Chapter Text
The sun filtered through the trees in golden shafts as Aelin and Aedion emerged from the Oakwald, a mountain lion moving alongside their horses and a hawk circling ahead. The Florine River shimmered like a silver ribbon in the distance, winding its way through the forested hills toward Rifthold.
Aelin reined in her horse at the crest of a rise and stared down at the river. Gavriel and Rowan shifted and stood before her. "We'll follow it the rest of the way," she said, her voice steady despite the long days of travel behind them. "It'll guide us to the outskirts, although we’ll have to travel around the riverside villages."
Aedion pulled his horse up beside her, scanning the landscape. "We should be able to camp close enough to keep out of sight but near enough to scout the city once we reach the outer roads."
Gavriel pulled a water flask from his pack. "We’ll need to think about communication," he said. "Dorian is expecting someone to follow up on Lysandra’s claim. We can't just arrive at the gates unannounced."
"But we can’t risk word spreading through the city that we’re coming," Aedion added. "Especially if whoever hired Tern is still watching."
They all fell silent, the tension drawing taut as they considered their options.
“We could hire a messenger in one of the smaller villages,” Aelin suggested, although she wasn’t entirely sure she would trust the security of her message in the hands of an unknown foreign villager.
Rowan stepped forward, arms crossed. "I’ll go ahead. In hawk form, I can fly over the walls and deliver the message without being seen."
Aelin turned to look at him. "It’s dangerous. If you’re spotted—"
"I won’t be," Rowan said simply. "I’ve flown over more fortified cities than Rifthold. I’ll get in and out."
"And what message will you deliver?" Gavriel asked.
"Keep it simple," Aelin said, thinking. "Tell Dorian we’re coming, that we need discretion, and that Lysandra should be ready to talk. No one else can know."
Aedion nodded. "And we’ll camp on the western edge of the city, in the pine groves off the main road. He’ll know where that is."
Rowan gave a brief nod. He accepted the scrap of parchment Aelin scribbled on, rolling it and tucking it into a pocket inside his tunic. Then he turned without another word, his form blurring and shifting.
In one moment, the massive silver-white hawk launched into the sky, wings slicing through the sunlight.
Aelin watched until he was a speck above the treeline. Only then did she turn back to the others, the unease curling in her chest tightening with each beat of the hawk’s wings heading toward danger.
Aelin lingered by the riverbank after the others had started unpacking their supplies for the evening. Her eyes followed the distant form of Rowan soaring high above, a pale shadow against the deepening sky. The wind rustled the leaves around her, but her heart was calm—for the first time in what felt like days.
She hadn’t wanted him to come with her. Hadn’t expected him to insist, to stand at her side with that unshakable calm. But now, watching him fly ahead on her behalf, watching him take on risk not for orders or duty—but for her—something deep within her settled.
She didn’t say it aloud. Wouldn’t, ever, for about a thousand reasons. But the words formed clearly in her heart.
Mine. Together.
There had been too many days where she bore the weight of responsibility alone, too many nights of quiet despair. But now she had Rowan. Steady, capable, relentless Rowan. And despite the danger, despite the storm still ahead, Aelin couldn’t help the flicker of peace that bloomed in her chest.
It’s nice, she thought, to have someone who sees me and is not afraid.
Rowan
The skies above Rifthold were thick with smoke and perfume, the scent of civilization masking the rot underneath. Rowan circled above the city, the pale moonlight gilding his wings as he soared silently over the rooftops. From this height, the city was a puzzle of slate and firelight, crowded streets tangled with movement, shadows flitting between gaslamps and carriages.
He had seen cities before, but Rifthold had a particular weight to it—a memory of conquest, of thrones built on bones. From the air, it was beautiful in a deceptive way, the kind of beauty that tried to distract from the blood running beneath the cobblestones.
The castle loomed like a crown atop the highest hill, gleaming faintly in the dark. Rowan circled once, noting the guards on the ramparts, the routines of the patrols. His sharp eyes took in every detail: the open archways, the places where light spilled too freely, the shadows clinging to the corners of the tower.
He waited until he was certain—until he saw Dorian leave his chambers, flanked by guards.
Only then did Rowan dive low, wings folding in as he slipped through a narrow tower window and landed silently on the polished stone floor.
Shifting into his Fae form, Rowan straightened in the dim light of Dorian’s room. It smelled faintly of books and cedar and the soft musk of a man raised with power but not ruled by it. He crossed to the writing desk and carefully removed the sealed note from inside his tunic—Aelin’s message.
He placed it beneath a paperweight of etched glass. Then, as silently as he came, Rowan turned and vanished back through the window.
Above the city once more, he caught the night wind and angled toward the forest where the others waited. But as he flew, his thoughts were not on the mission alone—they were on Aelin, on the note she had written with such precision and trust, and on the strange sensation that delivering it had stirred in his chest.
Rifthold had its secrets.
And now, so did he.
Beneath the wind and stars, Rowan’s unease deepened. Maeve had ordered him not to meddle in Terrasen’s political affairs. This was Adarlan, not Terrasen. But now, in the heart of a foreign empire, the words clawed back into his mind.
This wasn’t his fight. Or it hadn’t been.
But he had made it his. He was no longer just a scout. He had delivered a crown princess’s message to a crown prince. He had crossed into politics with the beat of his wings.
And the moment he stepped into that tower, into Dorian’s private space, he knew there was no turning back.
The air felt heavier as he flew. What would Maeve do, if she knew how close he was flying to the edge of her leash?