Aelin And Rowan Love Quotes

I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.

Where is Aelin. Where is my wife?

Aelin frightens everyone…But not him. I think that’s why she fell in love with him, against her best intentions. Rowan beheld all Aelin was and is, and he was not afraid

Aelin took a step forward. One step, as if in a daze. She loosed a shuddering breath, and a small, whimpering noise came out of her - a sob. And then she was sprinting down the alley, flying as though the winds themselves pushed at her heels. She flung herself on the male, crashing into him hard enough that anyone else might have gone rocking back into the stone wall. But the male grabbed her to him, his massive arms wrapping around her tightly and lifting her up. Nesryn made to approach, but Aedion stopped her with a hand on her arm. Aelin was laughing as she cried, and the male was just holding her, his hooded head buried in her neck. As if he were breathing her in. "Who is that?" Nesryn asked. Aedion smiled. "Rowan.

He gripped her hard, forcing her to meet his eyes as he snarled, “I see you. I see every part of you. And I am not afraid.” I will not be afraid. A line in the burning brightness. My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius . . . And I will not be afraid.

The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create this perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything.

The queen hadn't even bothered to say good-bye. She'd just dashed for the injured Fae warrior, his name like a prayer on her lips. Rowan.

Aelin slumbered beside him, her breathing deep and even, yet again wearing one of his shirts. Some primal part of him snarled in satisfaction at the sight, at knowing she was covered in his scent.

Aelin met Rowan’s stare and said clearly and baldly and without a speckle of doubt, “I love you. I am in love with you, Rowan. I have been for a while. And I know there are limits to what you can give me, and I know you might need time—” His lips crushed into hers, and he said onto her mouth, dropping words more precious than rubies and emeralds and sapphires into her heart, her soul, “I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.” Aelin

Lorcan rolled his eyes, and Aelin deemed that acceptance enough as she asked them all, “Did anyone bother to sleep?” Only Fenrys lifted his hand. Aedion frowned at the dark stain on the stones. “We’re putting a rug over it,” Aelin told him. Lysandra laughed. “Something tacky, I hope.” “I’m thinking pink and purple. Embroidered with flowers. Just what Erawan would have loved.” The Fae males gaped at them, Ren blinking. Elide ducked her head as she chuckled. Rowan snorted again. “At least this court won’t be boring.” Aelin put a hand on her chest, the portrait of outrage. “You were honestly worried it would be?” “Gods help us,” Lorcan grumbled.

I love you," Rowan breathed onto her skin, and flicked his tongue over the spot where his canines had scractched. "I'd walk into the burning heart of hell itself to find you.

I missed you only with an ocean between us. But if death was separating us... I would find you.

The creature took Aelin's face in its hands, and her sword thudded to the ground, forgotten. Rowan was screaming as the creature pulled her into its arms. As she stopped fighting. As her flames winked out and darkness swallowed her whole.

Would I have loved her if I had know from the start what she is?" He shook his head. "If I had met her now... my first instinct would be to protect Dorian from her. Celaena was a fraction of Aelin - both good and bad. But Aelin... she is Celaena, and she is queen, and she is the Fire-Bringer. I fell in love with a facet, and I panicked when I realized it was a fraction of the whole - when I saw that power, that heritage, and... it was not a part of my plans. Rowan Whitethorn saw everything. From the moment he met her, he saw all of Aelin. And he was not afraid. I don't blame either of them for falling in love. I don't blame her... I was what Celaena need after Endovier. But Rowan is who Aelin needs - forever.

Your skills when it comes to complimenting women are unparalleled.

His lips crushed into hers and and he said dropping words more precious than rubies and emeralds and sapphires into her heart, her soul, 'I love you. There is no limit to what I can give you, no time I need. Even when this world is forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.

I would have fought for the rest of my life to find a way to return to you again.

In silence, they stared. Bells began pealing; people shouted. Not with fear. But in wonder. A hand rising to her mouth, Aelin scanned the broad sweep of the world. The mountain wind brushed away her tears, carrying with it a song, ancient and lovely. From the very heart of Oakwald. The very heart of the earth. Rowan twined his fingers in hers and whispered, awe in every word, “For you, Fireheart. All of it is for you.” Aelin wept then. Wept in joy that lit her heart, brighter than any magic could ever be. For across every mountain, spread beneath the green canopy of Oakwald, carpeting the entire Plain of Theralis, the kingsflame was blooming.

The people you love are just weapons used against you.

