a nod their way. Winked at Ansel of
Briarcliff, dabbing her eyes on her jacket
sleeve.
And then Aelin was at the three steps of the
dais, and Darrow strode to their edge.
As he had instructed her last night, as she
had practiced over and over in a dusty
stairwell for hours, Aelin ascended the three
steps and knelt upon the top one.
The only time in her reign that she would
ever bow.
The only thing she would ever kneel
before.
Her crown. Her throne. Her kingdom.
The hall remained standing, even as
Darrow motioned them to sit.
And then came the words, uttered in the
Old Language. Sacred and ancient, spoken
flawlessly by Darrow, who had crowned Orlon
himself all those decades ago.
lily
(lily)
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