#rowan whitehorn
rowaelin goodies from heir of fire
If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he was fussing. Worried, even.
Yet when he’d seen [Aelin’s back], his heart had clean stopped — and for a moment, there had been an overwhelming silence in his mind. He felt his magic and his warrior’s instincts honing into a lethal combination the longer he stared — howling to rip apart the people who had done that with his bare hands.
And when she awoke before dawn, warm and safe and rested, Rowan was still holding her hand, clasped to his chest. Something molten rushed through her, pouring over every crack and fracture still gaping and open. Not to hurt or mar — but to weld. To forge.
Emrys and Luca visited once to see if she was alive, took one look at Rowan’s stone-cold face, heard the ripple of a growl, and took off, saying she was in more than competent habds and promising to come back when she was feeling better.
She didn’t open her eyes, but she breathed in the smell of him, the pine and snow, and her pain settled a bit.
And while she knew Rowan was aware of her early morning practicing, he never lightened her training, though she could have sworn she occasionally felt their magic … playing together, her flame taunting his ice, his wind dancing amongst her embers.
Rowan made her feel … better. As if she could finally breathe after months of suffocating.
She was not a queen. She had no plans to be one, and even if she had a kingdom to give him if he were free … Telling him all that was useless. So she left Rowan in the hall. But it did not stop her from wishing she could keep him.
And when she grasped the dagger, its weight lighter than she remembered, Rowan looked into her eyes, into the very core of her, and said, “Fireheart.”
And though she knew he could read the words on her face, she said, “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. Their hands clasped between them, he whispered into her ear, “I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.”
I FUCKING LOVE ROWAELIN
He was helping. And he was willing to meet a horrible fate in order to keep her alive. He hadn’t left her alone. She hadn’t been alone.
this is literally the moment their dynamic changes because aelin realises that he — though having seen her worst sides and unbearable manners — has stayed and hasn’t left her to fend for herself like all this girl ever needed was for someone to simply stay
Prisoner’s Game Pt. 4 (Rowaelin)
THANK YALL FOR BEING PATIENT I AM SO SORRY
________________________________
Journal Entry #2000
Sometimes I think it wouldn’t be so bad to die.
To leave this island forever and not have to worry about being discovered anymore.
I wasn’t always this macabre, but two thousand days of checking over my shoulder and wishing for a man’s murder has dulled the wishful excitement I felt when I first got here.
Five years ago, I was grateful to even be alive.
I couldn’t believe a stranger give up everything for me and the others–couldn’t believe she’d agree to fight this battle because of my decision.
I have to actually remind myself to still be grateful to her, if I’m being honest.
Because sometimes I think about that night all those years ago, when she showed up in the darkest part of the night to kill me. When she’d held the knife with a trembling hand and told me that the price for betraying Arobynn Hamel was my life. When we discovered together that she couldn’t bring herself to kill me.
Sometimes I think it would be better if she would’ve just done it.
At least it would’ve been over.
At least I wouldn’t have to spend years on an island, living the same day over and over again. I think that’s what’s driving me mad, beyond anything else.
The predictability of my time.
Every day, I follow the same routine. The routine she laid out for me in a hushed whisper.
I wake up and go to the small café a mile down the road to watch the news. And every day, I pray to see Arobynn Hamel’s face next to to the words, “Breaking news: billionaire crime boss found dead.”
Because that was her only stipulation.
That the ten of us would stay on the island, hidden from sight, until news of his death was announced. In exchange, we got to live.
She’d warned me it would take a long time.
She’d told me to not get complacent.
And then she’d whispered what she planned to do.
Even now, over five years later, the words she’d whispered while shoving a plane ticket and a new passport into my hands were crystal clear.
“The devil isn’t going to go down easy.”
~Aelin~
The shaft of her recently-fashioned shiv was cold in her hand as she silently grabbed it from under her pillow.
The soft clink of the bars shutting again told her whoever had just snuck in her cell was now locked in with her.
Unfortunate for them.
She wasn’t afforded the luxury of a clock, but she knew it was the middle of the night. Normal visiting hours were far over. There was no one here but the bored night guards, four janitorial staff, and rows and rows of sleeping inmates.
And the idiot trying to sneak up behind her bed.
She kept her eyes closed as she listened to the quiet steps walk closer and closer. Right when she was about to turn around and attack, they stopped.
Then the weirdest thing happened. It sounded like whoever it was slid down the wall directly across from her bed.
A killer wouldn’t do that.
Curiosity piqued, Aelin turned her head to see who and what was going on.
It was dark in the cell, but she’d recognize that shock of silver hair anywhere.
“Rowan?” she whispered, so quietly she almost didn’t even hear herself. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t respond, but the way his muscles tensed told her he’d heard her.
Slowly, she sat up so she could see him better and maybe figure out what was going on.
For the first time in a long time, he looked less than perfect. Far less than it, actually.
His hair was going every possible direction, like he’d been running hands through it and pulling on it. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, rumpled dress slacks, and tennishoes that weren’t even tied.
But that wasn’t what worried her most. It was the way he was sitting completely still and silent.
He didn’t even look like he was breathing.
“Hey,” she tried again. “What’s going on? Look at me.”
Another few heartbeats passed, and then he slowly shook his head.
“Please, Rowan. Just look at me.”
He winced, like hearing her say his name physically hurt him.
And then his head came up.
