Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass #7) by Sarah J. Maas

But what a celebration it had been.

Nothing as majestic as anything in the southern continent, but the sheer joy and laughter in the Great Hall, the feasting and dancing … She would never forget it, as long as she lived.

Even if it might take her until her dying day to feel rested again.

Her feet still ached from dancing and dancing and dancing, and she’d spotted both Aelin and Lysandra grousing about it at the breakfast table just an hour ago.

The queen had danced, though—a sight Nesryn would never forget, either.

The first dance had been Aelin’s to lead, and she had selected her mate to join her. Both queen and consort had changed for the party, Aelin into a gown of black threaded with gold, Rowan into black embroidered with silver. And what a pair they had been, alone on the dance floor.

The queen had seemed shocked—delighted—as the Fae Prince had led her into a waltz and had not faltered a step. So delighted that she’d crowned them both with flames.

That had been the start of it.

The dance had been … Nesryn had no words for the swiftness and grace of their dance. Their first as queen and consort. Their movements had been a question and answer to each other, and when the music had sped up, Rowan had spun and dipped and twirled her, the skirts of her black gown revealing Aelin’s feet, clad in golden slippers.

Feet that moved so quickly over the floor that embers sparked at her heels. Trailed in the wake of her sweeping dress.

Faster and faster, Aelin and Rowan had danced, spinning, spinning, spinning, the queen glowing like she’d been freshly forged as the music gathered into a clashing close.

And when the waltz slammed into its triumphant, final note, they halted—a perfect, sudden stop. Right before the queen threw her arms around Rowan and kissed him.

Nesryn was still smiling about it, sore feet and all, as she stood in the dusty chamber that had become the headquarters for the khaganate royals, and listened to them talk.

“The Healer on High says it will be another five days until the last of our soldiers are ready,” Prince Kashin was saying to his siblings. To Dorian, who had been asked into this meeting today.

“And you will depart then?” Dorian asked, smiling a bit sadly.

“Most of us,” Sartaq said, smiling with equal sadness.

For it was friendship that had grown here, even in war. True friendship, to last beyond the oceans that would separate them once more.

Sartaq said to Dorian, “We asked you here today because we have a rather unusual request.”

Dorian lifted a brow.

Sartaq winced. “When we visited the Ferian Gap, some of our rukhin found wyvern eggs. Untended and abandoned. Some of them now wish to stay here. To look after them. To train them.”

Nesryn blinked, right along with Dorian. No one had mentioned this to her. “I—I thought the rukhin never left their aeries,” Nesryn blurted.

“These are young riders,” Sartaq said with a smile. “Only two dozen.” He turned to Dorian. “But they begged me to ask you if it would be permissible for them to stay when we leave.”

Dorian considered. “I don’t see why they couldn’t.” Something sparked in his eyes, an idea formed and then set aside. “I would be honored, actually.”

“Just don’t let them bring the wyverns home,” Hasar groused. “I never want to see another wyvern for as long as I live.”

Kashin patted her on the head. Hasar snapped her teeth at him.

Nesryn chuckled, but her smile faded as she found Dorian smiling sadly at her, too.

“I think I’m about to lose another Captain of the Guard,” the King of Adarlan said.

Nesryn bowed her head. “I …” She hadn’t anticipated having this conversation. Not right now, at least.

“But I will be glad,” Dorian went on, “to gain another queen whom I can call friend.”

Nesryn blushed. It deepened as Sartaq smirked and said, “Not queen. Empress.”

Nesryn cringed, and Sartaq laughed, Dorian with him.

Then the king embraced her tightly. “Thank you, Nesryn Faliq. For all you have done.”

Nesryn’s throat was too tight to speak, so she hugged Dorian back.

And when the king left, when Kashin and Hasar went to find an early lunch, Nesryn turned to Sartaq and cringed again. “Empress? Really?”

Sartaq’s dark eyes glittered. “We won the war, Nesryn Faliq.” He tugged her close. “And now we shall go home.”

She’d never heard such beautiful words.



Chaol stared at the letter in his hands.

It had arrived an hour ago, and he still hadn’t opened it. No, he’d just taken it from the messenger—one of the fleet of children commanded by Evangeline—and brought it back to his bedroom.

Seated on his bed, the candlelight flickering through the worn chamber, he still couldn’t bring himself to crack the red wax seal.

The doorknob twisted, and Yrene slipped in, tired but bright-eyed. “You should be sleeping.”

“So should you,” he said with a pointed look to her abdomen.

She waved him off, as easily as she’d waved off the titles of Savior, and Hero of Erilea. As easily as she waved off the awed stares, the tears, when she strode by.

So Chaol would be proud for both of them. Would tell their child of her bravery, her brilliance.