himself following her scent.
She had gone not to the north tower and the
ward who awaited her, but to the throne room.
The towering oak doors were cracked, the
two rearing stags carved on them staring him
down. Once, gold filigree had covered the
immortal flame shining between their proud
antlers.
During the past decade, someone had
peeled off the gold. Either for spite or quick
coin.
Aedion slipped through the doors, the
cavernous chamber like the ghost of an old
friend.
How many times had he bemoaned being
forced to dress in his finery and stand beside
the thrones atop the dais at the far back of the
pillar-lined room? How many times had he
caught Aelin nodding off during an endless
day of pageantry?
lily
(lily)
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