Deep green eyes met hers, and even though it was what she’d wanted, what she’d needed, Aelin instantly wished he’d look away.
Because with one look, she knew he’d figured it out.
He knew, and the pain and turmoil in his eyes… she’d put that there.
She’d seen him angry and sad and happy and everything in between, but she’d never seen him, or anyone else, look so broken.
He looked completely and utterly broken as he sat before her.
“Rowan,” she whispered, shaking her head even though she didn’t know why.
He bowed his head again, seemingly unable to even look at her.
“Ro,” she whispered, dropping to her knees in front of him.
Almost like the old nickname broke something inside him, Rowan’s shoulders started to shake.
And then he sobbed.
It was the kind of sob that couldn’t possibly be held in. The kind that made her heart clench and tears brew in her own eyes, the kind that told her how much pain he was in.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she put a hand on his arm. He shook off the touch like it burned him and looked up at her again.
“I ruined your life,” he croaked, the tears on his face reeking of self-hatred. “I ruined your life.”
She shook her head. “No, you didn’t.”
Anger bled into his tone. “I put you in prison for eight years for murdering people who aren’t even fucking dead, Aelin. I didn’t listen to you, didn’t look hard enough. I’ve had the clues you left me for eight years. We were in love, and I didn’t even try hard enough to… I… please explain to me how I didn’t ruin your life.”
“You did not ruin my life, Rowan,” she told him again, meaning every word.
“Eight years of your life, gone because of me. I don’t even understand how you can look at me.” He huffed a laugh, but he was far from amused. “No wonder you hate me.”
His chest was heaving, his hands were in fists, and his stubble-crested jaw was damp with tears.
And she’d thought he hadn’t cared.
Aelin felt like a fool–a horrible, stupid fool–for ever doubting him. For thinking him indignant.
Because this was technically what she’d wanted. What she’d plannedto happen.
She’d wanted it to hurt, had wanted him to feel an ounce of what she’d felt when he’d led the case against her.
But it wasn’t what she wanted anymore.
Moving slowly, Aelin crawled onto his lap, put her hands on the side of his face, and lifted his gaze to hers while she said, “Arobynn Hamel ruined my life, not you.”
He shook his head, breathing heavily. “No-”
She cut him off by wrapping herself around him.
Like she was trying to heal physical wounds, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his head to her chest. She sank into him until there wasn’t an inch of space between them. Her hands wandered over his back as she held him tight to her.
He was stiffer than a board at first, but eventually he sagged against her, wrapping his arms around her in return.
It was like he was drowning in the sea, and she was the only thing preventing him from being swept away. He shook, his entire body trembling, and his arms became a vice around her.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered after a moment.
She shook her head, but it didn’t matter. He said it again, and again, and again, until his voice was hoarse and broken.
Aelin ran her hands over his back slowly, and just held him as pain he’d felt for eight years seemed to reach a crest.
Eventually he stopped crying and just laid against her, warm breath fanning across her collarbone.
“I’m so sorry, Aelin,” he whispered yet again.
“Please stop saying that. None of this is your fault. You aren’t the reason I’m in prison.”
“Yes, I am,” he insisted, shifting beneath her. “But I’m getting you out right now.”
He looked up, eyes bright with new-found purpose, and wiped the tears off his cheeks like they were distracting him.
“What?”
He nodded quickly. “We can bring those people back, and you can get your life back. I know it’s not the same, and I know I can’t get you these years back, but-”
“No.”
He paused. “No?”
She shook her head. “I can’t leave yet.”
“Leave? What the helldoes that mean?”
“It means I still have shit to do here. I’m not leaving before it’s done.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re acting like this is a hotel, not a high-security prison. And what do you even mean?”
Aelin had the good sense to feel a little guilty as she slowly got to her feet and walked to the wall at the back of the cell. A few well-placed taps later, it swung open.
Rowan’s mouth dropped open, then closed, then repeated the whole routine like he couldn’t decide what to say first.
He apparently figured it out, because it opened again so he accuse, “I knew you were robbing me! Where the fuck is my bed?”
She sighed and rubbed her temples. “That’s what you care about right now? Seriously?”
He grumbled something as he got to his feet and leaned into the makeshift doorway in the wall.
It took him a few moments to examine the ladder leading down to the tunnel, and then he straightened and looked at her again with a mixture of confusion, awe, and understanding on his face.
“You’ve been sneaking out this whole time.”
She nodded.
Most of her escapes had been in the past six months, but she’d occasionally left in the years before to check on something or track down a lead.
“You beat up your roommate so they’d put you back in solitary.”
Aelin nodded again.
“But how did you know they’d bring you to this cell?”
A small smile pulled on her lips. “Look again,” she told him, gesturing towards the open brick door.
He stuck his head in the hole again and couldn’t stifle his surprised intake of breath as he saw the other ladders.
He came back in the cell, and the expression on his face made her bite her lip to hold back a smile. “You… you tunneled intoprison?”
“Into every solitary cell,” she confirmed.
“When? Why?”
“One of my old jobs for Arobynn was to break a client of his out of solitary. I knew which cell he was in, but… getting locked up is kind of a right of passage for my former career, so I figured I’d plan ahead and give myself a way out, should I ever need it.” She smiled. “Hamel never could figure out how I did it, so it’s safe for me to use now.”
Rowan spent a long moment looking at her. “That’s… genius.”
