His growl rattled the room. “You’ve made your point.”
“Hmm.” She slid into bed beside him, a healthy, proper distance away.
For a few heartbeats, there was only the sound of rustling blankets as she nestled down.
“I need to fill in the ink a bit more in a few places,” he said flatly.
She could barely see his face in the dark. “What?”
“Your tattoo,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “There are a few spots I need to fill in at some point.”
Of course. He wasn’t like other men—not even close. There was so little she could do to jar him, taunt him. A naked body was a naked body. Especially hers.
“Fine,” she said, turning so that her back was to him.
They were silent again. Then Rowan said, “I’ve never seen—clothing like that.”
She rolled over. “You mean to tell me the females in Doranelle don’t have scandalous nightclothes? Or anywhere else in the world?”
His eyes gleamed like an animal’s in the dark. She’d forgotten what it was like to be Fae, to have one foot always in the forest. “My encounters with other females usually didn’t involve parading around in nightclothes.”
“And what clothes did they involve?”
“Usually, none at all.”
She clicked her tongue, shoving away the image. “Having had the utter delight of meeting Remelle this spring, I have a hard time believing she didn’t subject you to clothing parades.”
He turned his face toward the ceiling again. “We’re not talking about this.”
She chuckled. Aelin: one, Rowan: zero.
She was still smiling when he asked, “Are all your nightclothes like that?”
“So curious about my negligees, Prince. Whatever would the others say? Maybe you should issue a decree to clarify.” He growled, and she grinned into her pillow. “Yes, I have more, don’t worry. If Lorcan is going to murder me in my sleep, I might as well look good.”
“Vain until the bitter end.”
She pushed back against the thought of Lorcan, of what Maeve might want, and said, “Is there a specific color you’d like me to wear? If I’m going to scandalize you, I should at least do it in something you like.”
“You’re a menace.”
She laughed again, feeling lighter than she had in weeks, despite the news Rowan had given her. She was fairly certain they were done talking for the night when his voice rumbled across the bed. “Gold. Not yellow—real, metallic gold.”
“You’re out of luck,” she said into her pillow. “I would never own anything so ostentatious.”
She could almost feel him smiling at her as she fell asleep.
Thirty minutes later, Rowan was still staring up at the ceiling, teeth gritted as he calmed the roaring in his veins that was steadily shredding through his self-control.
That gods-damned nightgown.
Shit.
He was in such deep, unending shit.
Rowan was asleep, his massive body half covered with blankets, as dawn streamed in through the lace curtains. Silently rising, Aelin stuck out her tongue at him as she shrugged on her pale-blue silk robe, tied her already-fading red hair into a knot atop her head, and padded into the kitchen.
Until the Shadow Market had burned to cinders, that miserable merchant there had been making a small fortune off all the bricks of dye she’d kept buying. Aelin winced at the thought of having to track down the vendor again—the woman had seemed the sort who would have escaped the flames. And would now charge double, triple, on her already overpriced dyes to make up for her lost goods. And since Lorcan could track her by scent alone, changing the color of her hair would have no impact on him. Though she supposed that with the king’s guard on the lookout for her … Oh, it was too damn early to consider the giant pile of horseshit that had become her life.
Groggy, she made tea mostly by muscle memory. She started on toast, and prayed they had eggs left in the cooling box—they did. And bacon, to her delight. In this house, food tended to vanish as soon as it came in.
One of the biggest pigs of all approached the kitchen on immortal-silent feet. She braced herself as, arms full of food, she nudged the small cooling box shut with a hip.
Aedion eyed her warily while she went to the small counter beside the stove and began pulling down bowls and utensils. “There are mushrooms somewhere,” he said.
“Good. Then you can clean and cut them. And you get to chop the onion.”
“Is that punishment for last night?”
She cracked the eggs one by one into a bowl. “If that’s what you think is an acceptable punishment, sure.”
“And is making breakfast at this ungodly hour your self-imposed punishment?”
“I’m making breakfast because I’m sick of you burning it and making the whole house smell.”
Aedion laughed quietly and came up beside her to begin slicing the onion.
“You stayed on the roof the whole time you were out, didn’t you?” She yanked an iron skillet from the rack over the stove, set it on a burner, and chucked a thick pat of butter onto its dark surface.
“You kicked me out of the apartment, but not the warehouse, so I figured I might as well make myself useful and take watch.” The twisty, bendy Old Ways manner of warping orders. She wondered what the Old Ways had to say about queenly propriety.
She grabbed a wooden spoon and pushed the melting butter around a bit. “We both have atrocious tempers. You know I didn’t mean what I said, about the loyalty thing. Or about the half-human thing. You know none of that matters to me.” Gavriel’s son—holy gods. But she would keep her mouth shut about it until Aedion felt like broaching the subject.
“Aelin, I’m ashamed of what I said to you.”
“Well, that makes two of us, so
let’s leave it at that.” She whisked the eggs, keeping an eye on the butter. “I—I understand, Aedion, I really do, about the blood oath. I knew what it meant to you. I made a mistake not telling you. I don’t normally admit to that kind of thing, but … I should have told you. And I’m sorry.”
He sniffed at the onions, his expert slicing leaving a neat heap of them on one end of the cutting board, and then started on the small brown mushrooms. “That oath meant everything to me. Ren and I used to be at each other’s throats because of it when we were children. His father hated me because I was the one favored to take it.”
She took the onions from him and chucked them into the butter, sizzling filling the kitchen. “There’s nothing that says you can’t take the oath, you know. Maeve has several blood-sworn members in her court.” Who were now making Aelin’s life a living hell. “You can take it, and so can Ren—only if you want to, but … I won’t be upset if you don’t want to.”
“In Terrasen, there was only one.”
She stirred the onions. “Things change. New traditions for a new court. You can swear it right now if you wish.”
Aedion finished the mushrooms and set down the knife as he leaned against the counter. “Not now. Not until I see you crowned. Not until we can be in front of a crowd, in front of the world.”
She dumped in the mushrooms. “You’re even more dramatic than I am.”
Aedion snorted. “Hurry up with the eggs. I’m going to die of starvation.”
“Make the bacon, or you don’t get to eat any.”
Aedion could hardly move fast enough.
CHAPTER
30
There was a room deep below the stone castle that the demon lurking inside him liked to visit.
The demon prince even let him out sometimes, through the eyes that might have once been his.
It was a room cloaked in endless night. Or maybe the darkness was from the demon.
But they could see; they had always been able to see in the blackness. Where the demon prince had come from, so little light existed that it had learned to hunt in the shadows.
There were pedestals arranged in the round room in an elegant curve, each topped with a black pillow. And on each pillow sat a crown.