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night in Innish, but still full of that razor-
sharp awareness. Different—they were both
different from the girls they’d been. A smile
curved the queen’s mouth. “I think he made
out rather well for himself.” She frowned up
at her consort. “Yrene, at least, doesn’t seem
like the sort to hog the blankets and snore in
one’s ear all night.”
Yrene coughed as Prince Rowan only
smiled at the queen. “I don’t mind your
snoring,” he said mildly.
Aelin’s mouth twitched when she turned to
Chaol’s father. Yrene’s own laughter died at
the lack of light on the man’s face. Chaol was
tense as a drawn bowstring as the queen said
to his father, “Don’t waste your breath on
taunts. I’m tired, and hungry, and it won’t end
well for you.”
“This is my keep.”
Aelin made a good show of gaping at the