#designer aelin

[leiawritesstories]

Lights, Camera, Yulemas!

Written for 12 Days of Rowaelin, basically every day lol @rowaelinscourt and based off this prompt from @everenvacker

Word count: 2,865

Warnings: language, innuendo, flirting, slight hints of angst. also i'm not sorry for ending it there teehee

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good afternoon, passengers, this is your captain speaking from the flight deck." The man's smooth voice cut through Aelin's concentration, and she looked up from her thick folder of notes, wincing a bit at the pinch in her neck from spending four hours bent over her work. "We have begun our final descent into Orynth. The local temperature is just about 8 degrees Fahrenheit, with clear skies and sun--though the sun isn't doing much against the chill, I'm afraid." A pause so the passengers could chuckle. "We're expecting to land in approximately twenty minutes. Flight attendants, final checks and prepare cabin for arrival." He put down the microphone.

Aelin stretched her arms above her head and closed her thick manila folder, tucking it back into her expensive tote bag--the only piece she'd ever designed exclusively for herself--which she stored in the lovely little closet space to her right. Ah, the perks of flying first class.

Directly across the aisle, a woman who appeared a few years older than Aelin gasped, clearly having caught sight of her tote. "Excuse me for my rudeness, but is that...a Galathynius?"

Aelin half-turned, offering the woman a smile. "It is! In fact, it's a custom one, something you won't see in any in-store or online collection." She winked. "Let's just say I...well, I know the designer personally."

Just her luck, the couple of sketches that had slipped her notice chose that moment to flutter onto the ground.

"Bloody hell," Aelin grumbled, leaning down to pick them up. "Pardon my rudeness."

The woman gasped, clearly having seen the sketches. "Holy gods!" Her eyes were wider than the plane windows. "Are you...you're Aelin Galathynius!"

Aelin tipped her head. "Busted." She tucked the drawings neatly into her bag. "Pleased to meet you, Ms...."

"Lyria," the woman rushed. "Lyria Frelau." She flashed Aelin a charming, sweet grin. "If it's not too personal, I actually work in the modeling industry--gods no, not as a model, that was never my path. I'm an agent at a firm in Orynth, that's all."

"Well, Lyria, let me tell you something--there's no such thing as 'just an agent.'" Aelin winked. "If I'm being honest, agents are the ones who make the world go 'round, as it were, because you help set up the people who walk in shows so little designers like me can get our work out to the world." On a whim, she handed Lyria her business card. "I'm releasing a Yulemas collection here in Orynth, actually, and if you're interested, please do give me a call." She grinned. "I'm sure I can find you a few tickets."

"Oh my--I--" Lyria accepted Aelin's card, incredulous. "Gods, thank you so much!" She beamed. "If it's not too much, I will certainly be interested in this show of yours--oh gosh, I can hardly believe it!"

Aelin grinned, settling back into her seat. "From one person in the industry to another, that's all."

In the whirlwind that swept her up almost the second she walked out of Orynth International Airport, she nearly forgot about Lyria.

Until the agent with the sweet smile turned out to be just the woman she needed to save the unexpected catastrophe that threatened to ruin her whole entire show.

~

"He what?" Aelin all but shrieked, her pulse spiking as high as her stress level. "Go--fucking gods, NOW?"

"I'm so sorry, Ae!" On the other end of the phone, Lysandra was trying her absolute utmost to placate her dear friend. "Shit, I didn't know until the goddamn hospital called, saying Fen was out."

"Again. Fuck!" Aelin raked her hands through her loose hair, sending the shoulder-length golden blonde strands into disarray. "Fen's my core male model, Lys, what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Hold on a sec--" Somewhat muffled, Lys's voice barked orders at whoever was close by in the office, probably trying to find any of the understudies they might have. She was back a few tense minutes later, her voice tight. "Fuck, Ae, I'm so sorry."

"Just what I fucking needed," Aelin grouched. "Thank you, Lys, you're a superhero."

"I'll keep trying to find someone," Lys promised. "I just..."

"Hold on a sec, I've got a call incoming."

"K, call me back." Lys hung up.

Sighing heavily, Aelin accepted the incoming call. "Aelin Galathynius, what's your call?"

"Miss Galathynius?" Lyria's voice. "I really don't mean to intrude, not at all, but my agency just received a call from your office saying there was a last-minute gap in your model cast?"

All of a sudden, Aelin's head cleared. Or at least cleared enough to hear herself think. "Actually, yes, we do have a gap. Fenrys Moonbeam had an unexpected skiing accident yesterday and is unable to walk today."

Lyria cleared her throat. "Well, as it happens, we do have someone available here in Orynth." Rustling paper as she checked her file. "His name is...Rowan. Rowan Whitethorn."

Aelin's brows furrowed. "I'm not sure I've ever heard that name before, is he new?"

"New to major designer shows, yes," Lyria confirmed. "He's walked in smaller shows for a few years, done a lot of work for brands and magazines, mostly in menswear and cologne."

"Ah. Worlds I don't keep up with as much as I should." Aelin thought for a brief moment. What the hell, he's here and he's male and I need a male model right the hell now. "Lyria?"

"Yes?"

"Send him over. I'll give you the address; if he could be here as soon as humanly possible, that would be amazing."

"Of course!"

"Thank you so much," Aelin breathed. Then she rattled off the address and hung up, barely even noticing that Lyria was halfway through one last note.

"...Rowan's not much of a Yulemas person, though."

~

Chaos.

Everything was chaos.

And Aelin was very much part of the chaos, running from station to station, model to model, team to team, checking hair and makeup and the lineup and going over any last-minute notes she had. All while distracting herself from checking the door every three seconds to see if the model Lyria said she would send--Regan? Ronan? Roger? What was his damn name again?--had shown up.

She successfully distracted herself enough that an assistant had to tap her shoulder to inform her that a Rowan Whitethorn was here to fill in for Fenrys.

Rowan. Right. Aelin strode over to what would have ben Fen's dressing area, flicking through her folder of notes. "One hour to runway, people!" she called. "Whitethorn, was it?"

"That's me."

For what felt like eternity, Aelin froze, sweeping her eyes over the sight of six foot three of sheer perfection in front of her. Then she cleared her throat, extended her free hand like the businesswoman she was, and shook hands with the model. "Aelin Galathynius."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am." Rowan's handshake was as firm as the defined muscles carving every inch of his body.

"Don't ma'am me, it makes me feel ancient," she laughed. "Right. Fenrys Moonbeam was supposed to walk the core male position today but is currently incapable of walking. So. How much runway experience do you have, Mr. Whitethorn?"

"Rowan, please, and not much. I've done a lot more with campaign shoots, magazines and all that fun shit. I have walked in a few Fashion Weeks, but that's about it as far as major runway shows go."

"I see." Aelin scribbled a few things on her notes. "Well, something is always better than nothing." She nodded at the stylists and dressers, who went right to work with Rowan's appearance, tousling up his silvery hair--a unique color, Aelin observed. Casually observed.

Not like she was ogling the man.

"Good news," the dresser murmured to Aelin. "He's just about the same measurements as Fen."

