan saw him give Aelin a quick, dismissive glance but didn't dare look at her, not when Remelle was still eyeing him like a piece of fresh meat.
It was a relief to see the small, dark-haired female slinking towards them across the courtyard. Essar's brown skin would have glowed even without the light of the torches, and there was nothing but kindness and warmth in her gaze as she reached out to grasp Rowan's hands. It was the same greeting Remelle had used, but lacked her inherent coldness, and the smile he gave Essar was genuine.
Remelle allowed her ire at the gesture to show for only a moment before she hid it behind a simpering smile. Rowan went utterly still as she reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, her long nails digging into the sleeve of his jacket. Every part of him narrowed in on the touch, the pure arrogance and ownership it contained. Remelle's hand didn't leave his shoulder as she said, "It's been an age, hasn't it? You never come to our parties, and Maeve keeps you all to herself."
It took every ounce of self control Rowan had gathered over the centuries to resist growling at her, the urge to tear Remelle's hand off of his arm and roar at her a tangible thing. The roaring in his ears quieted into lethal calm as she purred, "There was a time when I got to keep you to myself. Sometimes I miss those days."
The feeling wasn't mutual. No, Rowan didn't miss Remelle. Not the way she wielded pretty, poisonous words like weapons or how she spoke about him as if he was an object. He certainly hadn't missed her cold, proprietary touches. If there was one truth he'd realized over the past century it was that Remelle had been a giant mistake. Just like this evening.
Remelle removed her hand from Rowan's shoulder, but continued to stare at him. As if she was waiting to see how far she could go before his control snapped. Rowan ignored her attention, turning to the two guards and instructing them on where to find the stables. The best way to get underneath Remelle's skin was to ignore her, a strategy he now planned on using to get through this evening. Rowan had thought having Aelin with him might be enough to make him rein in his instincts, but the princess hadn't spoken once throughout the whole ordeal. She just stood a few feet behind him, monitoring the air between him and Remelle with quiet attention.
Later. He'd deal with whatever she thought of it later, when they were alone and away from his former lovers watchful gaze. As for right now...
Rowan extended an arm in Aelin's direction, but she remained where she was. Hesitating, as if she was rethinking her decision to help him. It lasted for only a moment before she was moving towards him, but it was obvious something was bothering her.
Later. They'd deal with it later.
Rowan felt himself relax as Aelin walked towards him, stopping so close to him that he could have reached out and tucked her against his side if he dared. He momentarily considered doing it, just to see how Remelle would react.
Instead, Rowan forced the current of rage rippling behind his walls of ice to still. Provoking Remelle before dinner even began, especially using Aelin to do it, was a bad idea. One he'd regret later, even if
the expression on Remelle's face would make this entire evening more bearable.
"This is— Elentiya," he said, biting his tongue to stop himself from introducing Aelin with her real name. Even Remelle, who treated the demi-Fae like they were scum beneath her feet, would know the name Aelin Galathynius. He hadn't asked Aelin how she would prefer to be introduced, but the gratitude that flashed across her face told him he'd made the right call. "I'm training her at the queen's request," he continued. "Elentiya, this is Lady Remelle, Lord Benson, and Lady Essar."
Rowan forced himself to carry on with their house names and other courtly bullshit, but Aelin just offered the three Fae a shallow nod in greeting. One that made Remelle and Benson bristle, the former seeming inclined to ignore the princess all together. Only Essar bothered to say hello.
"So you are a half-breed then."
It was a struggle to rein in his growl at Benson's words, his tone. Rowan had noticed it before, the disgusting way the Fae referred to the demi-Fae. It hadn't bothered him then, but it should have. And the way the lord was looking at Aelin, his quick dismissal of her as anything more than a beautiful female—
It was only the hidden fire in Aelin's gaze as she turned to look at Benson that kept Rowan's grip on his self control from slipping. Aelin wasn't helpless. One wrong look from the lord, and she would use her half-breed magic to burn him to ash.
No flames appeared, but Aelin's smile was tight as she said, "My great-grandmother was Fae. So if that makes me a demi-Fae, I don't know."
Rowan didn't miss the look of exasperation Remelle sent his way, and neither did Aelin. Really, Rowan? You brought a half-breed to meet us? How common of you.
He didn't even spare her a glance, not as Aelin shifted closer to his side. As if she might brush her arm against his. She didn't, but the movement didn't go unnoticed by Remelle. Her eyes narrowed in disdain as she studied the princess, and Rowan contemplated telling Aelin to demonstrate her new control over her magic then and there.
Thankfully, Essar chose that moment to intervene. "Well, I look forward to hearing about your adventures, Rowan— and how you came to be here, Elentiya. But first, I think I should very much like a bath and something to nibble on."
She shot an apologetic look in Aelin's direction. "I'd kill for anything chocolate right now."
Half an hour later, Aelin and Rowan were back in his room inside the fortress. They'd left the Fae at the baths after showing them the rooms they'd be occupying during their stay, rooms the demi-Fae had been more than happy to vacate if it meant staying out of the visitors way. The second they'd returned, Rowan had started sharpening his knives in a futile attempt to curb the anger simmering beneath his skin, while Aelin had just thrown herself onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh of exhaustion. She was still lying there thirty minutes later, her head propped up on a hand, when she said, "So, you and Remelle."
Rowan had been waiting for her to broach the subject, had been bracing himself for this conversation ever since he'd learned Remelle was coming to Mistward, but it didn't stop the snarl from escaping him at the sound of her name on Aelin's lips. A mistake. This entire evening was a mistake, just like Remelle.
"Remelle was... a very, very big mistake," he said, choosing to ignore the gleam in Aelin's eyes.
"Seems like she doesn't think so."
Rowan glared at her over his shoulder. "It was a hundred years ago."
"She acts like you cast her aside this winter," Aelin said, turquoise eyes dancing with amusement.
