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Rough hands gripped her, Cairn shouting,
raging shrieks of You little bitch, but she
didn’t hear them. Not as a trickle of blood
snaked down Maeve’s cheek.
Black blood. As dark as night.
As dark as the eyes that the queen fixed on
her, a hand rising to her cheek.
Aelin’s legs slackened, and she didn’t fight
the guards heaving her away.
A blink, and the blood flowed red. Its scent
as coppery as her own.
A trick of the light. A hallucination,
another dream—
Maeve peered at the crimson stain coating
her pale fingers.
An onyx wind snapped for Aelin, wrapping
around her neck.
It squeezed, and she knew no more.