brought them brow to brow. “You are my
joy,” was all she said to him.
Her husband, her dearest friend, closed his
eyes. The reek of Valg blood and metal clung
to him, and yet beneath it—beneath it, that
was his scent. The smell of home.
Chaol at last opened his eyes, the bronze of
them so vivid. Alive. Utterly alive. Full of
trust, and understanding, and pride.
“Go save the world, Yrene,” he whispered,
and kissed her brow.
Yrene let that kiss sink into her skin, a
mark of protection, of love that she’d carry
with her into hell and beyond it.
Chaol turned to where Dorian sat with
Elide atop the shifter, the love on her
husband’s face hardening to something fierce
and determined. “Keep her safe,” was all
Chaol said. Perhaps the only order, Yrene
realized, he would ever give his king. Their
lily
(lily)
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