Rowan and Aelin Fluff.

New Beginnings

Slight NSFW

      Aelin was nervous. And rarely ever was she this nervous. Rowan had asked her to meet his uncle, his adopted father. Oh, gods, she had in-laws. Some miniscule part of her was thankful for this small bit normalcy, but— She shook her head and Rowan shot her a glance from across the carriage. "What's wrong, Aelin?" His voice was soft, and he gently took her hand, running his thumb across the scarred back of it.

      She rolled her neck, and adjusted the hem of her sleeve. "I—Do you think they'll like me?" Rowan pursed his lips, and pressed a sweet kiss to her brow. "Since when do you care what others think, Princess." She leaned across the small space and leaned her head on his shoulder, and murmured onto his neck, "Since I had to meet your family."

      Rowan smiled and kissed her elegantly styled hair, "It is going to be fine, Princess. You've already met Enda and Sellene." He was right, of course, she had met them during the War, but the rest of his family, mainly his uncle, she had yet to encounter.

       Hissing, she nipped at his jaw, "Whatever, Buzzard." His breathy chuckle warmed her neck, and she felt the carriage slow to an easy walk. She pulled back, and Rowan brought her hand to his lips, brushing a chaste kiss to her hand. "Are you ready, milady?"

      Rowan's uncle's estate was as to be expected; elegant, beautiful, and utterly extravagant. From the elegant arches, to the high-domed roofs. The warm light that glowed from the entry way and through the large bay windows, washed over the garden on the east side of the house. In the two weeks they had been in Doranelle, this was one of the most beautiful structures she'd seen.

       Beside her, Rowan smiled at the tall male striding down the walk towards them, his uncle, then. He stopped before them, and gave a deep bow. As he stood, Aelin decided that all of the Whitethorn's had been blessed with a certain brutal beauty. The male was thin in his old age, but most certainly a warrior. A warrior not in the way most were, but one of mind and cunning and trickery—A Fae. He ran his pale eyes over Rowan, then over her, and gave a timid smile.

"Row— I mean Your Majesties," the male's accent was thick, his tone cool and smooth. Rowan gave a small nod, "Uncle Avan." Rowan pulled his arm from hers, and crossed the distance between him and his uncle, extending a large hand. Avan took it firmly, and embraced him. Rowan withdrew, and came to stand once again next to her.

          Avan looked towards her and smiled broadly, "You must be Aelin." She gave him a winning smile and nodded in conformation, "Yes I am, I want to thank you for having us."

      The male gave an overly exaggerated laugh, and shook his head, his short silver hair rippling in the moonlight. "You needn't bother with such formalities, my dear. You're practically family." And despite herself, she decided she sort of like the male.

      Rowan Whitethorn tracked every movement his cousins made as they passed through the elegant archways that led into the entryway, he tracked every movement his mate made. Ever since they had entered Wendlyn, every nerve in his body had been on alert.

       He had no reason, and as they walked he realized that if anyone should be anxious and edgy, it should be Aelin. The atrocities he and his mate had endured while here still made them both start awake in the dark of the night, pleas for mercy and screams of pain.

     He set aside the dark thoughts, and focused on the house around them. It had been his home; more so then that of his parents. A place for love and wildness. Glancing down at his wife, he smiled. He wanted that for them.