“I tend to be,” she agreed.
They were both silent for a minute, then he said, “You need to tell me everything. Enough of both of us wasting time assuming what the other is thinking. We need to get everything out in the open, and we need to do it now.”
Aelin nodded, knowing it was true.
It was time to either finally trust him or kill him, and just the thought of the latter made something inside of her twist so hard she felt nauseous.
She nodded to the tunnel, not wanting to have the following conversation overheard by any prying ears. He nodded and followed her down, closing the door behind him.
When she knew they were alone, she started to explain.
“Maddison Kliff, my first so-called victim, funded her campaign for senator with money from Arobynn Hamel.”
Rowan’s eyebrows went up in surprise, but he nodded for her continue.
“He gave it to her, with the caveat that when she won, she’d vote against renewable energy for Rifthold. He has millions in oil, so when she did the exact opposite and voted for the green plan that switched the city to 70% electric, he took a pretty hard hit.” She took a deep breath. “The day after the vote, I got my orders to kill her.”
His jaw clenched.
“I went that night, thinking I could do it. Thinking I’d get it over with and never think about it again. I snuck in her townhouse and had everything set up.” She let out a laugh. “But then I realized my deal with Arobynn covered tenof Sam’s jobs. If I killed Maddison, and did a good enough job of it to get away with it, I knew he’d put nine more names on the list.”
“So you didn’t do it,” Rowan said, like he already knew but needed to hear her say it.
“So I didn’t do it.”
Aelin ran a hand through her hair, starting to pace. “I ran. And then I went back the next night with a suitcase, a new ID for her, and a plan.”
“Why Aruba?” he asked.
“I’d done all that research for our trip,” she said, a pang of sadness shooting through her at the memory of planning their first vacation together. “I didn’t have time to research another place. And I never told you, but the house I wanted us to rent? You kind of… own it.”
“I own a house in Aruba,” he repeated slowly, his tone making it clear he didn’t understand.
She rolled her eyes at his tone. “Arobynn might be a bastard I’d love to put in a grave, but he paid me well. I was eighteen and didn’t know what else to do with the money. So I bought a house.”
“In Aruba. In my name.”
She nodded. “No one can trace it back to you. It’s hidden in an off-shore corporation, owed by another off-shore corporation, but technically, yes, you’re the owner. It was going to be your Christmas present.”
“You bought me a house,” his lips twitched. “For a Christmas present.”
“I was in love with you,” she muttered. Then pointed out, “My lack of shopping impulse control really isn’t the point of the story.”
He rolled his eyes, still fighting a grin at her antics. “Please continue.”
“Right. So I sent her to the house in Aruba and told her to stay at the house with anyone else he wanted me to kill. I told her to not say a word to anyone besides those people, and that I’d be forced to actually kill her if she did. If Arobynn finds out they’re alive, he’ll send someone for me.”
She explained the list next. “He requires proof of all completed jobs, so I kept the "murder weapons” and made sure the crime scenes had enough blood to indicate the person couldn’t still be alive. It was mostly fake, but I took just enough blood from each of the victims and mixed it in to make it realistic enough to fool DNA scanners. Then I put the weapons in storage lockers he owns and wrote the numbers down so I wouldn’t forget them.“
Rowan nodded, most certainly remembering that part.
He was doing a good job of hiding his emotions, but she still saw how heavily this all weighed on him.
Everything he’d been feeling for eight years was hitting him at once, and while explanation made sense, it probably didn’t make him feel any better about the role he’d played in all of this.
He confirmed it by asking, "Why didn’t you tell me?”
He asked it almost casually, but she didn’t miss the pain he couldn’t keep from seeping into his voice.
“I wanted to,” she breathed. “Gods, I wanted to. I know now you investigated before giving the list to the cops, but to me, it looked like you found it and just turned me in. You never asked me. And you looked at me… you looked at me like you thought I was guilty. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
Rowan went quiet, regret and shame coming off of him in waves so thick she almost choked on it.
“How is all of this going to play out?” he asked, seemingly trying to force himself to think about something else. “And what do you have to do that you need to be in prison for?”
She hesitated, suddenly not wanting to tell him.
Not out of a lack of trust, but because if she told him… he’d realize she’s guilty of the crime she’s in prison for. He might go back to hating her, back to thinking her a horrible person.
And she just got him back.
She’s pulled from her thoughts when he reaches a hand out, slowly gripping her jaw to tilt her face to his.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, the words final.
Of course he knew what she was thinking just from looking at her face. He always was a little too astute.
A part of Aelin wanted to put on a brave face and act like that wasn’t exactly what she’d been worrying about, but a bigger part wanted him.Wanted him to see that even after all this time, she needed him.
So she forced down the witty jokes and sultry smiles she usually used as ways to hide her vulnerability and looked up at him.
“Promise?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I promise, Aelin.”
His hand was still on her face, and he leaned in until his forehead rested against hers. “I’m never going to leave you again. I’m so… I’m so fucking sorry I did in the first place. I should’ve come to you, or at least listened when you told me you were innocent.”
“I’m sorry I thought you didn’t fight for me,” she said back. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
They’d both done things they regretted, but Aelin knew that now, no matter what, he was telling the truth. He wasn’t going to leave her.
The knowledge felt like a weight lifting off her shoulders, and just to lighten the mood, she whispered, “And I’m sorry I stole your bed.”
