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warrior-prince now bearing it had found the
sword for her. In a cave like this one, full of
the relics of heroes long since sent to the
Afterworld.
She studied the tattoo snaking down the
side of his face and neck, vanishing into his
dark clothes.
I am your mate.
She had wanted to believe him, but this
dream, this illusion she’d been spun ...
Not an illusion.
He had come for her.
Rowan.
Rowan Whitethorn. Now Rowan
Whitethorn Galathynius, her husband and
king-consort. Her mate.
She mouthed his name.
He had come for her.
Rowan.
Silently, so smoothly that not even the