day she’d escaped Maeve.
And it was not trauma that bowed her head,
but guilt. Dread. Shame.
Nearly shoulder-deep in the high, long
tubs, Elide had been the one to suggest a bath.
To give Prince Rowan a chance to fly high and
wide and take some of the edge off his
temper. To give Aelin a moment to settle
herself.
She’d planned to bathe this morning
anyway. Though she’d imagined a different
partner in the bath beside hers.
Not that Lorcan knew that. He’d only
kissed her temple before striding off into the
morning—to join Fenrys and Gavriel in
readying the army to move out. Keep plunging
northward.
Aelin scrubbed at her long hair, the flowing
mass of it draped over her body. In the light of
the braziers, the tattoos on the queen’s back
lily
(lily)
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