He pulled back to glare at her. “You’re going to explain one day how you even pulled that off. But I’d like the answer to my other question first.”
Aelin took a step back and ran a hand through her hair.
“Arobynn Hamel dying is the endgame, Rowan. I have to stay in prison so I can kill him and have an alibi no one will question.”
He paused, and for a moment, her fears skyrocketed, so she rushed to explain, “As long as he’s alive, those people have to be in hiding and I have to look like I killed them. Once he’s dead, I can bring them back without worrying Arobynn will kill them. Or me.”
He gave her a strange look, but she spoke before he could, explaining, “It’s why I’ve been in prison for so long. I would’ve killed him and ended it years ago, but I only found him a couple months ago. He’s been in hiding ever since I was locked up, because the FBI knew I was one of his and started looking for him.”
“Okay, but Aelin-”
She cut him off. “I know it’s insane and not at all ideal, but I need you to leave me in here. Just until he’s dead, and then it’s over.”
He stepped forward and grabs her shoulders, shaking her slightly.
And then he did the weirdest thing.
Hesmiled.
“What the hell do you look happyabout?” she demanded. “I’m being serious-”
It was his turn to interrupt her. “Aelin, if that’s the stipulation, you’re already free.”
Unease drifted through her stomach. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s already dead.”
Shock rushed through her so fast and thoroughly, her vision swam and she swayed in his grip. “What… what did you just say?”
“That’s why I came today, now. I actually figured out you were innocent two days ago, but I wasn’t going to come until I could tell you with certainty I was getting you out, and I knew you couldn’t bring everyone back without risking your life. I’ve spent the past 48 hours planning a jailbreak and a way to sneak you to somewhere the US doesn’t have extradition.”
He grinned again. “But then it was announced on the 11 o'clock news tonight that he died last week of pneumonia complications. His family kept it private because they wanted a small funeral, but he’s dead, Aelin.”
Still feeling the weight of shock, she argued, “He’s not dead.”
“But he is.”
“No,” she insisted, pushing away from him and starting to pace again. “He can’t be dead.”
His face softened at the panic in her voice. “Aelin, I know you wanted it to be you, but-”
“No, Rowan, you don’t understand. I mean he cannot physically be dead, because I haven’t finished killing him!”
It was his turn to be shocked.
“What do you mean you haven’t finished killing him?”
She took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. “I’ve been poisoning him since the day I figured out where he holes up. Turns out he has kidney problems and goes in once a week for dialysis. I show up and add a little… extra to his medication. The last time I went was less than a week ago, and while he might have been sick, he most definitely was still alive.”
Besides that, what were the odds that Rowan figured out her “victims” were still alive, and just two days later Arobynn croaks?
It would be one hell of a coincidence, and Aelin learned long ago to not believe in those.
His eyes went wide. “What? You mean he faked his death? Why the hell would he do that?”
“Because,” she said slowly, dread forming like a lead ball in her stomach as she realized what this meant for her, for the ten people whose lives she’d traded her freedom for. “I told Maddison and the others to wait for news of his death before coming back. I told them that until he was dead, they weren’t safe.”
She shook her head, whispering, “I told them to watch the news.”
Rowan realized what she was saying and cursed.
“He knows.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Lemme know in the comments if you want to be tagged!
Part 5 will (realistically) be out in the next three weeks. Sorry for the slow updates; school is consuming all my time and energy.
@audreycressworth@whimsicallyreading@onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame@poisonous00@vasudharaghavan@sailorsassley@endlessdaydream@swankii-art-teacher@thenerdandfandoms@emily-gsh@beanco8@stokingthemidnightflame@mis-lil-red@ladyfireheart-and-buzzard@sheharahu@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks@jorjy-jo@court-of-dreams-and-ashes@perseusannabeth@cursebreaker29@a-bit-of-a-cactus@elriel4life@girl-who-reads-the-books@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln@live-the-fangirl-life@ireallyshouldsleeprn@highqueenofelfhame@loudphantomdragon@gracie-rosee@rowaelinismyotp@nahthanks@ghostlyrose2@lovemollywho@inardour@tillyrubes10@claralady@tswaney17@rowanisahunk@superspiritfestival@thegoddessofyou@awesomelena555@booksofthemoon@greerlunna@jlinez@studyliketate@over300books@justgiu12@maastrash@aesthetics-11@bamchickawowow@b00kworm@sleeping-and-books@musicmaam@hizqueen4life@maybekindasortaace
Prisoner’s Game Pt. 3 (Rowaelin)
~Aelin~
There was something decidedly pleasant about sneaking out of prison.
It was the thrill, she supposed.
She’d always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, and there was nothing that matched up to the excitement of breaking out of a maximum security prison with no one being the wiser.
Aelin ran through the tunnel, her steps sure and soundless, a smile blooming on her face. What she was doing shouldn’t give her such joy, but along with being a thrill seeker, she’d always been just a little bit vindictive.
Or maybe a lot.
The map of the tunnels was still crystal clear after all this time, and she had it memorized down to the number of steps it took to get to the right turn.
It was a three hour run. Two underground, then one through the city out into the suburbs.
While the first two hours were definitely not fun, it was the last hour that was tricky.
Avoiding cameras, not drawing any unwanted attention, dressing so no one could see her face without looking too much like the criminal she was.
It was also more exhausting.
It was an hour of sprinting across rooftops, sprinting through town, then sprinting some more.