Rowan ignored that too. This was one topic where Aelin had the upper footing, and he really didn't want to get into it with her. Not now, not ever. "Remelle just wants whatever she can't have. A condition many immortals suffer from to stave off boredom," Rowan said, turning back to the hunting knife he'd been sharpening.
"She was practically clawing at you," Aelin said, eyebrows raised.
"She can claw all she wants, but I'm not making that mistake again."
"Sounds like you made that mistake a few times," Aelin quipped, every word dripping with wicked amusement. She was baiting him, and Rowan was falling right into the trap.
He sent another vicious glare in her direction. "It was over the course of a season, and then I came to my senses."
Aelin let loose a low, drawn-out sound of understanding and Rowan's control snapped. Stabbing the knife he'd been sharpening into his worktable, he sprang to his feet and stalked across the room. He paused at the edge of the bed, leaning over Aelin where she lay sprawled across the sheets. She didn't balk at their sudden proximity, or at the anger rippling off Rowan in waves, even though he was close enough to see the flecks of gold in her turquoise eyes. Lazy, relaxed flames flickered in her gaze, illuminating the amused satisfaction lining her beautiful features. This close, Rowan could smell her— jasmine and crackling embers. The roaring in his head quieted at the scent, but it wasn't enough to erase the image of the disdain and disgust in Remelle's eyes when she'd looked at the princess from Rowan's memory.
"One laugh," Rowan growled, his eyes not leaving Aelin's face. "Just one laugh, and I'm going to dump you in the nearest pond."
Aelin was shaking with the effort to hold in her laughter, joy and amusement shining in her gaze. If not for the rage boiling beneath his skin, Rowan would have been at a loss for words at the sight.
"Don't. You. Dare," he snarled, leaning down until they were close enough to share breath. "If you—"
The door opened, and any amusement or irritation Rowan might have felt was replaced with lethal rage. He went utterly still, a low snarl escaping him at the unknown threat. Whoever had decided it was okay to burst into his rooms without knocking was about to be—
"Oh!" Remelle stood in the doorway, eyes wide in an expression of actual shock this time.
Rowan didn't have to imagine what it looked like. Aelin sprawled so casually on the bed with him leaning over her, too close to be innocent. Remelle was likely already forming theories, deciding how best to use this to her advantage.
And he didn't give a damn.
"What do you want?" The words were barely more than a snarl, and Rowan didn't bother to move away from Aelin as he said them.
Remelle didn't say anything for a moment, her eyes roving over the room that was unmistakably theirs. Noting the little signs of Aelin's presence that graced it: the brush on the dresser, the ribbons she used to tie back her hair, her small boots beside Rowan's at the doorway, the clothes they'd both left strewn throughout the room in their hurry to get dressed earlier. Remelle's gaze caught on the undergarments Aelin had left thrown over a chair and Rowan was honestly surprised she didn't combust on the spot.
"I wanted to catch up," she said, ignoring Aelin's presence entirely. "But it seems you are... occupied."
"We'll talk at dinner," Rowan said, every syllable cold and clipped. She had no right to barge in here, to expect him to want to speak with her. Especially with Aelin—
Aelin, who was already sliding out from under him and making her way towards the door. "I have to go help Emrys with the meal, actually."
No attempt, none at all, to hide the wicked gleam in her eyes as she said, "Why don't you stay, Remelle?"
The glare Rowan gave her would have ended the lives of most men where they stood, but Aelin didn't give him a chance to protest before she was out the door and down the hall. Leaving Rowan to deal with Remelle. Alone.
Rowan had survived five centuries of war and pain and grief. He'd traveled to kingdoms and empires long forgotten, had killed and maimed and tortured until it became as easy as breathing. He'd fought in countless wars, had walked on and off killing fields without a scratch.
And this dinner, this gods-damn evening, was going to be the thing that killed him.
It had started off well enough. Rowan had arrived at the dining hall and sat at the head of the table, waiting for Remelle to take her seat on his right and Aelin on his left as they'd planned. Remelle, however, with impressive efficiency, had steered Benson into the seat meant for Aelin and placed herself at Rowan's other side. Leaving Aelin to choose between the viper-like female or the leering male as her seating partner.
She chose Benson.
Rowan held his tongue throughout the entire ordeal, even as Remelle moved her chair imperceptibly closer to his and her scent reached him: some stuffy, floral perfume she'd likely donned back in her rooms. It was an effort to contain his growl when Aelin took her seat at Benson's side, the male not even trying to pretend he wasn't staring at her. Rowan cut a lethal glare in Benson's direction, relishing how the lord stiffened. If Aelin noticed, she didn't let on.
No, Aelin didn't even look at him as she raised her glass of blood red wine to her lips and took a long sip.
It was the sight of Aelin— the lithe, muscled form she moved with her newfound Fae grace as she sat at Benson's side, the way her golden locks gleamed in the candlelight, that forced Rowan's earlier conversation with Remelle to the front of his mind.
Rowan was going to kill her.
As soon as they resumed training, he was going to murder her. Twice maybe, just for the look she'd given him before shutting the door to his rooms and leaving him alone with his former lover. Oh, she knew what she was doing, and Rowan was going to make her pay for it later.
Now, however, was an entirely different story.
Remelle was still standing in the doorway, frowning at the place Aelin had been. Then, she turned to face him, her red lips curving upwards into a wicked smile that sent Rowan's blood boiling. "Is this considered part of her training, too?"
It took five centuries worth of restraint for Rowan to resist throwing her out the door without another word.
"Get out".
Remelle clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. "Is that how you speak to me these days?"
"I don't know why you bothered to stop here, or what you expect of me—"
"I heard you were here, and thought I'd say hello and spare you the company of half-breeds. I didn't realize you'd taken to them so much."
Half-breed. A primal part of Rowan went utterly still at the pure dismissal that accompanied the term, the disdain and disgust. The urge to kick Remelle out then and there, to let her leave Mistward believing whatever she thought she'd interrupted when she'd burst in here was so strong it took Rowan a moment to bury it. Remelle thinking he and Aelin were... together was one thing. Maeve thinking it was another. He didn't want to consider what she would say, what she would do. Which was why he needed to figure out what role she played in Remelle's visit.
