Sarah J.Maas

She preferred the silence. In the silence she couldn’t hear the worst question of all: had she brought this upon herself?

And then she would remember how it had felt to be loved, when the world had held nothing but possibility.

a promise was law; a promise was currency; a promise was your bond

“Love won’t feed a hungry belly,”

“My name is Celaena Sardothien, and I will not be afraid.”

Because I’d pick you.”
And then she kissed him.

She said softly, “You make me want to live, Rowan. Not survive; not exist. Live.”

He didn’t have the words. Not when what she said hit him harder and deeper than any kiss.

So he climbed into bed and held her tightly all through the night.

He shifted his arm so he could brush her hair back. His fingers lingered along her jaw. “You make me want to live, too, Aelin Galathynius,” he said. “Not exist—but live.” He cupped her cheek, and took a steadying breath—as if he’d thought about every word these past three days, over and over again. “I spent centuries wandering the world, from empires to kingdoms to wastelands, never settling, never stopping—not for one moment. I was always looking toward the horizon, always wondering what waited across the next ocean, over the next mountain. But I think … I think that whole time, all those centuries, I was just looking for you.”

One heartbeat, I was staring after him—the next, I had my shoe in a hand.

I hurled it at him with all my strength.

The bastard-born warriors, the Illyrian half-breed, the monster trapped in a beautiful body, the dreamer born into a court of nightmares … And the huntress with an artist’s soul.