"Finally, some good luck," Aelin muttered, half under her breath. "Great, let's see if we need any alterations done."

When the wardrobe people wheeled in the rack of outfits, Rowan's posture stiffened, his spine solidifying into steel. Aelin's keen glance didn't miss the shift. "Are you alright, Rowan?"

"Fine," he bit out.

"Rowan." She placed herself in front of him, folded her arms, and leveled a flat stare at the man. "Truth?"

He met her stare with one of his own, a current of wrath simmering beneath his flat glare. "A Yulemas collection?"

"I thought Ms. Frelau or whoever your agent is would have informed you of that." Aelin's brows knitted. "Didn't they?"

Rowan shook his head. "Nobody did. Just told me to get here ASAP."

"Damn industry," Aelin grumbled. "Yes. A Yulemas collection. My first solo clothing line, in fact."

"Congratulations," he returned, something resembling actual warmth in his tone.

"Thank you." She arched one brow. "Nothing I have for you is ostentatious, I promise. I'm not that kind of designer."

Thank the gods," he deadpanned. "One less godawful tinsel-tree contraption to haunt the stores."

"Oh, you're a funny one," she snarked right back. "I'm sure the audience will be entirely captivated by you regardless of the clothing, Whitethorn. In fact, I'm half-tempted to send you to the runway with just your skin and your sass; you'd charm the pants right off half the crowd at least."

His lips flattened, laughter forcibly pressed back. "Funny."

"I know." She winked. "Right, let's see the outfits."

~

Rowan Whitethorn was completely and utterly fucked. Had been since he walked into the Yulemas explosion of the Galathynius show's backstage area to realize that he'd been called into a huge blaring show of everything he couldn't stand. Had been even more fucked when he met Aelin Galathynius, the designer, and very quickly discovered that he would have to keep a constant sad-puppy image in his mind lest he walk onto the runway standing upright, as it were.

But this was a godsdamn Yulemas show. A Yulemas collection. A whole lineup of clothing that represented everything Rowan hated about the winter season.

How the hell was he going to make it through?

He had to admit Aelin was telling the truth--none of the clothes that were rapidly pulled on and off his body were terribly ostentatious. In fact, they were really rather tasteful and beautifully designed, even if almost everything was in a color palette of greens, reds, ivory, gold, silver, and white. Holiday colors.

Colors he refused to admit were actually quite well suited to him.

Aelin, though, spoke her mind freely. "Well, sign me the hell up," she smirked, appraising him with her glance.

Gods roast him, Rowan wished that glance was her hands. Or even better, her tongue. Not that he would ever do something as completely inappropriate as fantasize about a woman he hardly knew...right?

Aelin smacked her lips. "I was right about that gorgeous ass of yours, Whitethorn. Every lady in the audience is going to be having some wonderful dreams tonight, oh yes."

"Galathynius," Rowan groaned, tipping his head back and screwing his eyes shut in discomfort. "Why?"

She chuckled. "I have a penchant for teasing people when I'm stressed, so forgive me if I've said anything wrong."

"'S'fine," he mumbled, beyond thankful for the runway makeup hiding his violent blush.

"Good." And Aelin whisked out of his dressing room, calling out that there were only five minutes to showtime.

Hell.

Just like that, the nerves exploded in Rowan's stomach. He looked at himself in the mirror, stared at the deep-red, fitted trousers, the partially unbuttoned off-white shirt, the casually festive tie hanging loose around his neck, and he felt faintly sick. That tended to happen when he had to face the flashy glamor of Yulemas.

"You'll do wonderfully." Unexpected, Aelin's voice broke into his reverie.

He whirled around. "What?"

"You'll do just fine, Rowan," she repeated. "I know you will."

"Hope so," he muttered. "Goddamn Yulemas memories."

If Aelin heard--which she most likely did--she said nothing, just adjusted the artfully tousled fabric of his shirt and patted his shoulder. "Oh! We almost forgot." She grabbed something off the table behind Rowan. "Give me your hand."

A little confused, Rowan held out his left hand. Aelin swiftly looped a small strand of multicolored lights around his wrist--a holiday decoration. "Every model is wearing one of these bracelets," she explained. "It's the little thing that's going to run through the whole show."

"Oh." He rolled his wrist around a bit, getting used to the lights. And forcing away everything those Yulemas lights brought to mind. "I like the idea, it's a nice touch."

"Us designers have to have those nice little touches." Aelin eyed him once more, obviously satisfied for how she nodded. "Queue up, Whitethorn. And don't worry, the show will be over before you know it."

~

Aelin was right--the show did go by in a hazy blur, and before Rowan knew it, he was standing in the wings waiting for his signal, clad in his final outfit of the show. And of course, of fucking course, this last outfit would have been the one that most made him want to crawl into the ground and hide.

The suit (should he even call it that?) wasn't awful, just...green. Festive holiday green. And the suit jacket's lapels were embellished with shimmering silvery fabric. And there was a sprig of mistletoe, of all things, tucked into the breast pocket.

Oh, and he was conveniently shirtless.

It was far, far worse than the magazine shoot he'd had to do last Yulemas, where he was dressed in fitted red velvet pants, a very tight matching jacket, and a Santa hat and been subjected to three whole hours of giggling little jokes about Santa being caught looking like a whole snack. Whatever the hell that meant.

Jaw locked, he ignored yet another snicker from his left as someone else passed by and ogled him. He really didn't know why everyone seemed so obsessed with his shirtless-ness; for the gods' sake, being physically fit was part of his job description.

"Annoying, isn't it?" Aelin's voice unexpectedly sounded near his side.

"Awful," he muttered.

She snickered quietly. "Well, you only have to wear this for about ten more minutes, and then never again."

"Thank the gods," he grumbled. "No offense to you, of course, the designs are phenomenal."

"You flatter me." She flashed him a quick, genuine smile. "Wait--before you walk, I need to fix this." Rising onto her tiptoes, she quickly smoothed out the jacket and adjusted the mistletoe in his pocket.

Which oh so conveniently required that she teasingly pass it over his head.

"Look at that," she drawled, "guess we found the mistletoe. Pucker up, Whitethorn."

He didn't have time to choke out any response before her soft lips pecked his, barely there for half a second before she replaced the mistletoe, patted his shoulder, and giggled.

"You've got this, Whitethorn! Make me proud." And with that, she gave the signal, nudging him out onto the runway.

Rowan's brain completely stalled, his body moving on autopilot down the runway and back. She kissed me! his mind screamed, the thought incredible and overwhelming all at once. As that thought finally quieted, he realized something.

He wanted to kiss her properly.

Not that...not that he would ever kiss a woman he barely knew, much less the designer who'd hired him to model her collection.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Pull it together, Whitethorn! he yelled at himself. This is work, not a goddamn crappy Hallmark Yulemas film!

Along with all the other models, he waited backstage as the lights went down and the audience broke into waves of applause, calling for the designer. The lights rose back up and Aelin, after a few nudges from a brunette woman in a headset, walked out onto the runway, beaming and waving to the crowd's cheers. She walked back smiling giddily, an almost girlish expression that made her striking turquoise eyes light with gold. The models and the teams cheered just as loudly when they were all backstage, congratulating the young designer on a wildly successful first show.