"And who was it that told you I'm here?"
"Maeve, of course. I complained to her that I missed you."
It didn't surprise him, not for a moment. The question was how aware Remelle was of her position as Maeve's spy.
"As your friend, Rowan, I have to say... the girl's rather beneath you."
Well, that answered one question. Maeve hadn't told Remelle who Rowan was training. Her ignorance would have been amusing, if not for the lady's arrogance in saying it. Her position as his friend even more so.
"One," Rowan growled, "you're not my friend. Two, it's none of your business."
Perhaps letting Remelle leave with her assumptions wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
Rowan might have gone through with it, if not for the ire that sparked in Remelle's gaze. It guaranteed she would spend the rest of the evening making life hell for the princess, without having any idea what manner of predator she was provoking.
Aelin starting a brawl with Remelle would be more satisfying than Rowan cared to admit, but any bloodshed that occurred this evening, verbal or physical, would get back to Maeve.
So Rowan forced himself to say, "There is a shortage of bedrooms here, and we've had to share quarters as a result."
It was partially true, though it did nothing to explain what Remelle had walked in on. Once again, Rowan couldn't bring himself to care. Remelle could tell Maeve whatever the hell she wanted about his relationship with Aelin, as long as it kept the princess from splattering the lady's blood on the walls.
"Well, I suppose that's good news for Benson."
"What." The roaring in Rowan's head vanished, fading to a dull murmur in his ears.
"He has needs that must be attended to, and finds her attractive enough. Maeve said it would be more than fine if she—"
Wrath. Pure, lethal wrath was all Rowan felt as the words hit him, the insinuation behind them settling underneath his skin like a layer of grime. Maeve. Maeve had suggested that Aelin was available for—
"If Benson lays a finger on her, he's going to find himself without his insides."
Rowan meant every word, hoped Benson would try something, just to see the look on the lords face when he plunged his knife into the males stomach.
His rage stumbled as Remelle cocked her head and said, "Honestly, Rowan, what do you think most of the half-breeds wind up doing in Doranelle?"
Any response he might have prepared died in the wake of her words. He'd known the role demi-Fae played in Doranelle's society, had perhaps guessed at how far it went it on some subconscious level but...
Remelle shrugged, either oblivious or choosing to ignore the rage lining every part of Rowan's body. "Benson will be gentle with—"
"Benson looks twice at her, and he dies. He looks twice at any female in this fortress and he dies."
The words, the claim he'd laid down without thinking, were barely more than a growl, but Remelle understood.
Still, her smile was a satisfied, vile thing as she purred, "I'll make sure the warning is conveyed."
The memory had Rowan's rage roaring back to life, and he was still fighting to control as Emrys served the first course. It smelled delicious, a roast chicken soup the cook had prepared, but Rowan barely tasted it. Not as Remelle wrinkled her nose at her plate and turned to Aelin.
"So, you're from Adarlan's empire."
The words were clipped, short. Likely as close to an open dismissal as Remelle dared.
Rowan's entire body tensed as Aelin took a slow, drawn out sip of her soup. "I am."
"I thought I detected the accent— Adarlan and... Terrasen, am I right? They do mangle their words over there so brutally. I doubt even years here will cure you of the boorish accent."
Rowan might not have been breathing as Aelin took another too slow spoonful of her soup. If Remelle thought she could win whatever fight she was provoking with the princess, she was mistaken. The only question was how long Aelin would be able to control herself before she retaliated. And what Rowan would do if it came to that.
Rowan could have thanked the gods for Essar when the female spoke, intervening before he could and make the situation irrefutably worse. "I find the accent quite charming, actually," she said, shooting a glare in Remelle's direction.
The dig the lady made at Essar's upbringing in retaliation was lost on Rowan, fading into the background as Benson hummed his agreement with Essar and gave Aelin a long, hungry look. Rowan didn't dare move a muscle, didn't speak, as he fought to smother the rage tearing into him like shards of ice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aelin shift uncomfortably under the lords greedy gaze. The fury that flickered in her eyes told Rowan precisely what the princess would do to the lord if he so much as touched her, but—
"Honestly, Rowan, what do you think most of the half-breeds wind up doing in Doranelle?"
"Benson will be gentle with—"
"Maeve said it would be more than fine if she—"
"The beastly cook boiled this soup!"
Remelle's word's jerked Rowan's attention away from Benson, but did nothing to cool the rage that roiled in his gut at the insult. That was it. Damn the consequences, Rowan wanted her out. Now. He'd rather face Maeve's wrath than listen to one more second of Remelle's—
A voice, lovely and warm, shattered the rage clouding Rowan's senses. "You grew up in the countryside?"
Aelin was addressing Essar, but her words still served as an anchor in the sea of unending wrath he'd plunged into. Rowan's rage stumbled at the sound of her voice, it's tone firm and placating. He hadn't realized how tense he was, that every cord and muscle had been ready to move at the smallest inkling of provocation. Rowan forced himself to relax, even breathing becoming easier as he focused on Essar's response to Aelin's diffusing question.
The princess didn't look at him as she listened to Essar, but Rowan knew she'd sensed the rage ripping holes in his control and intervened before he'd lost it entirely. That's what he'd asked her to do, wasn't it? To keep him from starting a brawl that would get back to Maeve?
Remelle began speaking, snapping some snotty, vicious comment about Essar's inability to find a husband Rowan immediately dismissed but—
"Husband?" Aelin asked. "Not— mate?"
An ancient, broken part of Rowan recoiled at the word, the memories of his failure it held. He felt Aelin's attention on him, as if she could sense the effort it was taking him to resist plunging into the abyss her question had opened up inside of him. Where a woman's voice beckoned, her screams tearing into his soul.