Every inch her feet dragged through the sand was a lifetime; every inch was a heartbeat. Blood soaked her pants. She likely wouldn’t be able to heal her wounds within all that iron. Not until Maeve decided to heal them herself. But Maeve wouldn’t let her die. Not with the Wyrdkeys in the balance. Not yet. Time—she was grateful Elena had given her that stolen time. Grateful she had met them all, that she had seen some small part of the world, had heard such lovely music, had danced and laughed and known true friendship. Grateful that she had found Rowan. She was grateful. So Aelin Galathynius dried her tears. And did not fight when Maeve strapped that beautiful iron mask over her face.

She felt the words dangling there, felt herself dangling there, off the edge of the cliff. She swallowed. But Rowan had caught her each time she had fallen- first, when she had plummeted into that abyss of despair and grief; second, when that castle had shattered and she had plunged to the earth. And now this time, this third time...She was not afraid. Aelin met Rowan's stare and said clearly and baldly and without a speckle of doubt, I love you. I am in love with you, Rowan.

The prince whose scent was kissed with pine and snow, the scent of that kingdom she had loved with her heart of wildfire.

Like Hasar, she isn’t an easy person to be with, to understand. Aelin frightens everyone.” He snorted. “But not him. I think that’s why she fell in love with him, against her best intentions. Rowan beheld all Aelin was and is, and he was not afraid.

It was not the sorrowful, lovely piece she had once played for Dorian, and it was not the light, dancing melodies she'd played for sport; it was not the complex and clever pieces she had played for Nehemia and Chaol. This piece was a celebration—a reaffirmation of life, of glory, of the pain and beauty in breathing. Perhaps that was why she'd gone to hear it performed every year, after so much killing and torture and punishment: as a reminder of that she was, of what she struggled to keep. Up and up it built, the sound breaking from the pianoforte like the heart-song of a god, until Rowan drifted over to stand beside the instrument, until she whispered to him, “Now,” and the crescendo shattered into the world, note after note after note. The music crashed around them, roaring through the emptiness of the theater. The hollow silence that had been inside her for so many months now overflowed with sound. She brought the piece home to its final explosive, triumphant chord. When she looked up, panting slightly, Rowan's eyes were lined with silver, his throat bobbing. Somehow, after all this time, her warrior-prince still managed to surprise her. He seemed to struggle for words, but he finally breathed, “Show me—show me how you did that.” So she obliged him.

Fenrys had always been a pain in his ass. And Rowan had not forgotten that it was Fenrys who had wanted the task of handling Aelin Galathynius this past spring. Fenrys loved anything that was wild and beautiful, and to dangle Aelin before him … Maeve had known it was torture.

But he'd work with her, help in whatever way he could. And if she never returned to who she had been before this, he would not love her any less.

Aelin frightens everyone." He snorted. "But not him. I think that's why she fell in love with him, against her best intentions. Rowan beheld all Aelin was and is, and he was not afraid.

Aelin frightens everyone.” He snorted. “But not him. I think that’s why she fell in love with him, against her best intentions. Rowan beheld all Aelin was and is, and he was not afraid.

Count, or we’ll begin again with each stroke you miss. You decide how long this goes on for. Unless you’d rather Elide Lochan receive these strokes.” No. Never. Never anyone else but her. Never. But as Cairn walked slowly, savoring each step, as he let that whip drag along the ground, her body betrayed her. Began shaking. She knew the pain. Knew what it’d feel like, what it’d sound like. Her dreams were still full of it. No doubt why Maeve had picked a whipping, why she’d done it to Rowan in Doranelle. Cairn halted. She felt him studying the tattoo on her back. Rowan’s loving words, written there in the Old Language. Cairn snorted. Then she felt him revel in how he’d destroy that tattoo. “Begin,” Maeve said. Cairn’s breath sucked in. And even bracing herself, even clamping down hard, there was nothing to prepare for the crack, the sting, the pain. She did not let herself cry out, only hissed through her teeth. A whip wielded by an overseer at Endovier was one thing. One wielded by a full-blooded Fae male … Blood slid down the back of her pants, her split skin screaming. But she knew how to pace herself. How to yield to the pain. How to take it. “What number was that, Aelin?” She would not. She would never count for that rutting bitch— “Start over, Cairn,” Maeve said. A breathy laugh. Then the crack and the pain and Aelin arched, the tendons in her neck near snapping as she panted through clenched teeth. The males holding her gripped her firm enough to bruise. Maeve and Cairn waited. Aelin refused to say the word. To start the count. She’d die before she did it. “Oh gods, oh gods,” Elide sobbed. “Start over,” Maeve merely ordered over the girl. So Cairn did. Again. Again. Again. They started over nine times before Aelin finally screamed. The blow had been right atop another one, tearing skin down to the bone. Again. Again. Again. Again. Cairn was panting. Aelin refused to speak. “Start over,” Maeve repeated. “Majesty,