"Stop it," she laughed. "I could never have done it without all of you, and you all know it. Congratulations, everyone!"

As she passed Rowan, he shook her hand. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," she beamed. "Couldn't have done it without you, Whitethorn. I'm dead serious." Then she winked, that gleam in her eyes going wicked. "Besides, who am I to resist seeing you shirtless?"

"Gods," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're bad, Galathynius."

"Oh, you have no idea," she purred, her voice dropping to a velvety purr.

Rowan was too stunned to form a coherent retort, especially when she threw him a smirking wink and a lazy, sensual grin as she walked away. Too stunned to retort for several moments, at least.

He was decidedly not stunned, however, when he returned to his dressing room to find Aelin perched on the stool, wearing a form-fitting golden dress of her own design, the glimmering material molding to her form like a glove, save for the deep slit running all the way up one leg.

"Ho ho ho, Merry Yulemas," she hummed, brazenly appraising his form with her molten gaze. "Lock the door behind you, darling."

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

[sassyhobbits]

Godkiller

Enjoy some scary aelin art, which is my favorite genre of art to do.

[anonymoushuman2]

ok. I’ve decided to have a go at what I believe to be the only proper dress we see Aemma Arryn in, which is a travesty. We barely see this dress and it’s the only actual dress we see her in, which is a crime considering how amazing Sian Brooke is. The dress they put her in is ugly, ill fitting and frumpy. I hate it. Here’s a redesign.

[theadrawsart]

Do I have a million things to do?

Yes

Did I decide to do designs for throne of glass characters despite that?

…

also yes

[acourtofquestions]

credit: Alice Maria Power

[artisticallyalexis]

Thats it for today folks, I'm exhausted. Rendered in some rough ideas with this so I could see more of the vision for the final piece, I also desperately needed to look at something that wasn't green.

[opalrarity]

ARIAS ARCHIVE OFFICIAL on IG

Pictures are mine so if u repost please credit the original source

[ezs-diary]

Azriella Ambrose

The main character

Meet Azriella, who is a quick witted girl with a sharp mind and even sharper tongue. People know better than to mess with her unless they have a death wish. Sarcasm and profanities flow down her tongue like honey. She is an independent person because she learned at a young age that she can't rely on anyone but herself,however she has a bit of anger and has a tendency to act on impulse. When she wants smth she doesn't stop till she gets it. She has an ability to project a cold exterior but she really is very possessive and caring for people she deeply cares for. She is loyal to a fault. It would be an understatement to say that she is deceiving. People either want to be with her or be her. She is bold and is never afraid to speak her mind. She is creative and extraordinarily talented, as a result she uses art as a form to express herself, as she is good at many things but not expressing her feelings. Even though she is an extrovert not many people know what she is going through or what she has been through. When she walks she walks oh sorry she struts. She can be ruthless. She is cocky which is not appreciated by many men. She is charismatic and has a sense of humour. SHe is known for challenging authority and societal norms, always seeking to push boundaries and ignite change. She never learned to take anyone's shit.

Appearance

16 y/o

Wheaties skin tone

Medium length brown hair

Onyx colour eyes

5'5

Some random facts

She love listening to rock music but she also love to listen to ms swift

She doesn't like doing make up

The love of her life are books, chocolate and music.

She plays many instruments

She has bruises all over her body how you ask because she is clumsy as hell ( many ppl don't know that so whenever she has a new bruise they think she got into a fight)

Skateboarding

Always has her headphones on

Uses sarcasm as her coping mechanism

Her go to outfit is a band t shirt with ripped jeans

Wears silver jewellery only

People think she is an entj but she is an entp

Very intelligent

Needs academic validation but people think that she doesn't care about her grades

[kaerinio]

i just laid on a table for four hours kfdfkdj. i will be around tomorrow between plans with my cousin and playing with kittens! i hope you've all had a wonderful friday!!! 💖😘

[merymoonbeam]

A voice in the void, a secret and a quiet dreamer

Rowaelin:

"But I sent you to Wendlyn for the healing. And so you would ... find him. The one who had been waiting so long for you." Aelin's heart cracked. "Rowan." Elena nodded. "He was a voice in the void, a secret, silent dreamer. And so were his companions. But the Fae Prince, he was..." Aelin reined in her sob. "I know. I've known for a long time." "I wanted you to know that joy, too," Elena whispered. "How- ever briefly." “I did,” Aelin managed to say. “Thank you.

And we have Elriel:

The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. 

She arched a brow. He explained, “They pull people together. And bring them joy. They are a time to pause and reflect and gather, and those are never bad things.” Shadows darkened his eyes, full of enough pain that she couldn’t stop herself from touching his shoulder. Letting him see that she understood why he stood in the doorway, why he wouldn’t go near the fire. His secret to tell, never hers. Azriel’s face remained neutral.

And I will explain the "a voice in the void" part.

Elain was lost to the murky realm after the cauldron and being made. We now know it is because she was a seer.

Azriel had been the one who "freed" her from that murky realm.

But more importantly...before she was even freed from that murky realm, Azriel had focused her in a way if you look at these two scenes:

Rhys gave her a sharp look. But Elain said quietly, “The queen might come.” Silence. Elain was staring at the unlit fireplace, eyes lost to that vague murkiness. “What queen,” Nesta said, more tightly than she usually spoke to our sister. “The one who was cursed.” “Cursed by the Cauldron,” I clarified to Nesta, pushing off the archway. “When it threw its tantrum after you … left.” “No.” Elain studied me, then her. “Not that one. The other.” Nesta took a steadying breath, opening her mouth to either whisk Elain upstairs or move on. But Azriel asked softly, taking a single step over the threshold and into the sitting room, “What other?” Elain’s brows twitched toward each other. “The queen—with the feathers of flame.” The shadowsinger angled his head. Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

Let alone this is the "you are a seer" scene which freed elain from the murky realm. The "unblinking" part is quiet important. Whenever Elain has a vision or talks in riddles she is blinking rabidly. A few examples...

So as you can see...she is looking at Azriel "unblinkingly"

Another scene is this:

But Elain shook me off, heading back to the stairs. She said as she climbed the first steps, “I can hear her—crying.” I gripped the bottom post of the banister. “Who?” “Everyone thinks she’s dead.” Elain kept walking. “But she’s not. Only—different. Changed. As I was.” “Who,” I pushed. But Elain continued up the stairs, that shawl drooping down her back. Nesta stalked from Cassian’s side to approach my own. We both sucked in a breath, to say what, I didn’t know but— “What did you see,” Azriel said, and I tried not to flinch as I found him at my other side, not having seen him move. Again. Elain paused halfway up the stairs. Slowly, she turned to look back at him. “I saw young hands wither with age. I saw a box of black stone. I saw a feather of fire land on snow and melt it.”

Feyre asks and asks...nothing. Azriel asks and she stops to look back at him.

And this whole parallel hits even harder when you think about how Rowan had a mate...but it was fake and there are MANY parallels with elriel and rowaelin. Such as these BANGERS.

