She wondered whether the queen knew. Rowan did. Aedion did. And Arobynn did. He had understood that with Rowan, she was no longer afraid of him; with Rowan, Arobynn was now utterly unnecessary. Irrelevant.

Thank you for the oil," he added. "My skin was a little dry.

Her scent hit him. For a second, he could only breathe it deep into his lungs,his Fae instincts roaring that this was his family, this was his queen, this was Aelin. He would have known her even if he were blind. Even if there was another scent entwined with hers. Staggeringly powerful and ancient and—male. Interesting.

She looked at them, at the three males who meant everything—more than everything. Then she smiled with every last shred of courage, of desperation, of hope for the glimmer of that glorious future. “Let’s go rattle the stars.

Lysandra's smile grew. "I like your fangs," she said sweetly.
Aelin choked on her grape. Of course Lysandra did.
Rowan gave a little grin that usually sent Aelin running. "Are you studying them so you can replicate them when you take my form, shape-shifter?"
Aelin's fork froze in midair.
"Bullshit," Aedion said.

Why don’t you get to the point,” she drawled. “I want to have a few hours of sleep tonight.” Not a lie. With every breath, exhaustion wrapped tighter around her bones.

“I would have thought,” Arobynn said, “given how close you two were and your abilities, that you’d somehow be able to sense it. Or at least hear of it, considering what he was accused of.”

The prick was enjoying every second of this. If Dorian was dead or hurt—

“Your cousin Aedion has been imprisoned for treason—for conspiring with the rebels here in Rifthold to depose the king and put you back on the throne.”

The world stopped.

Stopped, and started, then stopped again.