And just to see what he’d do, she palmed him through his pants. Rowan barked a curse. She laughed quietly, kissed his newest scar again, and dragged a finger down lazily, indolently, holding his gaze for every single inch she touched. And when Aelin laid her palm flat on him again, she said, “You are mine.” Rowan’s breathing started again, jagged and savage as the waves breaking around them. She flicked open the top button of his pants. “I’m yours,” he ground out. Another button popped free. “And you love me,” she said. Not a question. “To whatever end,” he breathed. She popped the third and final button free, and he let go of her to toss his pants into the sand nearby, taking his undershorts with them. Her mouth went dry as she took in the sight of him. Rowan had been bred and honed for battle, and every inch of him was pure-blooded warrior. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Hers—he was hers, and— “You are mine,” Rowan breathed, and she felt the claiming in her bones, her soul. “I am yours,” she answered. “And you love me.” Such hope and quiet joy in his eyes, beneath all that fierceness. “To whatever end.

Aelin was laughing as she cried, and the male was just holding her, his hooded head buried in her neck. As if he were breathing her in. "Who is that?" Nesryn asked. Aedion smiled. "Rowan.

You are mine.," Rowan breathed, and she felt the claiming in her bones, her soul. "I am yours," She answered. "And you love me." Such hope and quiet joy in his eyes, beneath all that fierceness. "To whatever end." For too long-for too long he had been alone and wandering. No Longer.

She shook with laughter. “I might have something else in mind now.” Rowan let out a growl, and nipped at her ear, her neck. “Good. I do, too.” “And tomorrow?” she asked breathlessly, and they both paused to look at each other. To smile. “Will you work to rebuild this kingdom, this world, with me tomorrow?” “Tomorrow, and every day after that.” For every day of the thousand blessed years they were granted together. And beyond. Aelin kissed him again and took his hand, guiding him into the castle. Into their home. “To whatever end?” she breathed. Rowan followed her, as he had his entire life, long before they had ever met, before their souls had sparked into existence. “To whatever end, Fireheart.” He glanced sidelong at her. “Can I give you a suggestion for what we should rebuild first?” Aelin smiled, and eternity opened before them, shining and glorious and lovely. “Tell me tomorrow.

Aedion frowned at the dark stain on the stones. “We’re putting a rug over it,” Aelin told him. Lysandra laughed. “Something tacky, I hope.” “I’m thinking pink and purple. Embroidered with flowers. Just what Erawan would have loved.” The Fae males gaped at them, Ren blinking. Elide ducked her head as she chuckled. Rowan snorted again. “At least this court won’t be boring.

Her heart strained, and she pulled back to lift a hand to his face. Rowan read the softness in her eyes, her body, and his own inherent fierceness slipped into a gentleness that so few would ever see. Her throat ached with the effort of keeping the words in. She’d been in love with him for a while now. Longer than she wanted to admit. She tried not to think about it, whether he felt the same. Those things—those wishes—were at the bottom of a very, very long and bloody priority list. So Aelin kissed Rowan gently, his hands again locking around her hips. “Fireheart,” he said onto her mouth. “Buzzard,” she murmured onto his. Rowan laughed, the rumble echoing in her chest.

Not as the prince stepped onto the small island where the queen was standing. Not as Aelin turned toward Rowan, and the only flame that remained was a crown of fire atop her head. Lorcan watched in silence as Rowan slid a hand over her waist, the other cupping the side of her face, and kissed his queen. Embers stirred her unbound hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close. A golden crown of flame flickered to life atop Rowan's head- the twin to the one Lorcan had seen burning that day at Mistward. He knew Whitethorn. He knew the prince wasn't ambitious- not in the way that immortals could be. He likely would have loved the woman if she'd been ordinary. But this power... In his wasteland of a soul, Lorcan felt that tug. Hated it. It was why Whitethorn had strode to her- why Fenrys was now hallway across the plain, dazed, attention wholly fixed on where they stood, tangled in each other.