So yeah...I think this is my top parallel find. I'm retiring. I cant top this.

[leiawritesstories]

here have a snippet

model/designer au won the poll so......here y'all go ;) (@everenvacker you're welcome)

beware of 👀 after the cut

~~~~~

Aelin just smirked. "Oh, Whitethorn, surely you thought better than that?"

Rowan's throat bobbed. "Maybe."

She traced one manicured nail along his jaw. "Have I reduced you to single words already? Mmm, lucky me indeed."

Almost before she could blink, he spun them around, bracing her back against the wall and splaying one hand on her thigh, using that damned golden dress's slit to his advantage. "The only one being reduced to single words right now is you, Galathynius." Too softly, he stroked her leg, inching closer to her center.

She hummed, affecting disinterest. "Stop playing shy and do something, then."

"As you wish," he purred, ghosting his lips up her throat in a shadow of a kiss, a shadow of what he wanted to do. Without warning, thriving on her stifled little gasp, he slipped his hand fully between her legs.

Only to discover that she had absolutely nothing on beneath that dress.

[tomtenadia]

Rowaelin Month - day 7

Hi all, a bit late with this but inspiration did not until an hour ago.

It's a very short fic with a lot of fluff. Hopefully you will love it For some reason is very mostly in Rowan's POV.

@rowaelinscourt

THE LUCKY ONE

The room was chaos. Dresses and shoes lay scattered on the bed and floor as if a tornado has swept through the room. That natural disaster was called Aelin and Rowan stared at his wife planted in front of her dresser with a disgruntled expression.

“Fireheart, not to put you any pressure on you, but our taxi will be here in half an hour.”

Rowan was an architect and his firm had won the contract to rebuild the Opera house that had been destroyed ten months prior by a fire. 

That night the place was finally reopening and of course they had been invited. The venue would officially open to the public the following night, that evening was a high end affair with the high end of the society and famous people. 

He was not a big fan of black tie events. He was an introvert. His company had won the contract and then asked some of the best architects to design a new venue. His project had won by a landslide, he got a promotion and became project manager. It had been a dream but he would have been happy to stay in the background and watch people enjoy his vision.

But unfortunately he was meant to go on stage make a speech and cut the ribbon with the mayor.

Aelin, always the extrovert, had been delighted at the idea and of bragging with her friends of how famous her husband was.

But her next grunt made him realise that even Aelin at that point would have gladly stayed at home in sweatpants with their kids and a movie and a lot of ice cream.

Aelin was three months pregnant with their third child and had reached the stage where clothes had stopped fitting.

“ Can I just show up with one of your hockey jersey and sweatpants?”

Rowan walked closer to his wife and puller her to his chest. She was just in his underwear and his hand gently covered the small bump that has just started showing “Fireheart, you are stunning.”

“I am fat.”

A gentle kiss on the spot behind her neck “Get dressed and tonight I will show you how hot I think you are.”

Aelin turned, facing him “you are biased.”

“No, I love you.”

Five minutes later he had manged to help her in a stunning black dress that showed all the curves he loved so very much. He had not lied. She was stunning. Stretch marks and all. 

They were finishing getting ready when the door of their bedroom opened and their two children appeared and Rowan smiled. Maya, their seven years old daughter, was wearing her princess dress with tiara and all. But the best view was Thomas, their five year old son all dressed up with his sister’s princess clothes too. He had a pink fluffy dress with a puffy skirt, a few fake pearl necklaces, clip on earrings and a red hair wig that Maya had used for Halloween. While his sister was wearing a tiara he had a big crown that was too big for him.

“Dada, we are ready too!” Screamed Maya.

“Mama, dada, look! We pwetty!” Thomas added while showing his attire proudly. 

Aelin burst into tears and knelt in front of both of them “you are both stunning, I am sure auntie Lys will give you a wonderful party for tonight.

“No,” said Thomas “We go with mama and dada.”

Rowan sat down near his son “Tom, you and Maya will have to stay with auntie Lys and uncle Aedion tonight. It’s grown up boring party,” explained Rowan who, all of a sudden would have preferred to attend the party his kids had in mind.

“But we dressed up,” protested Maya.

“I know my love,” added Aelin grabbing their kids hands then she looked at Rowan “what about you and Tom plan a party for tomorrow? Dad and I will dress up with you both.”

All of a sudden the kid’s smile grew “can I keep crown?” Asked Thomas timidly.

Rowan hugged his son “anything.”

The two screamed in joy and ran out of the door.

Rowan helped Aelin to stand up and she melted against his chest “Their party sounds much better.”

“I know, Fireheart. Tomorrow.”

“Can I be your queen for a day?”

His mouth met hers “you have been my queen every day since I met you.”

*

The following day the Whitethorn-Galathynius’ household was transformed in a fantasy wonderland. Aelin had transformed in queen and had sat all day on the armchair that Rowan had converted in a throne. He had dressed up as knight and both kids had put up a fashion show. Maya’s room had exploded and all her clothes had been everywhere while she had her brother paraded in front of their parents. It had been the perfect day. Rowan had even let Aelin and Thomas paint his nails while Thomas tried to braid his hair. 

Yes, the event the previous night had been the celebration of a career.

But this, with his family around him, was the only goal he really cared about. 

He stood and grabbed Thomas in his arms, "come on, let’s go and make mama and sis tea and biscuits."

And with his son still dressed like a fairy in his arms he waltzed to the kitchen thinking that he was the luckiest man in Terrasen. 

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[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 10

Hello Dear Readers! Here comes the new chapter, it's 6239 words, so be prepared.

What do you think about a game? It's almost Threshing. If you can guess (correctly or close to that) what kind of dragon and/or what kind of signet Aelin will have, then I'll answer one question in private about the story. Even if it'll be a spoiler. Good luck!

Don’t underestimate the challenge of the Gauntlet, Mira. It’s designed to test your balance, strength, and agility. The times don’t matter for shit, only that you make it to the top. Reach for the ropes when you have to. Coming in last is better than coming in dead.

—Page forty-six, the Book of Brennan

I look up, and up, and up, and I can only blink.

“Well, that’s…” Ethan swallows, his head tilted just as far back as mine as we stare at the menacing obstacle course that’s carved into the front of a ridgeline so steep, it might as well be a cliff. The zigzagging death trap of a trail rises above us, climbing in five distinct switchbacks of 180-degree turns, each increasing in difficulty on the way to the top of the bluff that divides the citadel from the flight field and the Vale.

“Amazing.” Liam grins.

Ethan and I turn, both staring at him like he must have hit his head.

“You think that hellscape looks amazing?” Ethan asks.

„I mean look at that. I heard a lot of stories about this, but it’s so much more complex. It will be a real challenge.” Liam grins, his blue eyes dancing in the morning sun as he rubs his hands together, shifting from one toned leg to the other in glee.

“Challenge? Yeah, sure we can go with that.” I laugh at him. “At the gym in the challenges you don’t have a real opponent, it was way too easy for you.”

“You’re one to talk.” Ethan stares at me. “You’ve never lost either.”

“Well…yeah” I scratch my head.

