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band. And peeking above the collar of
Rowan’s jacket, two fresh scars lay.
A pair of them now marked the queen’s
own throat.
“Done gawking?” Aelin asked Lorcan
coolly.
He scowled. Even with the holy ritual they
were about to partake in, the queen found a
way to be irreverent. “Say it.”
Her lips curved again. “Do you, Lorcan
Salvaterre, swear upon your blood and eternal
soul, to be loyal to me, to my crown, and to
Terrasen for the rest of your life?”
He blinked. Maeve had intoned a lengthy
list of questions in the Old Language when
he’d sworn her oath. But he said, “I do. I
swear it.”
Aelin sliced the dagger across her forearm,
and her blood shone bright as the ruby in the
sword at her side. “Then drink.”