Crown of Midnight

And the world … it was moving on without her.

“She won’t understand. And when she goes over the edge, there will be nothing to pull her back.”

You’re a coward. You are nothing more than a coward.”

“I think … I think I’m happy for me, too.”

Fae or Valg. We never learned which one.”

Of course, as fate would have it, her cousin wound up becoming Aedion Ashryver, his father’s prodigy general and the fiercest warrior in the north.

He’d met her once, in the days before her kingdom became a charnel house.

If the heir of Terrasen, Aelin Galathynius, had lived, would she have become a friend, an ally? His bride, perhaps?

But there it was: a history of the Galathynius line, starting with the Fae King Brannon himself.

Heart racing, Dorian lowered his hands from his head and looked at them. There wasn’t a bruise or a cut, or even a trace of pain. But he’d hit that wall as hard as he could. He could have—should have—broken his hand. Yet his knuckles were unharmed—only white from gripping his fingers in a tight fist.