It was a little funny to her that the journey to where she needed to go was more difficult than actually breaking into the building.
She had a set of scrubs stored in a nearby lockbox, along with a wig and a few prosthetics to make her look more like Ansel, one of the nurses working the night shift.
The security guard, Shelly, was prone to reading romance novels during her shift and never questioned why she occasionally thought she saw two of the same person wandering around.
It was no different tonight.
Once she had everything in place, Aelin strode confidently through the halls, grabbing charts and nodding like she knew what the hell she was looking at.
No one stopped her, no one questioned her.
When she got to the room and chart she wanted, she slipped inside soundlessly and crept up to the bed.
Despite the ever-present urge to hurry things along, she stuck to her plan and kept the dose the same.
The person on the bed never woke up, never noticed her slip an extra drug into the IV bag hanging on the wall.
Silent, efficient, traceless.
Just like she’d been taught.
Leaving was even easier than entering.
She waited until real-Ansel had been out of the guard’s sight for a while, then walked out the back door of the facility like she hadn’t just committed a felony.
One of the few crimes she actually deserved to be in prison for, ironically.
Then she ran back, hiding in the traffic camera’s blind spots and ditching the wig along the way.
It was a little stupid and drawn out to do it this way, not to mention unbelievably cruel, but Aelin had always had a flair for the dramatic.
Plus, like she said: exciting.
~Rowan~
Doubt is a strange emotion.
It starts small, so small you hardly even realize it’s there.
And then, over time, it grows and grows like a fungus, eventually becoming something that you think about all the time. Something that kills you.
Rowan didn’t believe in doubt.
His problem had never been with not believing in himself, it’d always been with the opposite affliction: over-conviction.
He believed things so fully, so deeply, it was hard to see it any other way.
It was what made him such a good lawyer. As the top public prosecutor in the city, he had a reputation for being impossible to win against.
He convinced himself of the defendant’s guilt so completely, the jury had almost no option but to believe him.
He hadn’t always been that way, he didn’t think. Argumentative and stubborn, sure. His mother could attest to that. But never so unflinchingly self-assured. So alright with deceiving himself if need be.
If he had to guess, he’d say it’d started two months after the day of Aelin’s trial.
He hadn’t been lying to her four days ago; every word had been the truth. He’d worked his ass off all those years ago, trying to find something that would help him either clear her name or at least fucking sleep at night.
He’d given himself a timeline, deciding that if he couldn’t find a single lead in two months, there probably wasn’t one. Two months, and then he’d let it go.
He didn’t regret stopping his hunt–he’d seen what an obsession could do to someone.
And when that day had come, he’d thought he was ready. He’d exhausted himself working both her case and the ones he was assigned, burning the candle at both ends and sleeping in the office more nights than his own bed.
There’d been nothing to be found. The evidence, the testimonies, the medical examiner’s reports… they’d all pointed to Aelin.
So eventually he’d forced himself to stop looking.
But the sight of her swinging between the two court police officers, fighting for just one more second with him with a desperation he’d never seen from her… he hadn’t known how he could just forget something like that.
The image followed him, haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. Lined with tears and disbelief and so much hurt he felt like invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.
So he’d hardened himself against it.
He’d repeated the pieces of evidence against her, told himself she was guilty until the words were easy to say, forced himself to visualize the crime scenes of her victims whenever he thought of her.
Piece by piece, he’d swapped out the months of positive memories they had with stone cold facts.
And it had worked.
After a month, he could sleep again. After a year, he hardly thought of her and when he did, it was with disgust.
Yet now, over eight years later, he found himself with just the slightest amount of doubt again.
It was the same nagging, incessant feeling he hadn’t been able to shake eight years ago. Back for round two, apparently.
At first, he’d played it off as nerves from their conversation. She’d worked him up so much he’d admitted how much he’d once loved her and said things he shouldn’t have.
His body was reacting to the sadness in her eyes, the surprise that had bloomed when he’d told her he’d fought for her. It was emotion, nothing based in logic, that made him want to start looking again.
At least that’s what he told himself.
But four days later, he found himself on the couch–he really did need to give up and just buy a new bed–staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep and not being able to.
Because… well because what if she was telling the truth?
Why else would she have told him that story?
What had he missed during all those late nights spent hunched over her folder?
The questions grew and grew, until that once-little shard of doubt started to slowly drive him mad.
The uncertainty, no matter how small it had begun, had grown to be almost irritatingly large and unavoidable.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said. The breadcrumbs that apparently only hecould find.
What did that mean?
And why couldn’t he just let it go?
“Fuck!” he yelled, throwing his blanket off and storming to the closet.
Like a love-struck idiot, he’d kept a box full of the stuff she’d left at his apartment during their relationship. The stuff that wasn’t evidence, at least.
If it was something only he could find like she’d said, it was probably something only he had access to.
He dropped the box on his kitchen table and opened the lid.
Then cursed when the first thing he saw was a pair of red lace underwear. That was the lastthing he needed to be thinking about and remembering.
Especially when he’d barely been able to resist the temptation to kiss her in that interrogation room.
Something about the way she’d looked at him after he’d told her he’d fought for her all those years ago had rattled the grip he had on his control hard.
She’d seemed so… sad. So hopeless. It had brought out the urge to comfort her in whatever way he could.
