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him perfectly, the ring no doubt forged for the
king lying in this barrow.
Silently, Rowan grasped her own hand and
eased on the emerald ring. “To whatever end,”
he whispered.
Silver lined her eyes. “To whatever end.”
A reminder—and a vow, more sacred than
the wedding oaths they’d sworn on that ship.
To walk this path together, back from the
darkness of the iron coffin. To face what
waited in Terrasen, ancient promises to the
gods be damned.
He ran his thumb over the back of her
hand. “I’ll make the tattoo again.” She
swallowed, but nodded. “And,” he added, “I’d
like to add another. To me—and to you.”
Her brows flicked up, but he squeezed her
hand. You’ll have to wait and see, Princess.
Another hint of a smile. She didn’t balk
from the silent words this time. Typical.