Empire of Storms

I thought ‘cloak-and-dagger’ was your middle name.”

And through the rain and fire and ice, through the dark and lightning and thunder, a word flickered into her head, an answer and a challenge and a truth she immediately denied, ignored. Not for herself, but for him—for him—

Dorian Havilliard, King of Adarlan, hated the silence.

“You’re going to hate the world, Dorian. You are going to hate yourself. You will hate your magic, and you will hate any moment of peace or happiness. But I had the luxury of a kingdom at peace and no one depending upon me. You do not.”

Dorian considered the prince’s words. “I’ve never met a pirate.”
“You met Aelin when she was still pretending to be Celaena,” Rowan said drily. “I can promise you Rolfe won’t be much worse.”

His wife. Gods above. He was over five hundred years old—and this … this girl, young woman, she-devil, whatever she was, had just bluffed and lied her way into a job. A sword-thrower indeed.

He hadn’t been with a woman in months now. And of course—of course—he’d have the time and interest in one … only to be shackled by another one’s lies. His wife.

“Ah,” Marion chimed in, “but isn’t it? A life of open skies and roads, of wandering where the wind takes you, answering to no one and nothing? A life of freedom…” She shook her head. “What more could I ask than to live a life unchecked by cages?”

And then Aelin said to Rowan with a secret smile, “You, I don’t know. But I’d like to.” Rowan’s lips tugged upward. “I’m not on the market, unfortunately.”
“Pity,” Aelin said, cocking her head as she noticed a bowl of small emeralds on Rolfe’s desk.

“You will find, Rolfe, that one does not deal with Celaena Sardothien. One survives her.”

“The talk of young idealists and dreamers.”

“My whole life has been … not about what I want. I don’t know how to choose those things.”

“So, am I just to play the abandoned wife, then?”
“You’re already playing the oracle, so what difference does another role make?”

“You could have used the door,” Fenrys said, arms crossed—a bit too casually. “Why bother when a dramatic entrance is so much more fun?” Aelin countered.

“I would have fought for the rest of my life to find a way to return to you again. I knew it the moment you emerged from the Valg’s darkness and smiled at me through your flames.”

Aelin was insane, Dorian realized. Brilliant and wicked, but insane.

Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”

“You are mine,” Rowan breathed, and she felt the claiming in her bones, her soul. “I am yours,” she answered. “And you love me.” Such hope and quiet joy in his eyes, beneath all that fierceness. “To whatever end.”

“I’d walk into the burning heart of hell itself to find you.”