>>Aelin
I stood beside him, high above the ballroom floor, my hand barely brushing the thick, midnight fabric of his cloak. The stairs beneath us gleamed like black glass, polished obsidian veined with molten gold. Every breath I took echoed in my chest like a warning.
Don't trip. Don't faint. Don't run.
And yet all I could do was stand there—next to Draegon.
He looked like he was born to wear a crown. Well, maybe he was. He was a prince after all. But it wasn't the same for me, I never thought about standing in this place.
The owl demon floated toward us with terrible grace, his enormous wings fanned out in full span. Each of his silver feathers shimmered like coins caught in a river current. His face, long and unblinking, held the stillness and the scrutiny of a judge. In his clawed hands, he carried the crown—curved black horns set in a circlet of shadowglass, heavy with blood-rubies and edged with firelight.
