Their Fireheart

Chapter Thirty Seven

Rowan

My chest glowed with pride as I watched my mate challenge these worthless males. I refused to even call them warriors. Any warrior deserving of the title knew that their purpose was to protect those weaker than them, not control and belittle. Add that to the fact that they stubbornly refused to acknowledge the power and potential of females - they did not deserve an ounce of respect. A fact Aelin clearly agreed with as she set them up for failure, flames flickering in her fierce gaze.

Gods, she was glorious.

It was a struggle not to laugh out loud at the dumbfounded face of the war-camp's leader, Devlon, as Aelin laid down her challenge. If there was anyone in all the realms who could undermine my stoic warrior's mask, it was my mate and her flair for the dramatics. Although, honestly after observing these so-called warriors, I had no doubt that she could have defeated a dozen of them without touching a lick of her magic.

The idiots had infuriated her with their thoughtless comments and actions, to their own detriment. Aelin was about to make a statement.

I couldn't wait.

Devlon spluttered, shocked at the wager Aelin had so carelessly laid out. You could see his mind whirring, but he still cast an incredulous look towards Rhysand. The idiotic male unaware that the automatic distrust would only infuriate Aelin more.

"My Lord, surely you prefer we not -" Devlon asked, shocked.

Rhys quickly cut him off, "Aelin speaks with my authority. Any promise, challenge or directive from her should be met with the same obedience as one from my own lips."

I suppose the male wasn't entirely worthless.

Cassian let out a low growl when Devlon continued to stare at Rhysand momentarily, still in shock. Something about this camp and these fae had both him and Azriel on edge more than I had ever seen them. As infuriating as they were, I couldn't stop my own hackles from raising in defense of a member of Aelin's mate circle. I narrowed my eyes at the camp leader, releasing the hold on my power so that the wind whipped through the camp just that much harsher, that much colder, smirking at the barely repressed shivers from the warriors.

Seemingly regaining his senses, Devlon returned his gaze to Aelin, who was still twirling her favorite dagger in the middle of the largest training ring, completely unfazed. He scanned her up and down, no doubt in an attempt to understand how she thought she could win what to them would seem to be an impossible wager.

Finally coming to a decision, he straightened. "Fine," he called to her, "on behalf of all Illyrian warriors, I accept your challenge. Five of my strongest warriors against you, in a fight to either submission or knockout. Only weapons and strength will be used, no magic."

"Oh no, Devlon, you misunderstand." She snickered, "Your warriors are more than welcome to use any magic they possess. That was only a promise that I will not use mine against them." She looked around dismissively before turning back, purring, "I daresay they'll need it." The Illyrians observing startled at her words, a few murmurs surfacing at her unrelenting confidence.

I could feel a smirk pulling at the edges of my lips. My Fireheart, such a menace.

Devlon finally had the intelligence to look nervous at her words, but barreled on, nearly growling, "Fine - agreed. When would you like the wager to take place?"

Aelin blinked innocently at him, "Whenever you're ready, of course."

Cassian couldn't quite hold in his laugh at her words. A quick glance at Rhys saw him smirking, before he said low enough to not be overheard, "I've called Mor back, there is no way she will want to miss this. Five marks she defeats them in under twenty minutes."