Hearing about her childhood and how she’d been raised by Arobynn Hamel hadn’t made it any better. Truthfully, it’d broken something inside of him.
She’d always been so positive around him–a ray of light he’d felt was put on this earth just for him.
And all the while, she’d been forced to live with and work for one of the most notorious crime syndicate members of all time.
He’d always known she hadn’t had a good childhood, but there was a difference between foster care hell and an actual house of horrors. Rowan couldn’t even imagine the things she’d seen. Been forced to see, to do.
She made it out, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath.
But had she?
If what she’d told him was true, she’d killed those people because she’d been forced to.
It hadn’t been her choice.
But there was something else about her, something he couldn’t stop thinking about.
The secret she’d eluded to, the one that apparently only he had the key to solving.
A secret she’d promised would explain everything.
He tossed the underwear on the table, vowing to ignore them.
Then threw them in the trash a minute later when that became impossible.
You’re such an asshole, he told himself, shaking his head. It’s been eight years.
Even if thatpart of their relationship was most definitely memorable.
“Jesus,” he laughed, running a hand over his face. Why was he even thinking about that?
Maybe it was the look in her eyes four days ago, or maybe it was simply that Aelin had been an important part of his life. He’d never forget the connection they’d had. Maybe it would always be a part of him.
But that was ridiculous, because he’d been connectedto plenty of women since. Plenty of gorgeous brunettes and redheads.
For some reason, he hadn’t been able to date a blonde, but that didn’t mean anything.
He was over her.
Obviously.
Forcing his thoughts away from Aelin, he grabbed the next thing in the box.
Her address book. Maybe she’d left a note in there?
He flipped it open, scrolling through blank page after blank page. Her cousin’s address and phone number were there–both of which he confirmed with police records–but other than that, it was blank.
The next thing he found made the ache in his chest expand to a soul-sucking hole.
It was a travel brochure for Aruba.
The edges were frayed from how much she’d flipped through it, and notes in her handwriting were scribbled throughout the pages.
He remembered this, all right.
He’d woken up one morning, a morning that seemed like a lifetime ago, to find her laying on top of him, leafing through the travel pamphlet with a huge grin on her face.
“We’re going to Aruba,” she’d whispered in lieu of a greeting, leaning down to press her lips to his.
“Why?” he’d asked back between kisses.
“Because it’s the perfect place to hide from your real life,” had been her laughed response.
She’d planned a trip for them at Christmas. Their very first trip together.
Every time they saw each other, she’d shown him a new page or told him about a new activity she wanted to do.
In general, she was a happy, excited person, but he’d never seen her so thrilled over anything like she was that trip.
He’d hidden it better, trying to play it cool, but he’dbeen excited, too.
He’d pictured her on the beach, running in the sand and smiling and laughing and drinking from a coconut. He’d imagined sneaking to the beach one night and making love to her in the ocean.
He’d imagined getting down on one knee and asking her to be his travel partner for life.
She’d been arrested two weeks before they were supposed to leave.
He tossed the little magazine back into the box, shaking his head to clear it of the memories and long-lost dreams.
The only thing left in the worn box was books.
Aelin had volunteered at a publishing house, trying to get hired as a fiction editor, and she’d always had a book in her ridiculously heavy pocket book.
She’d given him a few of her favorites, claiming that if he ever wanted to know the “real her,” he had to read them.
A statement that made a lot more sense now than it used to.
He grabbed the one on top and leafed through it, going through the pages and scanning.
When that didn’t yield anything, he flipped to the back of the book and looked at the inscription she’d written him.
March 1
Rowan,
I know you’re not a fan of fiction, let alone romantic, feminist fiction, but I hope you’ll read this and fall in love with Elizabeth’s character like I did.
Aelin
He turned the book over and looked at the front again, then flipped through it again, then went through the whole process again.
Why did he feel like something about this didn’t add up? And why was this,of all things, what she’d left as a breadcrumb?
He didn’t figure it out until he reread the inscription for the fifth time and realized the date she’d written.
March 1st.
It was wrong; she’d given him this book on his birthday in February. He remembered because he’d laughed about her giving a grown man a romance novel for his birthday.
Why had she put March 1st? And why did that date stand out in his mind?
Stomach dropping, he finally figured out why that date was so important. It was the date of the first murder.
Maddison Kliff, a state senator who controversially wanted to fund renewable energy in the upcoming year, had been murdered the morning of March 1st eight years ago.
Breadcrumb.
He grabbed the next book from the stack, Wuthering Heights, and flipped to the end.
Almost the exact same inscription, except the date was April 13th, and the inspiring character was Linton Heathcliff.
April 13th was the day another victim died.
Rowan’s heart started pounding, so hard he thought he was going to either pass out or go into cardiac arrest.
What was the connection between these dates, characters, and victims? Rowan could feel it in his gut that this was what she’d been talking about. It had to be.
He flipped through the books again, looking for something else, but there was nothing there. Nothing was underlined or highlighted, and the books were all in brand-new condition, no pages were bookmarked.
“What are you trying to tell me, Aelin?” he whispered, rubbing at his temples.
He made a list of all the dates and characters, stared at it until he thought he’d go blind, and tried to think like her.
Except her mind was a complex puzzle he’d never quite solved, so that didn’t give him anything besides a headache.
He looked in the box again, hoping to magically find another note or something that explained everything in simple, idiot-proof terms.
