Queen of Shadows (Throne of Glass #4)(90)

Not for amusement—no, to prove some point. Red mist coated his vision.

Rowan went to sweep his legs out, and Aedion stomped hard enough on Rowan’s stick that it snapped in two. As it did, Aedion twisted, lunging to bring his own stick straight into Rowan’s face. Gripping the two pieces in either hand, the Fae warrior dodged, going low, and—

Aedion didn’t see the second blow coming to his legs. Then he was blinking at the wooden beams of the ceiling, gasping for breath as the pain from his wound arced through his side.

Rowan snarled down at him, one piece of the stick angled to cut his throat while the other pushed against his abdomen, ready to spill his guts.

Holy burning hell.

Aedion had known he’d be fast, and strong, but this … Having Rowan fight alongside the Bane might very well decide battles in any sort of war.

Gods, his side hurt badly enough he thought he might be bleeding.

The Fae Prince spoke so quietly that even Aelin couldn’t hear. “Your queen gave you an order to stop—for your own good. Because she needs you healthy, and because it pains her to see you injured. Do not ignore her command next time.”

Aedion was wise enough not to snap a retort, nor to move as the prince dug in the tips of his sticks a little harder. “And,” Rowan added, “if you ever speak to her again the way you did last night, I’ll rip out your tongue and shove it down your throat. Understand?”

With the stick at his neck, Aedion couldn’t nod without impaling himself on the jagged end. But he breathed, “Understood, Prince.”

Aedion opened his mouth again as Rowan backed away, about to say something he would surely regret, when a bright hello sounded.

They all whirled, weapons up, as Lysandra closed the rolling door behind her, boxes and bags in her arms. She had an uncanny way of sneaking into places unnoticed.

Lysandra took two steps, that stunning face grave, and stopped dead as she beheld Rowan.

Then his queen was suddenly moving, snatching some of the bags from Lysandra’s arms and steering her into the apartment a level above.

Aedion eased from where he’d been sprawled on the ground.

“Is that Lysandra?” Rowan asked.

“Not too bad on the eyes, is she?”

Rowan snorted. “Why is she here?”

Aedion gingerly prodded the wound in his side, making sure it was indeed intact. “She probably has information about Arobynn.”

Whom Aedion would soon begin hunting, once his gods-damned wound was finally healed, regardless of whether Aelin deemed him fit. And then he’d cut the King of the Assassins into little, tiny pieces over many, many days.

“Yet she doesn’t want you to hear it?”

Aedion said, “I think she finds everyone but Aelin boring. Biggest disappointment of my life.” A lie, and he didn’t know why he said it.

But Rowan smiled a bit. “I’m glad she found a female friend.”

Aedion marveled for a heartbeat at the softness in the warrior’s face. Until Rowan shifted his eyes toward him and they were full of ice. “Aelin’s court will be a new one, different from any other in the world, where the Old Ways are honored again. You’re going to learn them. And I’m going to teach you.”

“I know the Old Ways.”

“You’re going to learn them again.”

Aedion’s shoulders pushed back as he rose to his full height. “I’m the general of the Bane, and a prince of both Ashryver and Galathynius houses. I’m not some untrained foot soldier.”

Rowan gave a sharp nod of agreement—and Aedion supposed he should be flattered. Until Rowan said, “My cadre, as Aelin likes to call them, was a lethal unit because we stuck together and abided by the same code. Maeve might be a sadist, but she ensured that we all understood and followed it. Aelin would never force us into anything, and our code will be different—better—than Maeve’s. You and I are going to form the backbone of this court. We will shape and decide our own code.”

“What? Obedience and blind loyalty?” He didn’t feel like getting a lecture. Even if Rowan was right, and every word out of the prince’s mouth was one that Aedion had dreamed of hearing for a decade. He should have been the one to initiate this conversation. Gods above, he’d had this conversation with Ren weeks ago.

Rowan’s eyes glittered. “To protect and serve.”

“Aelin?” He could do that; he had already planned on doing that.

“Aelin. And each other. And Terrasen.” No room for argument, no hint of doubt.

A small part of Aedion understood why his cousin had offered the prince the blood oath.

“Who is that?” Lysandra said too innocently as Aelin escorted her up the stairs.

“Rowan,” Aelin said, kicking open the apartment door.

“He’s spectacularly built,” she mused. “I’ve never been with a Fae male. Or female, for that matter.”

Aelin shook her head to try to clear the image from her mind. “He’s—” She swallowed. Lysandra was grinning, and Aelin hissed, setting down the bags on the great room floor and shutting the door. “Stop that.”

“Hmm,” was all Lysandra said, dropping her boxes and bags beside Aelin’s. “Well, I have two things. One, Nesryn sent me a note this morning saying that you had a new, very muscled guest staying and to bring some clothes. So I brought clothes. Looking at our guest, I think Nesryn undersold him a good deal, so the clothes might be tight—not that I’m objecting to that one bit—but he can use them until you get others.”