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his taproom bar. Seated at one of the small,
round tables that filled the worn space, Elide
caught Gavriel’s eye from where he pushed at
his own bowl.
Gavriel raised the spoon to his mouth.
Slowly.
Elide’s eyes widened. Widened further as
he opened his mouth, and took a bite.
His swallow was audible. His cringe barely
contained.
Elide reined in her smile at the pure misery
that entered the Lion’s tawny stare. Aelin and
Rowan had been finishing up a similar battle
when she’d entered the taproom minutes ago,
the queen wishing her luck before striding
back into the courtyard.
Elide hadn’t seen her sit still for longer
than it took to eat a meal. Or during the hours
when she’d instructed them in Wyrdmarks,
after Rowan had requested she teach them.