Rowan twined his fingers in hers and whispered, awe in every word, “For you, Fireheart. All of it is for you.”
Aelin wept then. Wept in joy that lit her heart, brighter than any magic could ever be.
For across every mountain, spread beneath the green canopy of Oakwald, carpeting the entire Plain of Theralis, the kingsflame was blooming.
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Sarah J. Maas's Novels