Remelle's voice brought him back to the brightly lit, tension filled dining hall, the sound of it grating against his ears in the wake of Lyria's screams. "Of course not," she said, each syllable lifted in superiority. "A mate is rare— most Fae don't find them. So, we marry."
"What if you marry, then you find your mate?"
Rowan sometimes forgot how little Aelin knew about their world. He grappled for an explanation, but the words caught in his throat.
Benson beat him to it, and Rowan leashed his wrath at the sight of the hunger in the lords eyes as he studied Aelin. "Wars have been started for that. But if that is the case, it is treated very delicately."
If delicately was the right term to describe Fae males tearing each other to bits.
Essar seemed inclined to agree. "It's a mess, is what he means," she said, the only one of the three Fae whose tone didn't imply she thought less of Aelin for not knowing the information. "A male will feel the need to kill any challenger to his mate, even if that challenger is already wed to her. Even if they're in love. For all our refinements, there are still instincts that can't be controlled."
Aelin nodded, scraping the bowl of her soup in the silence.
But Remelle wasn't done, her red lips forming a vicious smile that had Rowan bracing himself for whatever poisonous words she was about to hurl Aelin's way. "But as a half-breed, you won't have to worry about such things. Finding a mate is even rarer for those with diluted blood— and none of us would marry you, anyway."
A snarl tore from Rowan's chest, low and vicious, the table trembling with the force of it. The rage he'd fought to control all evening hardened into something raw and lethal at Remelle's words.
The rage rolling off of him and the sudden tension between Remelle and Aelin sucked the air from the room. The lady's expression hadn't changed, comfortable in her position of superiority and entirely unaware of the predator she was provoking. As for Aelin...
The princess had gone utterly still, staring at Remelle as if she was contemplating what form of fire she'd use to burn her to ash.
Remelle remained oblivious to the flames that crackled to life in Aelin's eyes. So did Benson.
Essar was the only one with enough sense to catch on. Perhaps it was because of the similar gifts she possessed, or just that her ego wasn't interfering with her ability to read the fire in Aelin's gaze. She murmured Remelle's name in warning.
Remelle didn't listen. Instead, she turned to face Rowan and said in the Old Langauge, the serpentine smile not leaving her lips, You wouldn't, would you?
Rowan stopped breathing, wrath creeping up his throat like hoarfrost. Remelle knew, the bitch knew Aelin couldn't understand what she was saying. Even without the insinuation behind her words, it was enough to make Rowan see red.
When Rowan didn't respond, Remelle turned to Benson and crooned, I already know your thoughts on the matter. Does she match Maeve's description?
Rowan couldn't hear past the roaring in his ears. It blocked out whatever Benson said in response to Remelle's wicked, vile question. Good. He was sure anything that came out of the lord's mouth would have him following through on his promise to Remelle to tear out the male's insides.
When Rowan finally found the ability to speak, his words were barely more than a snarl. "Speak the common tongue, Remelle."
Remelle put a hand on her chest in a mockery of an apology. "Sometimes I forget— it's not everyday I'm in the company of half-breeds."
His anger now a dull roar in his head, Rowan focused on anything else but Remelle as Emrys and Luca brought out the next course. The only other person who seemed as on edge as him was Essar, who had gone pale as she surveyed the two women seated beside her. She, at least, whether through common sense or her own gifts, now understood the kind of fight Remelle was provoking.
It wouldn't have mattered what Rowan said to her regarding his relationship with Aelin. The moment Remelle had entered his room and seen him leaning over the princess, this evening was doomed. Not that it ever had a chance of going pleasantly.
In a futile attempt to salvage the dinner, Rowan served himself from the platters of roasted meats and vegetables Emrys had prepared. Delicious— as always. Aelin seemed to agree, turning to where the cook lingered by the stairs and nodding her head in enthusiasm. Emrys blushed, grinning, and Rowan opened his mouth to offer his agreement when—
"Rowan, it must be a trial for you to have to eat this day in and day out."
Remelle's word's regarding the food felt sharper than her remarks about Aelin's bloodline, if only because Rowan saw Emrys face fall as he heard them.
"I eat better here than I do in Doranelle," he said, fighting to contain his growl.
"There's no need to be nice on account of the help," Remelle said, throwing her napkin on top of her plate of untouched food. "If they don't learn what we like, whatever will they do in the capital?"
Honestly, Rowan, what do you think most of the half-breeds wind up doing in Doranelle?
Remelle's word's found their mark. Behind him, Rowan heard Emrys slip back downstairs into the safety of the kitchens to escape the female's barbed insults. He opened his mouth to snap a reply, but Aelin beat him to it. Her control, apparently, had finally run out.
"The next time you insult my friend, I'm going to shove your face into whatever plate is in front of you."
Her voice was quiet in a way that promised violence. Remelle blinked once, shock and fury rising in her gaze. "Well, I never-"
Aelin's eyes were already sparking with golden flame. Essar hissed Remelle's name in warning.
The lady didn't listen. Like a viper striking its prey, her hand darted out and latched onto Rowan's forearm. The touch burned, her possessive grip like a brand of ice against his skin.
"You mean to let her insult me like that?" Remelle hissed, eyes sparking with outrage. "To make threats against a member of the royal household?"
"Get your hand off me," Rowan said with the same lethal quiet Aelin had used moments before. Remelle hadn't heeded it then, she would now. Unless she wanted to find herself without a hand to grab people, with or without their permission.
Still, Remelle's hand remained on his arm as she turned to Aelin and said, "You are dismissed from this table. Get out."
If Rowan hadn't been so focused on not snapping the ladies bones, he might have told her those were the exact words he'd been waiting to say to her all evening.
Aelin didn't even seem to hear the order. Her eyes, now orbs of living flame, were locked on the pale hand gripping Rowan's arm.
"Take your hand off him."
The raw command in her voice, the pure rage and fury it contained, was lost on Remelle. Along with the fire now burning in Aelin's gaze.