„Still not sure why they call it the Gauntlet,” another squadmate - whose name I don’t remember - says from my right, blowing into his cupped hands to ward off the morning chill. The sun hasn’t touched this little crevice, but it’s shining above the last quarter of the course.

“To ensure dragons keep coming to Threshing by weeding out the weaklings.” An obnoxious girl says, maybe her name is Vila? At some point I should start memorizing their names. But they are fucking annoying.

I shoot her a glare and then shake it off.

“Knock it the fuck off,” the first-year snaps, earning the entire squad’s attention.

My eyebrows lift. They’re really annoying.

“We have such a lovely and cohesive squad.” I murmur to Liam. “What is his name anyway?”

“Do you really not know their names?” He laughs at me. “We’ve been squadmates for a while.”

“I know your name, Ethan’s and Vila’s too. Oh and there’s Theo and Zanaya.” I list.

“That’s all?” He grins “You know my name because we’re friends. Ethan is my friend and he hangs out with us during classes, so that doesn’t count.” He counts the names on his fingers. “And the only reason you know Vila’s name is because she annoys you. Theo and Zanaya don’t count either. They’re the squadleader and his executive.”

“Fine. I admit it. I don’t know their names. “I give in. “They die like flies. We’re the smallest squad.”

“Then why do you think it’s called the gauntlet?” I hear shouting behind me.

God. They’re still arguing.

„It’s called the Gauntlet because this is the cliff that guards the Vale,” Professor Emetterio says, walking up behind our squad, his shaved head glinting in the growing sunlight. “Plus, actual gauntlets—armored gloves made of metal—are slippery as hell, and the name stuck about twenty years ago.” He cocks a brow at Vila and the man next to her. “Are you two done arguing? Because all six of you have exactly an hour to get to the top before it’s another squad’s chance to practice, and from what I’ve seen of your agility on the mat, you’re going to need every second.”

There’s a grumble of assent in our little group.

“As you know, hand-to-hand challenges are on hold for the next two and a half weeks before Presentation so you can focus here.” Professor Emetterio flips a page on the little notebook he carries. “Liam, you’re going to show them how it’s done, since you’re the best of the squad. Then Aelin, Jake, Ethan, Rio and Vila.” He finishes calling out every name in our squad, and we file into order. “You’re the smallest squad so far. You need to work hard to remain intact. If you’ll lose two or three more cadets then you’ll be dissolved and you’ll be assigned to another squad. Wait here for a second.” He walks past us, waving at someone high up on the cliff. No doubt that someone has a watch.

We wait silently, thinking about what he said. I don’t want to be assigned to another squad. I like it that Liam is my squadmate, and I’m starting to like Ethan too. There’s no guarantee all three of us will be in the same squad.

„Here we go!” Professor Emetterio walks to the head of our line. “You’ll get your time at the top of the course, if you make it, but remember, you’ll still have nine practice sessions before we rank you for Presentation in two and a half weeks, which will determine if the dragons find you worthy at Threshing.”

„Wouldn’t it make more sense to let first-years start practicing this thing right after Parapet?” Ethan asks. “You know, to give us a little more time so we don’t die?”

“No,” Professor Emetterio replies. “The timing is part of the challenge. And some words of wisdom, before you start.”

“There are ropes every six feet that run from the top of the sheer cliffside to the bottom,” he says. “So if you start to fall, reach out and grab a rope. It’ll cost you thirty seconds, but death costs you more.”

Awesome.

“I mean, there’s a perfectly good set of steps over there.” Vila points to the steep staircase carved into the cliff beside the wide switchbacks of the Gauntlet.

“Stairs are for reaching the flight field on the top of the ridgeline after Presentation,” Professor Emetterio says, then lifts his hands toward the course and flicks his wrist, pointing at various obstacles.

The fifteen-foot log at the start of the uphill climb begins to spin. The pillars on the third ascent shake. The giant wheel at the first switchback starts its counterclockwise rotation, and those little posts there? They all twist in opposite directions.

“Every one of the five ascents on this course is designed to mimic the challenges you’ll face in battle.” Professor Emetterio turns to look at us, his face just as stern as it is during our usual combat training. “From the balance you must keep on the back of your dragon, to the strength you’ll need to hold your seat during maneuvers, to”—he gestures upward, toward the last obstacle that looks like a ninety-degree ramp from this angle—“the stamina you’ll need to fight on the ground, then still be able to mount your dragon at a second’s notice.”

The posts knock a chunk of granite loose, and the rock tumbles down the course, smacking every obstacle in its path until it crashes twenty feet in front of us.

“Whoa,” Rio whispers, his brown eyes wide as he stares at the pulverized rock.

„What if we can’t make it up?” Vila asks from my right, securing her long hair in a loose braid, her usual haughtiness not so in-your-face today. “What’s the alternative route?”

“There’s no alternative. If you don’t make it, you can’t get to Presentation, can you? Take your position, Liam,” Professor Emetterio orders, and Liam moves to the beginning of the course. “After he makes it past the final obstacle, so everyone can learn from this cadet completing the course, the rest of you will start every sixty seconds. And…go!”

Liam is off like a shot. He easily runs the fifteen feet across the single log spinning parallel with the cliff face and then the raised pillars, but it takes him two rotations inside the wheel before he jumps through the lone opening, but other than that, I don’t see a single misstep in the first ascent. Not. One.

He turns and rushes toward a series of giant hanging balls that make up the second ascent, jumping and hugging one after another. His feet back on the ground, he turns again and heads up the third ascent, which is divided into two sections. The first part has giant metal rods hanging parallel to the cliff wall, and he easily swings arm over arm, using his body’s weight and momentum to swing the bar forward and reach the next bar hanging half a foot higher than the previous as he climbs the side of the cliff. From the last bar, he jumps onto a series of shaking pillars that make up the second half of this ascent before finally leaping back onto the gravel path.

By the time he reaches the fourth ascent, the spinning logs, Liam’s made it all look like child’s play, and I start to feel a bubble of hope that maybe the course isn’t as difficult as it looks from the ground.

But then he faces a giant chimney formation rising high above him at a twenty-degree angle and pauses.

“You got this!” I yell to encourage him.

As though he heard, he sprints toward the leaning chimney and flings himself upward, grabbing onto the sides by forming an X with his body, then starts hopping up the conduit until he reaches the end and drops down in front of the final obstacle, a massive ramp that reaches up to the top of the cliff’s edge at a nearly vertical climb.

My breath catches in my throat as Liam sprints toward the ramp, using his speed and momentum to carry him two-thirds of the way up the ramp. Just before he starts to fall, he reaches up with one arm and grasps the lip of the ramp and hauls himself over the edge.

Ethan and I cheer for him. He made it. In an almost flawless approach.

“Perfect technique!” Professor Emetterio calls out. “That’s exactly what you should all be doing.”

„Aelin, begin!” Emetterio orders.

Be with me, Zihnal. I haven’t spent nearly enough time at temple for the god of luck to care much about what happens to me right now, but it’s worth a shot.

I bolt up the first part of the ascent, coming to the spinning log within seconds. My stomach feels like it’s being stirred by this balance beam from hell. “It’s just balance. You can balance,” I mumble and start across, jumping off the end to land on the first of four granite columns, each one higher than the last.