But all that was there was that damn Aruba magazine.
It’s the perfect place to hide from your real life.
The words came rushing back to him, so suddenly and violently it was like his subconscious had been shouting it for a while.
Was that it?
Maybe the connection wasn’t only between the dates and characters, but it also had something to do with Aruba.
Maybe that was where this secret, whatever it was, was hiding.
Knowing he was probably grasping at straws, Rowan grabbed his phone and called the one person who’d help him.
“What the hell do you want?”
“I need a favor, Gavriel.”
He heard a heavy sigh. “Like a we’ve been friends for twenty years favor or like an I’m the Chief of Police favor?”
“The latter,” Rowan answered.
“Dammit, Rowan, you’re going to get me fired one day.” That was what he said every time. There was a long pause, then, “What do you need?”
“Flight manifests from Rifthold to Aruba from ten different days eight years ago.”
Gavriel caught on quickly. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a former flame of yours, would it? One currently serving time for ten murders from eight years ago?”
“Of course not,” he lied, knowing he was busted.
Another sigh. “You need to let this go, kid.”
Rowan ran a hand over his face, knowing that wasn’t possible. Not when, for the first time since he’d been assigned this God forbidden case, he had a lead.
“Can you help me or not?”
“I will, as long as you promise to drop it once whatever you’re chasing ends up to be yet another dead end.”
Knowing he didn’t have another choice, Rowan agreed.
Gavriel told him he’d send them over, then said softly, “I know you loved her, Rowan, but it’s time to move on.”
It’s not that easy, he thought, thinking once again of Aelin sitting in that tiny cell, skin pale and hair too long.
“Thanks for your help,” he said instead, hanging up before the lecture could continue.
A few minutes later, he was printing out the passenger lists from all the Rifthold to Aruba flights on each of the ten dates.
Starting with August 1st, he went through, passenger by passenger, and looked for an Elizabeth.
There’d been three direct flights to Aruba that day, so by the time he found it, his eyes were so tired he almost missed it entirely.
But there was a name that stuck out, one that was straight out of his copy of Pride and Prejudice.
Seat 14C had been occupied by Elizabeth Darcy, and she’d flown directly from Rifthold to Aruba on August 1st.
Rowan’s jaw damn near hit the floor.
His hands shook as he highlighted the name, writing the victim’s name next to it to keep it straight in his head.
His mind whirled with possible explanations, but he didn’t let himself think about anything except the next date.
With a sinking feeling in his gut, he went through the passenger list for April 13th.
And sure enough, Linton Heathcliff was on one of the flights. In the same damn seat.
“Holy fuck,” he whispered, grabbing the next sheet of paper.
He went date by date, flight by flight, and by the time he’d located every character, he was sure of what he’d found. What she’d left for him.
It wasn’t a breadcrumb,it was the whole goddamn loaf.
Rowan barely made it to the kitchen sink before his stomach emptied as an explanation of what had really happened eight years ago started to form in his mind.
He didn’t have all the pieces, but the ones he did have made him literally sick to think about.
Her insistence on being innocent, her begging him to look again, telling him only he could find the clues… it all made sense.
The doubt he’d been struggling with for eight long years suddenly disappeared, replaced by a certainty so swift and thorough and all encompassing, it almost took his breath away.
She hadn’t been lying.
She hadn’t killed those ten people.
She couldn’t have, because…
“They’re still alive.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
dun dun duuuuun
part 4 out next Friday (sorry for the slow updates I’m in summer school)
@audreycressworth@whimsicallyreading@onceupona-chaos@lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole@surielandiareendgame@captain-swan-is-endgame@poisonous00@vasudharaghavan@sailorsassley@endlessdaydream@swankii-art-teacher@beanco8@stokingthemidnightflame@mis-lil-red@ladyfireheart-and-buzzard@sheharahu@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks@jorjy-jo@court-of-dreams-and-ashes@perseusannabeth@cursebreaker29@a-bit-of-a-cactus@elriel4life@girl-who-reads-the-books@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln@live-the-fangirl-life@ireallyshouldsleeprn@highqueenofelfhame@loudphantomdragon@gracie-rosee@rowaelinismyotp@nahthanks@ghostlyrose2@lovemollywho@inardour@tillyrubes10@claralady@tswaney17@rowanisahunk@superspiritfestival@thegoddessofyou@awesomelena555@booksofthemoon@greerlunna@jlinez@studyliketate@over300books@justgiu12@maastrash@aesthetics-11@bamchickawowow@b00kworm@sleeping-and-books@musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace
Prisoner’s Game Pt. 2 (Rowaelin)
~Rowan~
Rowan didn’t think he’d ever been so pissed off in his life.
The only time that even came close was when he lost his first and only court case, but over the years he’d come to live with that.
Thisthough?
This immature, childish, irritatingly clever woman… he had a feeling he’d carry the rage he felt against her until the day he finally died of it.
Although, if he was honest, his returning move had been a little childish, too.
He’d ordered one of the guards to strip her cell of everything except the chess set. Her mattress, the makeshift knife he shuddered to think she’d had in the same room as him, her pillow.
If she wanted to steal his shit, he’d steal hers, too.
He’d also had the guard move one of his pawns forward on the board.
Not the most creative, but he didn’t have many options.
What did you take from a woman who had nothing? How did you punish someone who was already serving the longest punishment available?
