Discover Top Posts Tagged with #claim you

I claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don't care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend.

Heir of Fire by Sarah J. Maas

#heir of fire #throne of glass #sarah j maas #quotes #books #book quotes #claim you #rowan whitethorn #prince rowan #aelin ashryder galathynius #princess aelin #don't care #what you say #much #protest #friend

I’ll make a trade with you, though.” Maeve’s brows narrowed. Celaena jerked her chin. “Your beloved’s ring - for Rowan’s freedom from his blood oath.” Rowan stiffened. His friends whipped their heads to her. “A blood oath is eternal,” Maeve said tightly. Celaena didn’t think his friends were breathing. “I don’t care. Free him.” Celaena held out the ring again. “Your choice. Free him, or I melt this right here.” Such a gamble; so many weeks of scheming and planning and secretly hoping. Even now, Rowan did not turn. Maeve’s eyes remained on the ring. And Celaena understood why - it was why she’d dared try it. After a long silence, Maeve’s dress rustled as she straightened, her face pale and tight. “Very well. I’ve grown rather bored of his company these past few decades, anyway.” Rowan faced her - slowly, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. It was Celaena’s gaze, not Maeve’s, that he met, his eyes shining. “By my blood that flows in you,” Maeve said. “Through no dishonor, through no act of treachery, I hereby free you, Rowan Whitethorn, of your blood oath to me.” Rowan just stared and stared at her, and Celaena hardly heard the rest, the words Maeve spoke in the Old Language. But Rowan took out a dagger and spilled his own blood on the stones - whatever that meant. She had never heard of a blood oath being broken before, but had risked it regardless. Perhaps not in all the history of the world had one ever been broken honorably. His friends were wide-eyed and silent. Maeve said, “You are free of me, Prince Rowan Whitethorn.” That was all Celaena needed to hear before she tossed the ring to Maeve, before Rowan rushed to her, his hands on her cheeks, his brow against her own. “Aelin,” he murmured, and it wasn’t a reprimand, or a thank-you, but ... a prayer. “Aelin,” he whispered again, grinning, and kissed her brow before he dropped to both knees before her. And when he reached for her wrist, she jerked back. “You’re free. You’re free now.” Behind them, Maeve watched, brows high. But Celaena could not accept this - could not agree to it. Complete and utter submission, that’s what a blood oath was. He would yield everything to her - his life, any property, any free will. Rowan’s face was calm, though - steady, assured. Trust me. I don’t want you enslaved to me. I won’t be that kind of queen. You have no court - you are defenseless, landless, and without allies. She might let you walk out of here today, but she could come after you tomorrow. She knows how powerful I am - how powerful we are together. It will make her hesitate. Please don’t do this - I will give you anything else you ask, but not this. I claim you, Aelin. To whatever end. She might have continued to silently argue with him, but that strange, feminine warmth that she’d felt at the campsite that morning wrapped around her, as if assuring her it was all right to want this badly enough that it hurt, telling her that she could trust the prince, and more than that - more than anything, she could trust herself. So when Rowan reached for her wrist again, she did not fight him. “Together, Fireheart,” he said, pushing back the sleeve of her tunic. “We’ll find a way together.” He looked up from her exposed wrist. “A court that will change the world,” he promised. And then she was nodding - nodding and smiling, too, as he drew the dagger from his boot and offered it to her. “Say it, Aelin.” Not daring to let her hands shake in front of Maeve or Rowan’s stunned friends, she took his dagger and held it over her exposed wrist. “Do you promise to serve in my court, Rowan Whitethorn, from now until the day you die?” She did not know the right words or the Old Language, but a blood oath wasn’t about pretty phrases. “I do. Until my last breath, and the world beyond. To whatever end.

Heir of Fire by Sarah J. Maas