There are about three feet between them, but I manage to leap from one pillar to the next without skidding off the ends. And this is the easy part.

I jump into the rotating wheel and run, leaping over the only opening as it flies by once, then watching it come around. Timing. This one is all about timing.

The opportunity comes and I seize it, racing through the opening and turning back onto the gravel path of the second ascent. The buoy balls are just ahead.

I start to hum to calm myself. The music always helps me.

I spring from the edge of the path onto the first ball, grasping it up top. The immediate strain on my shoulders makes me tense but it’s bearable. Not bad.

Throwing my weight, I force the ball to rotate, swinging me toward the next one.

I repeat the motion, grasping from one ball to the next, keeping my eyes on the chains and nothing else.

I still hum as I reach the fifth and final ball. With one last swing, I throw myself sideways, releasing the ball and landing on the shoulder-wide gravel path and I almost hit the wall with my head.

It’s all momentum for the next ascent.

I line my body up with the first metal rod and get ready to sprint forward.

There are three iron rails in front of me, each lined up like a battering ram toward the next.  I then launch myself towards the first. At least the texture gives me something to keep hold of as I work my way hand over hand.

The first clang of iron as the rails meet makes my fingers slip, and I gasp.

I throw myself to the next and move across the rail with the same hand-over-hand motion.

My right hand loses purchase and my weight swings me into face-first of the steep mountainside, my cheek slamming into the rock. A high-pitched ringing erupts in my ears and my vision darkens at the edges.

“Aelin!” Liam shouts from the top.

My other hand is still holding the rail. I can do it.

I’ve survived seven weeks in this damned quadrant, and this course isn’t going to beat me today.

I immediately start the hand over hand to get me to the next one, until I finally let go, landing on the first shaking iron pillar. My brain is rattled as the thing shudders violently, and I leap to the next, barely gaining a foothold before jumping to the gravel path at the end of the ascent.

I reach the twisting staircase posts jutting straight from the side of the cliff face.

Each three-foot-wide timber rotates from its base in one of the steepest sections of the course. I quickly calculate. I need to do it with one go. If I stop they will probably roll me off.

I bounce on my feet, dredging up whatever courage I have left. Then I run. My feet are quick, making contact with each post only long enough to push off for the next, and within a few heartbeats, I’m on the other side.

I hear someone cry out and my head snaps toward the voice, just in time to see Jake wobble and slip on the rails. The air freezes.

“Jake!” I hear Vila screaming.

Our eyes meet, shock and terror filling his wide black eyes as he falls. Halfway down the cliff.

Shit.

“Aelin! Come on, you’re almost up here.” Liam shouts at the top.

I look at him and nod. Yes, I can do it.

I face a giant chimney formation rising high above me at a twenty-degree angle and pause.

God, it’s really high. But if Liam could do it, then so do I.

I sprint toward the leaning chimney and flings myself upward, grabbing onto the sides by forming an X with my body.

Okay, now I need to climb.

I start hopping up the conduit slowly, maybe a little too slowly, until I reach the end and drop down in front of the final obstacle, a massive ramp that reaches up to the top of the cliff’s edge at a nearly vertical climb.

Fuck. It seems the most difficult obstacle of all of them.

But I can’t give up now. It’s the last one. I can do it, I just need to be fast.

I sprint toward the ramp, using my speed and momentum to carry me almost all the way up the ramp.

Just before I start to fall, I reach up and I can grab onto the lip of the ramp with one arm.

My god. I did it.

I reach up with my other arm and haul myself over the edge.

As soon as I stand up, Liam is there and sweeps me into his arms.

“You were great Aelin!” He laughs. “You did it!”

I still can’t believe that it’s over. I hug him back and start laughing too.

“Yeah. It seems I did it.”

“How’s your face?” He pulls back and look at the side of my face. “You hit it pretty hard.”

“It’s not that bad actually. I mean, later it’ll hurt probably.”

“Then we will get some ointment later.”

I nod and then we watch the others.

Ethan has made up his way to us. He was the slowest of us who made it to the top, but it doesn’t matter to me. He did it, and we survived.

Rio made it too. He did a great job and since then he bahaves as if he was already chosen by a dragon. And naturally Vila argues with him about this too.

Vila had to use the ropes at the shaking pillars. She almost fell down like Jack.

Shit. We lost Jack.

There are only 5 of us first-years left.

***

The sun burns my eyes as we stand in morning formation.

“Calvin Atwater,” Captain Fitzgibbons reads, his voice solemn like always.

First Squad, Claw Section, Fourth Wing. He sits two rows behind me in Battle Brief. He sat.

There’s nothing special about this morning. Our first trial on the Gauntlet has made the roll longer, but it’s just another list on just another day…except it’s not. It’s not like the first day anymore. I know more than half of the names as they’re called. “Newland Jahvon,” he continues.

Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing.

We have to be in the twenties by now. How can this be all there is? We say their names once and then go on as if they never existed?

„Aurelie Donans.”

Shit. She was Vi’s squadmate. She told me what happened yesterday. Watching one of your friends falls to death? It’s cruel.

I look at Violet and see that she ripped open one of the scabs along her cheek. A trickle of blood follows as the next name is called.

***

“You’re sure about this?” Dain asks Violet the next night - as I approach them - two worried lines between his brows as he clasps Violet’s shoulders.

“If her parents aren’t coming to bury her body, then I should be the one to handle her things. I’m the last person she saw,” She explains, rolling her shoulders to adjust the weight of Aurelie’s pack.

Every Basgiath parent has the same option when their cadet is killed. They can retrieve the body and personal effects for burial or burning or the school will put their body under a stone and burn their effects themselves. Aurelie’s parents have chosen door number two.

“And you don’t want me to go with you?” he asks, palming her neck.

She shakes her head. “I know where the burn pit is.”

“Besides I will be there for her.” I say and stand next to Violet. “Now hands off. We have more important things to do, than listening to you.”

“Cadet Melgren, do I need to remind you that I’m a squadleader? Show some respect.” He growls at me.

“Respect must be earned. And I think it sends a completely different message that you coddle Violet, squadleader.” I raise my eyebrows.

“It’s okay, Dain. We should go.” Violet says then we start to climb the stairs of the academic tower’s turret past the Battle Brief room and up to the stone roof, going by a few other cadets on their way down.

„I never got the chance to ask you if you made it all the way up,” I say.

She shakes her head. “I got caught at the chimney formation and had to use a rope to get back down. I’m too short to span the distance, but I’m not thinking about that tonight. I’ll figure something out before the official timed Gauntlet on Presentation day.”

“I help you. We will figure something out, together. You’re not alone, Vi.” I squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.

The burn pit is nothing more than an extra-wide iron barrel, whose only purpose is to incinerate, and the flames burn bright against the night sky as we stumble out onto the roof.

There’s no one else up here as Violet slips the bag from her shoulder.

