It had been two months, three days, and seven hours since you had been taken captive by Maeve.

You—Rowan’s queen. His wife. His mate.

Rowan had spent the entire time searching for you. Anyone who saw him would tell you that he was frantic. That he didn’t seem like himself anymore, not since you’d been taken.

Not that you’d know any of that, however. You were convinced that Rowan wasn’t coming for you. Good, you had reminded yourself. Him staying away is good.

You didn’t know how long you’d been in that iron mask. How long it had been since that fateful day on the beach. Every day came with a new form of agony, each time a test to break you a little more.

But today? Today was different. You had fought back. After sustaining a few minor injuries, you escaped that vile tent, Fenrys staying behind to deal with Cairn while you ran.

You didn’t know where you were going as you stumbled out of the tent, burning hot poker in hand. All you knew is that you needed to get out of there. Out of the camp. To somewhere safe.

But then you spotted Lorcan. Felt his magic calling to you. So you ran towards him, as fast as your atrophying legs could handle. You stumbled to the top of the hill he was on as he fended off the soldiers on your tail.

And then you heard it. That call—a hawk. You looked up, and a small, broken sob escaped your mouth as you saw him.

Rowan. He had found you. At long last, he’d found you.