I love you," Rowan breathed onto her skin, and flicked his tongue over the spot where his canines had scractched. "I'd walk into the burning heart of hell itself to find you.

Rowan considered for a moment, and then said, "I have known many kings in my life, Dorian Havilliard. And it was a rare man indeed who asked for help when he needed it, who would put aside pride.

I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.

She'd burned him again. And yet he had held onto her - had run all the way here and not let go once.

The queen hadn't even bothered to say good-bye. She'd just dashed for the injured Fae warrior, his name like a prayer on her lips. Rowan.

When you shift, will your hawk form be plucked, then?

Shit. He was in such deep, unending shit.

Rowan Whitethorn is a legend. And so is his—what do you call them?”“Cadre,” she said glumly.“The six of them …” Aedion loosed a breath. “We used to tell stories about them around fires. Their battles and exploits and adventures.”She sighed through her nose. “Please, please don’t ever tell him that. I’ll never hear the end of it, and he’ll use it in every argument we have.

For whatever it's worth, all of this just proves that she doesn't deserve you. I think you know that, too.