He would bet good money that the Wyrdstone collar was for the king's own son--and he prayed that the prince had died before he'd allowed his father to leash him like a dog.

The prince's sapphire eyes flicked to his, and Aedion blinked past the haze covering his vision. What studied him was cold, predatory, and not quite human.

The thing was quiet. Then it tilted its head. The smile it gave him was horrifying in its beauty. "I shall enjoy watching you die, General.

Remind me tomorrow to tell you how charming you are.

Whatever you had to do to survive, whatever you did from spite or rage or selfishness... I don't give a damn. You're here - and you're perfect. You always were and you always will be.

He stared at her; she stared right back.
Unyielding, unbreakable. They'd been cut from the same cloth.
Aedion loosed a breath and looked at their joined hands - then opened his to examine her scarred palm, crisscrossed with the marks of her vow to Nehemia and the cut she'd made the moment she and Rowan became carranam, their magic joining them in an eternal bond.
'It's hard not to think all of your scars are my fault.'
Oh. Oh.