"I can do as I please, and if you have any sense, you'll vacate this hall before I have you whipped for your—"
The word's were the end of both Rowan and Aelin's patience.
Fire erupted in the dining hall, and Remelle's scream echoed off the stones as Aelin's flames encased her. A conflagration of red and gold that wrapped around Remelle's pale form, all the way to the hand still gripping Rowan's arm. Not burning, but an impressive enough sight that all the color drained from Remelle's face as she turned to Essar and growled, "Release me."
It was a testament to Remelle's arrogance that she hadn't figured it out yet. Or maybe her stupidity, considering Aelin was literally spitting flames across from her.
"It's not my magic," Essar said, eyes flicking in Aelins direction.
Every part of Rowan stilled as Aelin summoned a lick of heat to enter her flames. It barely reached him through the sleeve of his jacket, and even then it was only a pleasant warmth, but Remelle began sweating. The lady turned, eyes wide as she realized her mistake.
Another rush of heat flooded the layers of fire Aelin had wrapped Remelle in, and the female finally removed her hand from Rowan's arm.
Aelin's eyes didn't stop burning, the pure rage in them world ending. When she spoke, there was no mistaking her words as anything other than a command. "If you ever raise a whip to anyone, I will find you, and I will make sure that these flames burn."
Remelle, gods damn her, didn't take the hint. "How dare you threaten a lady of Doranelle," she hissed, the amount of fury in her voice almost impressive considering the flames still encasing her.
Aelin's answering laugh wasn't one of amusement. When she spoke, her eyes burned molten gold. "The next time you touch Rowan without his permission, I will burn you into ashes."
Not a threat, but a promise. The words burned hotter than her flames, the claim she'd laid down striking Rowan like a physical blow.
Aelin might as well have been the queen she dreaded becoming as she turned to Benson and said, "And if you look at me or any female like that again, I will melt your bones before you have a chance to scream."
Benson was smarter than Remelle, the lord only daring a nod before averting his gaze.
Rowan didn't blame Essar for going pale when Aelin turned to her and snarled. "You keep everything you learned here to yourself."
The female nodded, and Aelin at last turned to face Rowan. Her flames kept burning, even as she cocked her head and said, "I defer judgement to you, Prince."
It was a struggle to contain his smirk, to conceal his wicked amusement and satisfaction at the sight of the three speechless Fae. Essar's golden skin had still not regained its color, Benson seemed inclined to tear his own eyes from his skull before looking at Aelin, and Remelle...
Remelle had finally gone quiet, was barely breathing in her cage of flame. Oh, this was better than Rowan could have hoped for. It didn't make up for the disgusting, vile things she'd said, but he would never forget the expression on her face when Aelin's flames had encircled her. It almost made this disaster of an evening worth it.
Rowan considered Aelin's words for a moment, weighing the barbed insults Remelle had spoken against his desire to finish this dinner as quickly as possible. Finally, he said, "Release her and let's eat."
The princesses cage of fire disappeared the moment he gave the order.
In the absence of Aelin's flames, the loss of their heat, silence fell. No one daring to speak, to move, in case it shattered the fragile peace Rowan had ordered into existence.
Silence, until Remelle leaned over the arm of her chair and vomited on the floor.
The sounds of Remelle's retching filled the smoke tinged air, Essar and Benson making no move to comfort her where they sat pale-faced and silent.
Across the table, Aelin met his gaze and grinned. A wild, wicked thing, the flames once again trapped within her turquoise eyes flickering with glee. The smile didn't leave her face as she lifted her fork and took a bite of her food.
Rowan grinned right back.
"If I never see them again, it'll be too soon."
Aelin's voice settled into the quiet like a layer of crackling embers, her breath brushing Rowan's face in a puff of warm air. An hour after turning his former lover into a living torch, the princess was still speaking and breathing in shades of fire.
The two of them had collapsed into bed the moment they'd returned to Rowan's rooms, and now laid beside each other in the quiet, still darkness. This close, Rowan could see the individual flecks of of gold in her turquoise eyes.
He let out a low laugh, fighting to conceal his grin at the irritation in Aelin's voice as he said, "I thought you liked Essar."
Aelin had told him she'd spoken with the female in the kitchens before the meal and her... fiery explosion, and that it hadn't been an entirely unpleasant conversation. Rowan had preceded to ask her if she regretted scaring Essar into silence, which had only earned him a wicked grin from the princess. Still, out of the three Fae, Essar was the only one Aelin had managed to mention without spitting flames out of her eyes. Rowan hadn't asked if it was the females personality, or because she'd told Aelin about her similar affinity for fire.
Aelin sighed, reaching up to run a hand through her unbound hair. It glowed softly in the moonlight, sun kissed gold turned liquid silver. "I do," she said, scowling. "But you should have heard her trying to get me to talk in the kitchen."
"About what?"
"About you. About our— relationship. I think you'll go home to a host of unpleasant rumors," Aelin said, tracing an invisible line along the palm of her hand. Over the twin scars she'd carved there, the promises they represented.
Essar wasn't one to gossip, but Rowan had a feeling news of their... relationship would spread anyway. Likely from a red lipped, serpentine mouth who's owner was currently seething with revenge somewhere in the fortress. Still, he said, "I think the status of our relationship will be the least of the rumors after tonight."
After Aelin had engulfed a lady of Doranelle in flames without so much as blinking.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rowan saw Aelin hesitate, her bottom lip turning white under the pressure of her pointed canines. "Essar said that you— you and Lorcan once decimated a city together."
Sollemere. The word clanged through Rowan like a death knell. How the hell had that even come up in their conversation?
He hissed out the name on a breath of air, biting back the curses that tried to follow.
"I've never heard of it," Aelin said, a small frown forming at the corners of her mouth.
"That's because it doesn't exist anyone," Rowan said, shoving back the memories that threatened to rush to the surface of a place so vile and wicked even Maeve had found its rulers and people disgusting, and then asked him and Lorcan to eradicate them from existence.