Aelin lifted onto her toes. She felt Rowan’s eyes on her the whole time, felt his body go still with predatory focus, as she kissed the corner of his mouth, the bow of his lips, the other corner. Soft, taunting kisses. Designed to see which one of them yielded first. Rowan did. With a sharp intake of breath, he gripped her hips, tugging her against him as he slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss until her knees threatened to buckle. His tongue brushed hers—lazy, deft strokes that told her precisely what he was capable of doing elsewhere. Embers sparked in her blood, and the moss beneath them hissed as rain turned to steam. Aelin broke the kiss, breathing ragged, satisfied to find Rowan’s own chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. So new—this thing between them was still so new, so … raw. Utterly consuming. The desire was only the start of it. Rowan made her magic sing. And maybe that was the carranam bond between them, but … her magic wanted to dance with his. And from the frost sparkling in his eyes, she knew his own demanded the same. Rowan leaned forward until they were brow-to-brow. “Soon,” he promised, his voice rough and low. “Let’s get somewhere safe—somewhere defensible.” Because her safety always would come first. For him, keeping her protected, keeping her alive, would always come first. He’d learned it the hard way. Her heart strained, and she pulled back to lift a hand to his face. Rowan read the softness in her eyes, her body, and his own inherent fierceness slipped into a gentleness that so few would ever see. Her throat ached with the effort of keeping the words in. She’d been in love with him for a while now. Longer than she wanted to admit. She tried not to think about it, whether he felt the same. Those things—those wishes—were at the bottom of a very, very long and bloody priority list. So Aelin kissed Rowan gently, his hands again locking around her hips. “Fireheart,” he said onto her mouth. “Buzzard,” she murmured onto his. Rowan laughed, the rumble echoing in her chest.

Aelin met Rowan’s stare and said clearly and baldly and without a speckle of doubt, “I love you. I am in love with you, Rowan. I have been for a while. And I know there are limits to what you can give me, and I know you might need time—” His lips crushed into hers, and he said onto her mouth, dropping words more precious than rubies and emeralds and sapphires into her heart, her soul, “I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.

Aelin kissed him again and took his hand, guiding him into the castle. Into their home. “To whatever end?” she breathed. Rowan followed her, as he had his entire life, long before they had ever met, before their souls had sparked into existence. “To whatever end, Fireheart.” He glanced sidelong at her. “Can I give you a suggestion for what we should rebuild first?” Aelin smiled, and eternity opened before them, shining and glorious and lovely. “Tell me tomorrow.

But Aelin didn’t turn as he rushed onto the balcony. And halted, too. In silence, they stared. Bells began pealing; people shouted. Not with fear. But with wonder. A hand rising to her mouth, Aelin scanned the broad sweep of the world. The mountain wind brushed away her tears, carrying with it a song, ancient and lovely. From the very heart of Oakwald. The very heart of the earth. Rowan twined his fingers in hers and whispered, awe in every word, “For you, Fireheart. All of it is for you.” Aelin wept then. Wept in joy that lit her heart, brighter than any magic could ever be. For across every mountain, spread beneath the green canopy of Oakwald, carpeting the entire Plain of Theralis, the kingsflame was blooming.

Only Fenrys lifted his hand. Aedion frowned at the dark stain on the stones. “We’re putting a rug over it,” Aelin told him. Lysandra laughed. “Something tacky, I hope.” “I’m thinking pink and purple. Embroidered with flowers. Just what Erawan would have loved.” The Fae males gaped at them, Ren blinking. Elide ducked her head as she chuckled. Rowan snorted again. “At least this court won’t be boring.” Aelin put a hand on her chest, the portrait of outrage. “You were honestly worried it would be?” “God help us,” Lorcan grumbled. Elide elbowed him. Aedion said to Ren, the young lord lingering by the archway, as if still debating making a quick exit, “Now’s the chance to escape, you know. Before you get sucked into this endless nonsense.” But Ren’s dark eyes met Aelin’s. Scanned them. She’d heard about Murtaugh. Knew now was not the time to mention it, the loss dimming his eyes. So she kept her face open. Honest. Warm. “We could always use one more to partake in the nonsense,” Aelin said, an invisible hand outstretched. Ren scanned her again. “You gave up everything and still came back here. Still fought.” “All of it for Terrasen,” she said quietly. “Yes, I know,” Ren said, the scar down his face stark in the rising sun. “I understand that now.” He offered her a small smile. “I think I might need a bit of nonsense myself, after this war.” Aedion countered, “You’ll regret saying that.” But Aelin sketched a brow. “Oh, he certainly will.” She smirked at the males assembled. “I swear to you, I won’t bore you to tears. A queen’s oath.

How does she do it?" Aelin asked blandly. "With Rowan, its not... Every order i give him, even casual ones, are his to decide what to do with. Only when I actively pull on the bond can I get him to... yield. And even then its more of a suggestion." "You took the oath to each other with love I in your hearts. You had no desire to own or rule him." Aelin tried not to flinch at the truth of that word-love. That day... when Rowan had looked into her eyes as he drank her blood... she'd started to realise what it was. That the feeling that passed between them, so powerful there was no language to describe it... It was not mere friendship, but something born of and strengthened by it.

