Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius hadn't wanted to approach the cave entrance, had initially flat-out refused to near the gaping mouth set into the rock face. Even from several miles away, he had been able to sense the thrum of ethereal power pulsing from the cliff as they'd stalked through the forests of western Terrasen. But, as always, with a pout and flash of puppy-dog eyes at her husband, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius had gotten what she wanted. So the Queen and Prince Consort of Terrasen crept towards the source of that terrible magic, a piece of Rowan's mind always turned towards the bond that tethered himself and Aelin to ensure that she was safe. He had lost one supposed mate and it had almost driven him mad. He wasn't prepared to lose his real one.
Rowan squinted at the blackness that awaited them, his entire being on edge and ready to unleash his magic. This... thing was nothing like he had ever experienced before. Aelin looked up at him, her beautiful gold-and-turquoise eyes burning with curiosity. He nodded once, took her hand, and together they stepped into the night.
His Fae senses were stifled as the odour of damp wormed its way up his nose, the ringing in his ears becoming more and more unbearable. Rowan's eyes searched for something, anything to see other than this eternal dark. Still, the pair made their way further into the cave, closer to whatever it was they sought.
Aelin gasped beside him and he whirled towards her, wind and frost already crackling at his fingertips while one hand gripped the hilt of his sword.
What is it? He shot down the bond.
The walls... was the only reply.
Sure enough, a slender flame had flickered into life in her palm, illuminating the inside of the cave a fraction. Once his eyes had adjusted to the marginally increased light levels, Rowan peered at whatever Aelin was so surprised by. A menacing shiver caressed his spine and he glanced at his wife, a startled expression etched onto her face. The difference between them was that she understood what they meant. For it was Wyrdmarks, thousands of them, that adorned the walls. They patterned the cave in whorls and spirals, flowing deeper and deeper towards the origin of the energy that had Rowan's instincts screaming at him to flee. The markings were not painted in blood but instead had been carved into the wall as if someone had spent years dedicated to decorating this entire expanse of rock.
Aelin's flame glowed brighter as she tried to look at a larger piece of the whole, and a rumble emanated from the depths of the cave as if in response. That was the final straw. Rowan grabbed Aelin's hand and stormed from the terrifying chamber, wind whistling as he focused on the dappled sunlight barely penetrating past the entrance.
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