At the tone of his voice, Aelin turned to face him. The moonlight filtering in through the open window illuminated her face, glinting off the stray lock of hair that fell across her cheek. Rowan felt a strange desire to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.
"You wiped it off the map— literally?"
Rowan pinned Aelin with a long stare, debating how much he should tell her— how much he dared to. He'd told her bits and pieces of his past before, but Sollemere was... different. He knew she could handle it, even if he chose to describe the horrors he'd witnessed but... could he? Could he handle it if she decided his past, the things he'd done, were too much to handle?
Finally, Rowan said, "Sollemere was a place so wicked, full of monstrous people who did such unspeakable things even Maeve was disgusted by them. She gave them a warning to stop their ways, and said if they..." he trailed off, clenching his jaw to halt the growl that tried to escape at the thought of the atrocities he'd witnessed before he and Lorcan had turned the city to ash and dust. "There are some acts that are unforgivable— and I won't stain this room by mentioning them. But she swore to them that if they continued to do it, she would obliterate them."
"Let me guess: they didn't listen."
Rowan loosed a breath of air. "No. We got out as many children as we could with our legion. And when they were safely away, Lorcan and I leveled it to dust."
The decimation of Sollemere was only a fraction of five centuries of death and bloodshed, and had been effectively blurred by the days Lorcan and him had spent gorging themselves on women and booze afterward. Still, Rowan would never forget the looks on those children's faces as they'd been led from the city. Haunted and empty, an echo of his own soul in every pain dulled gaze.
"You're that powerful," Aelin said, breaking his train of thought. It wasn't a question, not really, and there was nothing but quiet curiosity in her voice, but Rowan felt the implication her words held.
He risked a look at Aelin, but didn't find any judgment or fear in her gaze. Strange— it was still so strange to trust someone this much, to be able to share these parts of his past.
"You don't seem shocked by it," Rowan said, careful to keep any emotion from creeping into his voice. Still, Aelin seemed to understand the unvoiced question.
"You've told me plenty of harrowing stories," she said. "If what these people did was so awful that even you won't repeat it, then I'll say they had it coming."
Rowan ignored the ache the words caused, the easy acceptance of the violence and brutality he'd described to her. "So bloodthirsty," he murmured, eyes flicking from Aelin's mouth to her unflinching turquoise gaze.
"Is that a problem for you?" The words held enough bite they could be seen as a simple jab to his teasing, but he knew it was more than that. A genuine question, the same one he'd asked moments ago.
"I find it endearing," he said, grinning as Aelin reached over and gave his shoulder a light shove. He caught her hand before she could pull it all the way back. Her skin was warm against his fingers, decorated with scars and matching calluses.
"You could do that, you know," Rowan murmured, tracing a pattern into the back of her hand. Aelin shivered beneath his touch. "Make an entire city burn."
Aelin tensed, shadowing gathering in her eyes. "I hope I never have to."
She could do it if she wanted to, could encase people and buildings and temples as easily as she had trapped Remelle tonight in her makeshift cage of fire. All it would take was a bit more control, a bit more confidence in her magic. It would certainly be a sight, maybe even more so than seeing her set Remelle on Fire. Still, Rowan shared her hope that she would never have to use that particular skill. No matter how wicked Sollemere's inhabitants had been, an act like that left an stain on your soul that couldn't be erased.
"So do I," he said, lifting their intertwined hands to study the scars littering Aelin's flesh like bones on a battlefield. "But I'll never forget the look on Remelle's face when you shot fire out of your mouth and eyes."
"I did not," she hissed, eyes sparking with indignation.
"Part woman, part dragon," he said with a grin.
"I didn't spew flames."
Rowan laughed, a low, rumbling sound that settled deep in his chest. "Your eyes were living gold."
Those eyes narrowed, molten metal hardening into raw steel. "Are you going to reprimand me?"
Rowan brought their joined hands back down to rest on the bed between them, but didn't let go. "Why should I? She was given fair warning, she ignored it, and you followed through. It follows the Old Ways, and you had every right to show her how serious you were."
Serious about the blatant disregard and disgust directed at her and the demi-Fae in this fortress. The remarks about her bloodline, the open taunts Remelle hadn't bothered to conceal behind pretty words. No, Aelin had been perfectly justified to burn the female to ash.
Aelin frowned, considering his words. After a long moment, she said, "It scared me— how in control I was. How much I meant it. It scared me that I wasn't scared. It scared me that..."
Aelin paused, raising her eyes to meet Rowan's stare. She had been in control tonight, the anger Remelle had stirred up overpowering the fear of her magic. The cage of fire she'd created was far beyond her skill level. It was honestly impressive. And the look in her eyes, the raw command in her voice as she had spoken to Remelle and Benson... Aelin had meant every word of it. If Remelle or the lord had made any move against him, against the inhabitants of this fortress, the princess would have turned them to ash on the wind.
For some odd reason, Rowan felt like he should thank her. Even though she had ended up starting a brawl with Remelle. The information would get back to Maeve, even if it was just in the form of court gossip. Either way, the queen would understand what it meant. Aelin was close to mastering her magic, and she and Rowan had formed some sort of bond outside of student and teacher.
Rowan brushed the thought aside, shutting down the possible outcomes that flooded his mind. Speculating about what awaited him in Doranelle was pointless, and would only make him more pissed off.
He opened his mouth, grappling for the words to thank Aelin for her help, but the princess wasn't done.
"It scared me that..." Aelin hesitated as her eyes met his, the gold lined turquoise like sunlight on ocean waves. Steady and calm, hiding the tempest below that was waiting to be unleashed. It scared me that I've come to care so much about you that I'd draw that sort of line in the sand. It scared me that I would burn and maim and kill for you, and yet— at the end of the day, you still belong to Maeve, and there is nothing I can do, no amount of burning and maiming and killing, to keep you with me.
