Kingdom of Ash

Sticking out her tongue at him, Aelin
turned from their bed and strode for the
windows that led onto the broad balcony
overlooking the city and plain beyond. Her
morning ritual—to climb out of bed, ease
through the curtains, and emerge onto the
balcony to breathe in the morning air.
To look at her kingdom, their kingdom, and
see that it had made it. See the green of
spring, and smell the pine and snow of the
wind off the Staghorns. Sometimes, Rowan
joined her, holding her in silence when all that
had happened weighed too heavily upon her.
When the loss of her human form lingered
like a phantom limb. Other times, on the days
when she woke clear-eyed and smiling, he’d
shift and sail on those mountain winds,
soaring over the city, or Oakwald, or the
Staghorns. As he loved to do, as he did when
his heart was troubled or full of joy.