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She just watched the battlefield once more,
chewing on her lip.
She’d barely stopped during the battle,
halting only when there had been no more
Valg left to kill. And in the minutes since the
walls had been cleared, she’d remained quiet
—distant. As if she was still climbing out of
that calm, calculating place she’d descended
into while fighting. She hadn’t bothered to
remove any of her armor. The bronze battle-
crown was caked with blood, her hair matted
with it.
Chaol’s father had taken one look at her
armor, at Rowan’s, and gone white with rage.
Yet Chaol had merely wheeled his chair to his
father’s side, snarling something too soft for
Rowan to hear, and the man backed off.
For now. They had bigger things to
consider. Things that drove his mate to gnaw
on her lip. When Prince Kashin’s army might