I stop a little further away from the pit. She wanted to do it alone, and I will respect her wish.

“I’m so sorry,” I hear her whisper, as she flings it up and over the metal edge of the bin.

The flames catch and whoosh as it becomes more fuel for the fire, just another tribute to Malek, the god of death.

Instead of walking back down the stairs, I make my way to the edge of the turret where Violet stares at the sky.

It’s a cloudy night, but I can make out the shadows of three dragons as they approach from the west and even see the ridge where the Gauntlet lays, waiting to claim its next victim.

It won’t be me.

I stand here, patiently waiting for Violet to be ready to go back, letting minutes tick by before the bells sound for curfew. We climb back down the stairs without a word.

We walk through the courtyard, empty but for a couple who can’t decide if they’d rather kiss or walk near the dais.

“I don’t want go back yet.” Vi whispers while avoiding my eyes.

“Then we won’t. Come, if I remember correctly there’s an alcove over there.” I smile at her softly. Understanding the pain, that makes her want to hide.

We’re heading for the alcove where Dain and Vi first sat after Parapet.

It’s almost been two months, and we’re still here. Still waking every morning to the sunrise. Doesn’t that mean something?

I wonder as we sit in silence, watching the stars on the sky.

The door that leads to the tunnel we took to cross the ridgeline to the Gauntlet this morning opens along the courtyard wall, just left of the academic building, and my brow furrows. Who would be returning this late?

Sitting back against the wall, I let the darkness conceal me as Xaden, Garrick, and Bodhi—Xaden’s cousin—pass under a mage light, headed in my direction.

Three dragons. They were out…doing what? There were no training ops that I know of tonight, not that I’m privy to everything third-years do.

“There has to be something more we can do,” Bodhi argues, looking to Xaden, his voice low as they pass by us, their boots crunching on the gravel.

“We’re doing everything we can,” Garrick hisses.

My scalp prickles and Xaden stops mid-step ten feet away, the set of his shoulders rigid.

Shit.

He knows we’re here.

Instead of the usual fear that spikes in his presence, only anger rises in my chest. If he wants to kill me, then fine. I’m over waiting for it to happen. Over walking through the halls in fear.

“What’s wrong?” Garrick asks, immediately looking over his shoulder in the opposite direction, toward the couple who definitely decided making out is more important than getting into the dorms by curfew.

“Go on. I’ll meet you inside,” Xaden says.

„You sure?” Bodhi’s forehead puckers, and his gaze sweeps over the courtyard.

“Go,” Xaden orders, standing completely still until the other two walk into the barracks, turning left toward the stairwell that will take them to the second- and third-year floors. Only when they’re gone does he turn and face the exact spot where we’re sitting.

“I know you know we’re here.” Violet says and moves toward him. “And please don’t prattle on about commanding the dark. I’m not in the mood tonight.”

I try to suppress my laughter as I walk next to Violet, standing between her and Xaden.

“No questions about where I’ve been?” He folds his arms across his chest and studies us in the moonlight. His scar looks even more menacing in this light, but I can’t seem to find the energy to be scared.

“I honestly don’t care.” Vi shrugs and makes her way toward the dorms without another word.

“As much as I enjoy our conversations, I have to go. It’s curfew after all.” I say.

“Are you going to tell someone that we were out?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No. I don’t care what you do.” I cross my arms. “It’s probably the best if I don’t know anyway.” I mutter silently.

He cocks his head to the side. “You really don’t care, do you?”

I just shake my head.

“What are you doing out after curfew, Sunshine?”

“Counting the stars, what else?” I retort. “How about you? Feel like sharing?” I ask mockingly, knowing he’s not about to answer me.

“The same.”

Sarcastic ass.

“Look, are you planning to kill us or not? The anticipation is starting to annoy the fuck out of me.” I ask.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he answers, like I’ve just inquired about his dinner preferences, but his gaze narrows on my cheek. There’s still a bruise from yesterday’s Gauntlet practice.

“Well, could you?” I mutter. “It would definitely help me make my plans for the week.”

“Am I affecting your schedule, Sunshine?” There’s a definite smirk on those lips.

“I just need to know what my chances are that Violet and I are going to make it through alive.” My hands curl into fists.

The ass has the nerve to smile. “That’s the oddest way I’ve ever been hit on—”

“Not my chances with you, you conceited prick!” Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I move past him, but he catches my wrist, his grip light but his hold firm.

His fingertips on my pulse make it skitter.

“Chances at what?” he asks, tugging me just close enough that my shoulder brushes his biceps.

“Nothing.” He wouldn’t understand. He’s a damned wingleader, which means he’s excelled at everything in the quadrant, even somehow managing to get past his own last name.

“Chances at what?” he repeats. “Do not make me ask three times.” His ominous tone is at odds with his gentle grasp, and shit, does he have to smell so good? Like mint and leather and something I can’t quite identify, something that borders between citrus and floral.

“At living through all of this! I have to figure it out how Violet can make it up the damned Gauntlet. And there’s my own problems I have to deal with, and here you are, annoying me.” I half-heartedly tug at my wrist, but he doesn’t let go.

“I see.” He’s so infuriatingly calm, and I can’t even get a grip on one of my emotions.

„No, you don’t. You’re probably celebrating because she’ll fall to her death and you can kill me anytime, we saw that on the mat the previous time.”

“Killing you wouldn’t be any trouble, Sunshine. It’s leaving you alive that seems to cause the majority of my trouble.”

My gaze swings up to clash with his, but his face is unreadable, cloaked in shadow, go figure.

“Sorry to be a hassle.” Sarcasm drips from my voice. “You know the problem with this place?” I tug my arm back again, but he holds fast. “Besides you touching things that don’t belong to you?” My eyes narrow on him.

„I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” My stomach flutters as his thumb brushes my pulse and he releases my wrist.

I answer before I can think better of it. “Hope.”

“Hope?” He tips his head closer to mine, as if he wasn’t sure he heard me right.

“Hope.” I nod. “Someone like you would never get it, but I knew coming here was a death sentence. It didn’t matter that I’ve been trained my entire life to enter the Riders Quadrant, but it isn’t a guarantee that I will survive it; but when General Melgren gives an order, you can’t exactly ignore it.” Gods, why am I running off at the mouth to this man? What’s the worst he’ll do? Kill you?

„Sure you can.” He shrugs. “You just might not like the consequences.”

I roll my eyes, and to my utter embarrassment, instead of pulling away now that I’m free, I lean in just a little, like I can siphon off some of his strength. He certainly has enough to spare.

“I knew what the odds were, and I came anyway, concentrating on that tiny percentage of a chance that both of us would live. And then we make it almost two months and I get…” I shake my head, clenching my jaw. “Hopeful.” The word tastes sour.

“Ah. And then you lose a squadmate, and you are reminded that you can’t help Violet, and you give up. I’m starting to see. He holds my gaze locked with his. “Here’s the thing, Melgren. Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Not hope that we live? Just plan for death?”

“You’re supposed to focus on the things that can kill you so you find ways to not die.” He shakes his head. “I can barely count the number of people in this quadrant who want you dead, either as revenge against your father or because you’re just really good at pissing people off, but you’re still here, defying the odds.” Shadows wrap around me, and I swear I feel a caress along the side of my wounded cheek. “It’s been rather surprising to watch, actually.”

