Their Fireheart

Chapter Forty Eight

Rhysand

The days following Dorian's proclamation went quickly, filled with the electric buzz of anticipation. The incomprehensibility of it all had settled into our bones, the thought of what came next now shadowing our every step.

At long last, the Queen of Terrasen was going to return home. Her country, finally free.

A seemingly impossible victory. And yet, only the first of many we would need before this was all over.

Even now, there was much to be done before we could begin the long trek to Terresan, from the practical elements of preparing for our journey to supporting those that would be left behind.

We'd all done our best to ensure that Rifthold - and its new king - was prepared for our departure. All remaining loyal soldiers had been rounded up and reinstated, the castle defenses repaired as much as they could be - though the threat of Aelin's wall of glass turning molten once more certainly helped in dissuading any would-be attackers.

The sewers of the city were as clear of the valg as the castle itself, as if the demons had fled into the night when their master had fallen. Citizens roamed the streets freely, not a whip or chain in sight. For the moment, Rifthold was safe.

If it would remain so was another question entirely.

Duke Perrington, who we now knew to be Erawan himself, was still safely ensconced in Morath amongst his armies of valg, witches and cauldron-knew what other monstrosities. We knew he would not bow to Dorian, would not accept Aelin taking her rightful place on Terrasen's throne - not without a fight.

A fight that would decide the fate of not just kingdoms, but worlds. One that Erawan had been preparing for for decades. One that we couldn't afford to lose.

One we wouldn't lose. I refused to even entertain the alternative as a possibility.

Because losing this fight would mean losing Aelin, and that was not an acceptable outcome. I'd lay waste to this realm and all the rest rather than allow my mate to be taken from me. She was the blazing sun at the center of my universe, and a world without her was not one worth living in. So we would fight, and we would win. The end.

But in order to do so, we had to use every weapon in our arsenal. Which is why - after many lengthy protests from my brothers and I - we now found ourselves in Dorian's new throne room, thankfully unmarred by the foul stench of the valg and the spilt blood of the innocent. Built upon stone rather than glass, I could only hope it would serve as a more solid foundation for Adarlan's new era.

An era that Dorian had ushered into existence the moment he shattered the glass castle. An era wrought into existence by the stubborn friendship between a prince and an assassin - now queen.

An era that would need to be defended. The fight for it - for a better world - would soon begin in earnest. Today would mark the next stage in that fight.

Aelin lounged indolently in the throne the new king had so graciously granted her use of. The four of us flanked her on the dias, forever guarding the most priceless treasure in our lives. Off to the side, the actual owner of said throne leaned casually against one of the newly repaired windows. Next to him sat Chaol, looking entirely displeased to be here - whether that was due to his new duties as Hand to the King or due to the wheeled chair he found himself seated in, I couldn't say.

For once, I couldn't even blame the man. Cauldron knew I certainly didn't want to be here. Unfortunately for all of us, we couldn't really argue against Aelin's reasoning, and at the end of the day - what Aelin wanted, Aelin got.

One way or another.

So here we were. Waiting for a set of bastards I'd gladly never interact with again.