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moment of the time, the life you bought me.”
Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene’s
face. “I didn’t waste any of it.”
Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her
own tears, and when she opened them, she
took Yrene’s shaking hands. “Now it is my
turn to thank you.” But Aelin’s gaze fell upon
the wedding band on Yrene’s finger, and when
she glanced to Chaol, he grinned.
“No longer Yrene Towers,” Chaol said
softly, “but Yrene Westfall.”
Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous
laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.
Yrene’s head tilted back to take in the
warrior’s full height, her eyes widening—not
only at Rowan’s size, but at the pointed ears,
the slightly elongated canines and tattoo.
Aelin said, “Then let me introduce you, Lady
Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan
Whitethorn Galathynius.”