Kingdom of Flames.

Not Afraid.

She was rocking.
Rocking rocking rocking.
She couldn't move, could barely breathe.

All she could feel was pain.
Hot, burning, endless pain.

Memories raced through her head.
Chains, darkness, cries for mercy.

And pain.

Pain.

She wasn't surprised.
She didn't regret it.
She could handle it.
She could handle anything they threw at her.
She would, for her family, her friends, her kingdom.
After all her failure, all her guilt and cowardice, she would be brave for them.

She would take it.

Her limbs were burning from the lack of movement. She could hear nothing but her own breath against the iron mask pressed against her cheeks.

They were warm. She was sweating. Drips of it running down to mingle with the blood from the lashes on her back.
They refused to clot.

She knew what was coming. She didn't regret her decision to take Elide's place. Little Elide, the sweet, quiet, kind girl she knew. Aelin didnt know what had happened to her over the past decade, she hadn't really had the chance to ask. She knew about Elide's uncle, about her leg and her being a slave. Not much else.

Little Elide.
She looked so much like Marion. Her and Aedion had talked about it, the resemblance, and how much it sometimes hurt to look at her. It's the same feeling she would get when she looked in the mirror and saw her own mother.

She missed all of them so much.

She didn't know how long she'd been in the iron coffin. She tried to keep track but the minutes turned into hours that felt like days, until she gave up.

She didn't know where they were taking her. If they took her back to Doranelle, Rowan would come after her. She knew he would.
He couldn't.
He can't.

But there's no way in hell that he wouldn't.
Neither would Aedion.

She wished something would stop them while also knowing, hoping, that nothing could.

She took a deep breath, the smell of her sweat and blood made her rather faint.

She just needed to hold out for a little longer.

Through the pain and sweat and silent darkness, her heart did not falter.
Her hands remained steady.
She wasn't afraid. For once in her life she was not afraid.

She whispered into the darkness of the coffin...

"I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I am not afraid."