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He opened his mouth to voice the question
he’d been dying to ask for days now. May I
kiss you? But she pulled her hand from his.
Admiring the wedding band sparkling on
her finger, her mouth tightened as she turned
over her palm. “I’ll need to retrain.”
Not a single callus marked her hands.
Aelin frowned at her too-thin body. “And
pack on some muscle again.” A slight quiver
graced her words, but she curled her hands
into fists at her sides and smirked at her
clothes—the Mistward clothes. “It’ll be just
like old times.”
Trying. She was dredging up that swagger
and trying. So he would, too. Until she didn’t
need to any more.
Rowan gave her a crooked grin. “Just like
old times,” he said, following her out of the
barrow and back toward the ebony river, “but
with far less sleep.”