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For that was indeed a wedding band on the
queen’s finger, the emerald mud-splattered
but bright. On Rowan’s own hand, a gold-and-
ruby ring gleamed.
“My mate,” Aelin added, fluttering her
lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes,
yet couldn’t entirely contain his smile as he
inclined his head to Yrene.
Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. “None of
that, please. It’ll go right to his immortal
head.” Her grin softened as Yrene blushed,
and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. “May I
keep this?” She eyed Yrene’s locket. “Or does
it go in there?”
Yrene folded the queen’s fingers around
the paper. “It is yours, as it always was. A
piece of your bravery that helped me find my
own.”
Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the
claim.