Because I'm the only one arrogant and insane enough to ask Mala Fire-Bringer to let me stay with the woman I love." Her flames turned pure gold at the words-at that word. But she said, "Perhaps you're just the only one arrogant and insane enough to love me.

Rowan had known. Part of him had known that Aelin was his mate. And had turned away from that knowledge, again and again, out of respect for Lyria, out of terror for what it’d mean. He’d leapt in front of her at Skull’s Bay knowing it, deep down. Knowing mates aware of the bond could not bear to harm to each other, and that it might be the only force to compel her to regain control from Deanna. And even when she had proved him right… He had turned from that proof, still unready, pushing it from his mind even as he claimed her in every other way. Aelin had known, though. That he was her mate. And she had not pushed it, or demanded he face it, because she loved him, and he knew she’d rather carve out her own heart than cause him pain or distress.

But Rowan tipped back her chin. “Even when you’re … there,” he said, his pine-green eyes so bright under the moon. “I am with you.” He laid a hand on her heart. “Here. I am with you here.” She laid her own hand on his chest, and breathed his scent deep into her lungs, her heart. “As I am with you. Always.” Rowan kissed her. “I love you,” he whispered onto her mouth. “Come back to me.

But not him. I think that’s why she fell in love with him, against her best intentions. Rowan beheld all Aelin was and is, and he was not afraid.

I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.” “Aelin Galathynius had raised an army not just to challenge Morath, but to rattle the stars.” “You will find, Rolfe, that one does not deal with Celaena Sardothien. One survives her” “Nameless is my price.” “A court that wouldn't just change the world. It would start the world over.” “Aelin had promised herself, months and months ago, that she would not pretend to be anything but what she was. She had crawled through darkness and blood and despair-she had survived.” “Aelin was insane, Dorian realized. Brilliant and wicked, but insane.” “Rowan considered for a moment, and then said, 'I have known many kings in my life, Dorian Havilliard. And it was a rare man indeed who asked for help when he needed it, who would put aside pride.'” “The Queen of Flame and Shadow, the Heir of Fire, Aelin of the Wildfire, Fireheart…” “And Elide sobbed as Manon Blackbeak emerged, smiling faintly. As Manon Blackbeak saw her and Aelin, knee-to-knee in the grass, and mouthed one word. Hope.” “The sunlight gilded the balcony as Asterin whispered, so softly that only Manon could hear, 'Bring my body back to the cabin.' Something in Manon's chest broke—broke so violently that she wondered if it was possible for no one to have heard it.” “That cocky smile widened. 'Hello, bitch,' Ansel purred. 'Hello, traitor,' Aelin purred right back... "\'Meet Ansel of Briarcliff, assassin and Queen of the Western Wastes.'” “And Manon understood in that moment that there were forces greater than obedience, and discipline, and brutality. Understood that she had not been born soulless; she had not been born without a heart. For there were both, begging her not to swing that blade.

Rowan’s own release barreled through him at the sight of it, and he groaned her name so that she remembered it at last, lightning joining wind and ice over the water. Aelin held him through it, sending the fire-opal of her magic to twine with his power. On and on, as he spilled himself in her, lightning and flame danced on the sea. The lightning continued to strike, silent and lovely, even after he stilled. The sounds of the world came pouring back in, his breathing as ragged as the hiss of the crashing waves while he brushed lazy kisses to her temple, her nose, her mouth. Aelin drew her eyes away from the beauty of their magic, the beauty of them, and found his face to be the most beautiful of all. She was trembling—and so was Rowan as he remained in her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder, his uneven

enough to die from it. If it were possible to love someone enough that time and distance and death were of no concern. “Am I limited to your neck?” Rowan’s eyes flared, and his answering thrust was answer enough. They moved together, undulating like the sea before them, and when Rowan roared her name again into the star-flecked black, Aelin hoped the gods themselves heard it and knew their days were now numbered.

couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’d wake up at night with that taste on my tongue—wake up thinking about your foul, beautiful mouth.” He traced his thumb over her lips. “You don’t want to know the depraved things I’ve thought about this mouth.” “Hmmm, likewise, but you didn’t answer my question,” Aelin said, even as her toes curled in the wet sand and warm water. “Yes,” Rowan said thickly. “Some males enjoy doing it. To mark territory, for pleasure…” “Do females bite males?” He began to harden again inside her as the question lingered. Oh, gods—Fae lovers. Everyone should be so damn lucky to have one. Rowan rasped, “Do you want to bite me?” Aelin eyed his throat, his glorious body, and the face she had once so fiercely hated. And she wondered if it were possible to love someone