Kingdom of Ash

Aelin did not reflect on the pain that had
sent her into unconsciousness. Even as the
memory of cracking bones set her foot
twitching. The chains jangled.
But nothing flickered where agony should
have been rampant. Not a whisper of
discomfort in her feet. She shut out the image
of how that male—Cairn—had taken them
apart. How she’d screamed until her voice had
failed.
It might have been a dream. One of the
endless horde that hunted her in the blackness.
A burning stag, fleeing through the trees.
Hours on this altar, her feet shattered beneath
ancient tools. A silver-haired prince whose
very scent was that of home.
They blurred and bled, until even this
moment, staring at the white wolf lying
against the wall across from the altar, might
be a fragment of an illusion.