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upon Aelin’s head.
A terrible, surprising weight, the cool
metal digging into her scalp. Far heavier than
it looked, as if it had a core of solid iron.
A different sort of shackle. It always had
been.
Aelin reined in the urge to recoil, to shake
the thing from her head.
“Mab’s crown,” Maeve said. “Your crown,
by blood and birthright. Her true Heir.”
Aelin ignored the words. Stared toward the
circle of glass shards.
“Oh, that,” Maeve said, noting her
attention. “I think you know how this shall go,
Aelin of the Wildfire.”
Aelin said nothing.
Maeve gave a nod.
Cairn shoved her forward, right into the
glass.
Her bare feet sliced open, new skin