Aelin: Rowan, dearest buzzard, do you think this dress is too… loud? I want to make sure I am appropriately dressed for plotting the downfall of an empire.
Rowan, eyes twinkling: Never, Fireheart… your—it’s perfect. The only one it serves to distract is any enemy with half a brain. And me… but I’m afraid every single thing I see you in manages to be horrendously inappropriate for every occasion where you are not trying to bring me to my knees.
Aedion, slamming his fist on the table inbetween them: You two are incorrigible! We’re trying to plan a siege, not a bloody courtship ritual! I mean we’re barely 5 minutes into the day, can I please for the love of gods have one meal in peace!













