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clinging to her nose, the sounds of her
screaming replaced by the drowsy chirping of
birds, Aelin scrubbed at her face.
The prince who’d fallen asleep beside her
was already running a hand down her back in
silent, soothing strokes.
Beyond the small window of the
ramshackle inn somewhere near Fenharrow
and Adarlan’s border, thick veils of mist
drifted.
A dream. Just a dream.
She twisted, setting her feet to the
threadbare carpet on the uneven wood floor.
“Dawn isn’t for another hour,” Rowan said.
Yet Aelin reached for her shirt. “I’ll get
warmed up, then.” Maybe run, as she had not
been able to do in weeks and weeks.
Rowan sat up, missing nothing. “Training
can wait, Aelin.” They’d been doing it for
weeks now, as thorough and grueling as it had