Rowan slid his arm around her shoulders.
“Need I remind you that since you beheaded
Maeve, I am a Prince of Doranelle once again,
with access to my assets and estates? And that
with Maeve outed as an imposter, half of her
wealth goes to you ... and the other to the
Whitethorns?”
Aelin blinked at him slowly. The others
grinned. Even Lorcan.
Rowan kissed her. “A new library and
Royal Theater,” he murmured onto her mouth.
“Consider them my mating presents to you,
Fireheart.”
Aelin pulled back, scanning his face. Read
the sincerity and conviction.
And, throwing her arms around him,
laughing to the lightening sky, she burst into
tears.
It was to be a day for many meetings, Aelin