Aelins confession hit him like a blow to the chest, knocking the air from Rowan's lungs, the word's an echo of the thoughts he'd been trying and failing to keep at bay. Aelin had seen every broken part of him, and hadn't run from it. Even though she likely knew what would happen once he brought her to Doranelle and returned to Maeve's side. He'd likely never see the princess again, unless she made an alliance with Maeve. If she was smart enough to figure out his gift from the cave.
Still, it wouldn't be the same. He'd be a commander in Maeve's inner circle, while Aelin would be a young queen on the way to reclaiming her kingdom. Even if she decided to fight for her birthright, it would never be like this again.
An ache formed in his chest at the thought, different from the hollow numbness usually encasing it.
Rowan let go of Aelins hand, laying it down gently on the bed between them. Then, before he lost his nerve, he reached up and brushed his fingers against her cheek.
Aelin leaned into the touch, closing her eyes and letting out a small sigh. Rowan didn't need to say anything, not when he knew Aelin felt the unspoken words in the gesture.
I know.
Two days after the party of Fae nobility departed from Mistward, Aelin and Rowan had fallen back into their usual routine. Still, Rowan couldn't stop thinking about the conversation he'd had with Essar when he'd gone to see them off, unable to shake the undeniable truth of her words.
The morning after their dinner with the Fae nobility, Rowan had slipped from his rooms at the crack of dawn to see the party off. He'd let Aelin sleep, not wanting to risk another one of her delightful outbursts.
It had been the right call. When he'd come down to the courtyard, it was clear Remelle was still seething over the incident. Rowan hadn't been able to hide his smirk at the way she kept jumping at the smallest sounds, as if the princess might jump out from behind a corner and start breathing fire.
Rowan had chosen to ignore her, and for once Remelle hadn't tried to force any interaction between them. Whether it was her way of punishing him for siding with Aelin or she was just embarrassed, Rowan hadn't cared.
He ignored Benson too, who was still avoiding everyone's gaze. Good. He'd had enough of the lord to last another ten lifetimes. And as for Essar...
The female still looked paler than usual, as if the events of the previous evening had permanently drained the color from her copper skin. Her eyes were wide as she surveyed the courtyard, likely trying to spot Aelin amongst the crates of food and supplies the guards were unloading.
Rowan hadn't approached the party until they'd mounted their horses and begun moving towards the wards. Even then, he only addressed Essar. He didn't bother to acknowledge Remelle, not wanting to risk a situation where she might regain her confidence and ignore his personal boundaries again. This time, it wouldn't be Aelin who snapped.
Thankfully, Remelle seemed incline to agree.
She didn't say anything as Rowan reached out and grabbed Essar's reins. He had contemplated allowing them to leave without a proper goodbye, but this warning needed to be conveyed.
"Let's hope last night was the most eventful of your journey," he said, shooting a pointed look at the three Fae.
Remelle huffed, but managed to hold her tongue. Benson kept silent as well, staring down at his saddle as if it contained the secret to his immortal existence.
Essar's gaze drifted in the direction of the fortress, as if she could sense the princes sleeping behind its walls and said, "I do not think any of us will forget last night anytime soon." *
Rowan was inclined to agree. It had been difficult to keep it hidden from Aelin how throughly her display of flames had stunned him. Not just because of the control she'd demonstrated, the raw power and ability, but because of what the flames represented.
A threat against anyone in this fortress, against him, would be answered with fire and flames. Aelin would not tolerate threats made against her, or those she thought of as her own.
Rowan included. Aelin would— she had gone to the mat to defend him. The claim she'd laid down last night alone...
Essar knew. She had understood, more than anyone, what the events of last night meant. And that Aelin was far more than some commoner. If she told Maeve...
The party had begun to move out, Remelle and Benson following their guards without a second glance in Rowan's direction where he remained at Essar's side, clutching the reins of her horse. "Name the price of your silence," he said, his voice low to prevent the departing Fae from overhearing.
Essar's eyebrows rose. "You think I would run to the nearest gossip and tell them Aelin Galathynius is training here?"
Yes. No. Rowan didn't know Essar well enough to be sure. He'd interacted with her only at formal events, and while she and Lorcan had been... involved. She was a good female, kind and clever, but it wasn't enough to risk Aelin's safety. He didn't care what she said to the socialites in Doranelle, even though Aelin might, but rather what she was planning to tell his aunt when she returned.
"You know what I'm talking about."
Essar's eyes narrowed, and she almost seemed to scoff at the insinuation. "I would not run to Maeve, either. Remelle will tell her that the girl threw a tantrum and attacked her without provocation— she'd never admit to any of the truth behind it. Or figure out who she really is. And Benson... leave him to me."
It couldn't be that easy. "And your price?"
"There is no price, Prince," she said, inclining her head and giving him a sad, almost pitiful, smile.
Rowan's hands clutched the leader straps of the bridle in an effort to remain in control. "Why?"
Essar looked at the rest of her party disappearing into the trees, then back at the fortress. "We have known each other for a while now. Through all the centuries, I have never seen you present another female as your equal— as your friend. And I do not think you did it because of who she is."
Rowan opened his mouth to say... something but no words came out. He didn't know what to do with his mouth, his hands, beside pray Remelle and Benson were out of earshot as Essar continued.
"I would not take that gift away from you, Rowan. Because it is a gift. *She is a gift— to the world, and to you."
Rowan's fingers went slack on the reins, and Essar prodded her horse into a walk. She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes dancing. "She is going to fight for you, Rowan. And you deserve it, after all this time. You deserve to have someone who will burn the earth to ash for you."
He barely heard Essar's request to give Lorcan her regards. Not as it took every piece of control for Rowan's face to remain blank, to keep up the icy exterior, even as his heart pounded in his chest in time to Essar's word's.
A gift— to the world, and to you.
She is going to fight for you.
He knew she was right, that it was true.
And it terrified him.