“Happy to be your entertainment. I’m going to bed.” Spinning on my heel, I head toward the entrance to the barracks, but he’s right behind me, close enough that the door would slam in his face if he wasn’t so unnaturally fast at catching it.

“Maybe if you stopped sulking in your self-pity, you’d see that you have everything you need.” he calls after me, his voice echoing down the hallway.

“My self-what?” I turn around, my jaw dropping.

“People die,” he says slowly, his jaw ticking before he drags in a deep breath. “It’s going to happen over and over again. It’s the nature of what happens here. What makes you a rider is what you do after people die. You want to know why you’re still alive? Because you’re the scale I currently judge myself against every night. Every day I let you live, I get to convince myself that there’s still a part of me that’s a decent person. So if you want to quit, then please, spare me the temptation and fucking quit. But if you want to do something, then do it.”

What an annoying prick.

I open my mouth to retort when I hear footsteps.

We turn around and face the man whom I know too well. He’s the aide of General Melgren.

Fuck, he must be back. I can feel my face turning as white as a ghost.

Xaden must see it too because he steps in front of me without a word. He’s trying to protect me?

“Wingleader Riorson I need a word with Cadet Melgren, leave.” The man says to Xaden without a glance at him.

“She’s in my chain of command. I don’t see why I should leave her here.” He crosses his arms. “If you have something to say then do it in front of me.”

“Fine.” The man nods and stares at me. “General Melgren wishes to see you. He returned from the front and like’d to hear your report.”

My god. I didn’t prepare a suitable story for him. I will be in big trouble, if not worse.

“I understand, I’ll be there.” I nod.

Without another word the man turns around and leaves us alone.

“What’s all this about?” Xaden looks at me with an unreadable expression.

“Nothing. You heard him. The General wants to see me. I have to go.” I say and try to walk past him to the doors but he grabs my arm.

“Nothing? I don’t think so.” He leans closer. “You look as pale as a ghost.”

“It was a surprise, nothing else.” I try to lie, in hope that he lets it slide. I don’t want him to find out.

“Why don’t you call him father?” He observes me. “You always call him General. He’s your father isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. It’s just that we’re cadets and it wouldn’t be appropriate.” I yank my arm and he releases me. “Now if you excuse me, I have to go.”

I walk out the door, towards the building where the offices are located. I feel nauseous. Everystep on the stairs is harder. I’m scared.

I stop in front of his door. Breath in and out. Then I knock.

“Enter.”

I open the door and enter his office. The air is chilling because of the open window. I stand in front of his desk and wait until he’s done with writing whatever he’s writing.

“What happened since we talked last time?” He puts down his pen and looks at me with a cold gaze.

“The challanges are over for now, we started practicing on the Gauntlet.” I try to keep it short.

“How many challanges did you lose?”

“I didn’t lose a single one.” I reply in an emotionless tone. I need to lock up my feelings as usual. This is the only way to survive it. Later…later I can think about it.

“That was expected.” He nods with approval as he stands up and walks around the desk. “The Gauntlet?”

“Yesterday was our first session, I made it up on my first try.” I answer.

“And what about that Riorson kid and the other marked-ones?” He raises an eyebrow and stands in front of me.

I gulp.

“There’s nothing that’s worth mentioning.” I try and hope so hard he’d accept it.

He grabs my arm tightly and yanks me toward him.

“I will decide if it is worth it or not.” He squeezes my arm tighter. It will leave a bruise. “Do you understand, Cadet?”

“Yes, General.” I reply quickly.

“Good. Now tell me what you know.” He releases my arm and I try not to show that it hurt.

“They attend classes like anyone else. They don’t stand out.” I say the basic facts that anyone can know. I don’t want to betray Liam and his friends. “Most of the other cadets are avoiding them. Some of them are good at studying while others at fighting. They seem pretty normal to me.”

“Hm. And Riorson?” He asks with a calculating look.

“We don’t have much common classes. At Battle Brief he’s observant and clever. At the gym he’s strong and quick. He spends a lot of time with the leader of the Flame Section, Garrick Tavis.” I say only what’s neccesary to ease his suspicion.

“Do you ever see them in groups larger than three?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

The night at the tree. Images flashes through my mind. But… they didn’t do anything wrong.

“No. Never.” I shake my head.

“I see.” He looks at me with a gaze that makes me chill to the bones. “That’s all you could gather the past weeks? I heard you’re friends with Colonel Mairi’s son.” He spat the word friend as if it’s a disease.

“I’m close with him because of his relationship with Xaden, and he’s a first-year too.” I lie to him. I can’t bring more attention to Liam. He’s truly a good person. “He’s a pretty private person, but slowly opening up. Maybe later I can gather more information. I don’t want to look suspicious.”

“And the daggers? Did you see them with the marked-ones?”

“No, they mostly use the ones they earned at challenges.” I’m curious to why that strange dagger is important to him. “If I know what they are, maybe I could search more efficiently.”

“That’s above your paygrade, Cadet.” He says towering over me. “You’re dismissed.” He leans on his desk.

“Understood.” I say and turn toward the doors.

There’s a sound, a dagger cutting through the air. Instinctively I turn around and lean to the side.

I was almost too late. I feel the dagger grazing my cheek and then the blood.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He knows that I lied to him?

In the blink of an eye he’s there and squeezes my neck.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you’re alive is because of my mercy.” He leans closer and cuts off the air supply when he squeezes harder. “I expect useful information from you. If you have to then use your body. You’re only worth is your usefulness. I don’t need people who are useless.”

There’s a knock on the door behind me. He glares at me a moment longer then releases me and pulls out his dagger from the door and sheetes it.

I start coughing and try to squeeze enough air in my lungs through my bruised throat.

Damn. I almost died.

The General is already sitting at his desk when another knock sounds.

“Go, I have better things to do.”

I open the door and see General Sorrengail.

“General.” I greet her in a rasp voice.

She looks at my cheek where the blood still flows with a raised eyebrow then toward my neck.

Shit, I didn’t think. She’s not stupid. I have to get out of here.

I exit the office and without another word I’m stumbling down the stairs.

I need to go out. I need air. My thoughts are fuzzy. I almost died. The sentence repeats again and again in my head.

But depsite of it, I still can’t bear the thought of betraying the marked-ones. Liam. Xaden. I…like them.

But what if it’ll cost me my life?

[theadrawsart]

Full lineup of my Throne of glass character designs so far!

[acourtofquestions]

[artisticallyalexis]

"To whatever end? He nodded and she joined hands with him blood to blood and soul to soul, his other arm coming around to grip her tightly"

~Heir of Fire, Sarah J Maas

I couldn't be happier with how this came out. This is my fourth serious digital painting, I have a long way to go in terms of composition, lighting, and what not, but I am so happy of how far my art has come in the last month of serious work. I love Rowan and Aelin and maybe sometime in the future when I have a greater skill set I will revisit this and see what I can make of it then.