Two days later, his conversation with Essar was still preoccupying Rowan's thoughts. He knew it was a waste of time, that it was foolish and unnecessary to constantly be turning her words over in his head but... he couldn't help it.
They'd stuck to him like burrs, prickly and uncomfortable and hard to detach. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to hate them, to hate the thought of Aelin regarding him as hers.
Essar's words had been like a hand wiped across frosted glass. Rowan hadn't allowed himself to consider what his relationship with Aelin meant, not really. It had changed since her burnout, had been changing for a while now. Despite himself, Rowan knew he cared about her. The fear he had felt the night of her burnout... gods, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been afraid like that. Not since...
Lyria.
Lyria, who Rowan had barely thought about over the past few weeks. He'd always buried those memories, the reminders of his failure, and tried not to think about them but... it was different now. He no longer had to consciously avoid thinking about her, about her grave on top of his mountain. The pain was still there, an old, comforting feeling, but it had faded slightly. The thought was enough to make Rowan feel sick.
And no, he didn't think of Aelin... like that. Yes, there had been moments where he'd... considered it, but it didn't matter.
As long as Lyria laid buried beneath the earth any feelings he had towards any female, romantic or otherwise, would be a betrayal.
A betrayal. That's what his feelings for Aelin felt like. A betrayal to Lyria, to three centuries of emotionless, ruthless killing. Of having no emotions, good or bad.
Whatever Rowan was going to do, he needed to figure it out. Needed to figure himself out, for Aelins sake as well as his. Soon.
If Aelin sensed any of his inner turmoil, she didn't show it. Even if he sometimes caught her staring at him with an odd expression on her face. As if she was trying to decipher the whirlwind of thoughts inside his head.
Good luck to her, considering he couldn't make sense of it himself.
He was studying a report Vaughn had sent him when she walked into his room, the smell of chocolate and nuts trailing her. Rowan turned, and didn't know whether to laugh or growl at the sight of Aelin.
She was smiling and there was a strange, new emotion on her face. Wait— was Aelin blushing? Before Rowan could comment on it, he saw the small, misshapen cake she was holding.
It was then he noticed the smudges of flour decorating her clothes, the faint streaks of it on her face.
"It took me two hours to make this damn thing, so you better say it's good," she said, that sheepish grin not leaving her face.
Aelin set the plate down on his worktable, cutting a slice of the... cake? It looked fine, he supposed. There was a line of lighter frosting between the layers, with darker chocolate dripping down the sides. Rowan didn't entirely know what he was supposed to do, what to say.
He chose the least harmful question he could think of. "Chocolate hazelnut cake?"
That conversation seemed like a lifetime ago, overshadowed by the Fae visitors and Aelin engulfing his former lover with a column of flame. Still, Rowan remembered how Aelin had acted when she mentioned it, the shadows that had overtaken her gaze. The fact that she'd chosen to make it herself...
"You have no idea how hard it was to get the ingredients. Or some sort of recipe," Aelin said, grabbing Rowan' hand to stab his fork into the slice of cake she'd cut for him. "I haven't even tasted it yet. Emrys looked like he was going to faint with horror."
Rowan just stared at her, his refusal already on his lips. Aelin sighed and shoved the plate in his direction."This is the favor you owe me," she said, her gaze softening slightly. "Just try it."
The glimmer of emotion in Aelin's eyes, the trust and the vulnerability, complicated matters. He had promised her a favor, even if this was the last thing he'd had in mind.
Rowan fixed her with a long stare, a look that would have sent anyone else running, but Aelin just bit her lip and glanced down at the cake. It was enough that Rowan's restraint snapped, broken by the nervous hope in her gaze. It was over a piece of cake but... still.
Rowan took the fork from Aelin, studied the slice of cake for a moment, and took a bite.
He chewed and swallowed but by the time the icing had dissolved on his tongue, he had come to one conclusion: it was awful. Rowan had eaten plenty of harrowing things as a soldier, but one bite of Aelin's cake was enough to make him want to hurl.
He looked up at the princess to tell her, only to find Aelin already awaiting his verdict. She was eyeing him and the fork in his hand, bouncing from foot to foot in anticipation.
Despite the foul taste lingering in his mouth and burning its way down his throat, Rowan forced a grunt of pleasure and took another bite. Then another. Until there was only a crumb of cake left on his plate.
When he was done and fighting the urge to vomit, Aelin said, "I told you it was delicious."
She gave him a triumphant, joy-filled smile as he set his fork down. She reached out to run her fingers through his hair, but Rowan grabbed her wrist. His rose from his seat, bringing his face dangerously close to hers. Her scent flooded his senses, jasmine and crackling embers, as he leaned closer and said, "Now we're even."
With that, Rowan stood and walked out of the room. He was three steps down the hall when he heard Aelin's fork scrap against the plate, followed by the sound of her swearing and spitting.
Rowan was still smiling when he opened the door to the bathing room and hurled his guts up.
Woo! I'm so happy this is done. This chapter took forever to write and edit for a ton of reasons, mostly because I wanted to make it really good for you guys. I hope you all enjoyed this cute, fluffy Rowaelin content. Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming. In case I don't get another update up before 2019, I hope you all have a great rest of your year. I know I already said this, but thank you for standing by this story. We're almost at 30k views (insane, I know) and I just... I don't understand. Thank you, thank you, thank you, for all the love you've given me. I adore all of you SO MUCH. Your support means the world to me, more than I can ever express.
Also, I included certain portions of this where Rowan's POV was already written by SJM, and I realize they are very similar to what she wrote. It's really hard to write it differently, and I wouldn't normally include it but I didn't know how many of you had read the Target exclusive and wanted everything to make sense.
Story time: I changed the POV style four times for this chapter— first, third, first, and then back to third. I enjoy writing in third person a lot, and feel like it captures Rowan's voice better so I'm going to try and transfer this story into third person. I'm currently rewriting this, and am hoping to have chapters 1-5 updated before the new year and up on AOF. The next chapter will be up no later than January!