The bank had seized her assets when she’d been locked up, and the lease on her apartment had long since run out. She didn’t have any personal items with her, didn’t seem to even care about anything besides making his life hell.
Case in point, when he got home that night, exhausted from dealing with Aelin and spending a long day at the office, he’d discovered her retaliation.
She’d stolen his bed.
The whole goddamn thing, frame and all.
How she’d managed to get it out of a penthouse condo with security not realizing a thing, he had no idea. He knew from experience it wouldn’t even fit through the door.
It’d seemed if she was going to be uncomfortable, so was he.
Steaming with anger, he’d showered and flopped on the couch like an idiot, not even able to sleep thanks to the rage she’d worked him into.
She was completely kicking his ass. From the inside of a jail cell.
He hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep before giving up on even trying. At six, he’d dressed and driven to Whitehorn and Salvaterre, the law firm he was a partner at.
If he couldn’t sleep, he’d at least figure out how the hell she was pulling this shit off.
Looking through her folder, he went through her daily schedule, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
Eight am wake-up, breakfast, shower, lunch, yard time, dinner, lights out at nine. Between activities, she worked out in her cell or read a book from the run-down prison library.
In the eight years she’d been in prison, she hadn’t had a single visitor. Her cousin Aedion–a playboy Rowan couldn’t be paid to associate with–delivered a care package on the first of every month.
Strange, considering nothing of the sort had been in her cell.
She’d been in solitary confinement ever since randomly attacking her cellmate a little over a month ago. She was still allowed yard time and meals with the other prisoners, but she was chained at all times.
Also strange, considering Aelin wasn’t the type to do anything randomly.
Rowan watched the security tapes he’d strong armed the guards into giving him, going through the past few days to see how she’d gotten out of her cell to rob him.
He watched as she was escorted to the yard, watched as she ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone, watched as she put herself through vigorous training in her cell.
Days of footage, and he didn’t find anything.
Feeling like a bit of a creep, he watched the nighttime footage of her sleeping, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
She didn’t move too much or too little–both of which would indicate it wasn’t really her under that thin blanket. There were no attempts to pick the locks in between her wrists and ankles, no digging into the wall behind her toilet.
Nothing.
Which meant someone was helping her.
He could go through the official channels and ask the police for her known connections, but he hadn’t reported either of the robberies yet.
Partly because he wanted to deal with her himself, partly because he felt a bit stupid getting robbed from a woman in the most secure prison in the city.
Which means he’d have to go about it a different way.
Grabbing his keys from his desk, he debated how else he could make her miserable, unfortunately finding nothing else he could do to her, no revenge he could get from robbing her tiny little cell.
No, he’d have to try something new.
Maybe he could bribe her into confessing. She didn’t have anything right now, but maybe he could give her something to lose.
He’d bring her lunch, force himself to apologize for yelling at her, and just politely ask who her accomplice was.
He thought on it as he rode down the elevator to the garage. It probably wouldn’t work, but he didn’t know what else to do.
And besides, he knew from experience Aelin didn’t respond well to his anger.
Checking his email to make sure he wasn’t missing any important meetings, he pressed the button on his car fob, expecting to hear the resounding beep from his designated parking spot.
Except the beep never came.
Slowly looking up, Rowan had to amend his earlier statement.
Nowhe didn’t think he’d ever been so pissed off in his life.
He stormed over to the security booth, hardly refraining from grabbing the man inside and throwing him to the ground.
“Where’s my car, Rolland?”
“In your spot, boss,” the stout little man replied instantly and surely, snapping his gum and looking at him in confusion. “Haven’t seen you drive out yet.”
“Yes, exactly. Which is why it’s a mystery why it’s no longer in it’s spot.”
Rolland caught up slowly. “You mean… it was stolen? From here? From you?”
Jaw so tight his molars were practically fused together, Rowan growled, “Just let me see the security tapes from this morning.”
The guard nodded quickly, eyes nervous as he typed something into the desktop in front of him.
“That’s weird,” he muttered a moment later, typing faster and sending Rowan a nervous glance.
“What?” he asked, trying to calm himself down with a few of the breathing techniques he’d learned over the years.
“The tapes are gone, but there’s… this.”
Rolland turned the screen so Rowan could see it, and all the breathing in the world couldn’t keep him from slamming a fist into the side of the security shack.
The footage was gone, and on the blank black screen read: Bishop to J7.
He was going to fucking kill her.
~Aelin~
“Enjoy your taxi ride here?” she asked sweetly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.
Rowan scowled at her as he crossed the small room inmates could use to talk to their lawyers. He yanked the chair across from her out, then threw himself into it. “You are such a pain in my ass.”
She just shrugged.
He sat across from her, angry and broody, and for a long time, he just stared at her.
Finally he asked, “Why are you doing this, Aelin?”
“I told you. You locked me up for something I didn’t do. I want you to be as miserable as I am. It’s simple, petty revenge.”
Nothing about it was simple, but that was besides the point.
He was quiet for another moment. “Why now?”
She sighed, but she wasn’t upset. Truthfully, she’d been waiting for him to ask that question.
“I want to tell you a story.”
He stood up suddenly, face exasperated. “I’m not fucking joking around. And I’m not going to let you waste any more of my time.”
He made his way to the door, and his dismissal of her pissed her off enough to say, “Sit down, or your car’s going off Whigsby Bridge.”
He smiled like he’d won their little game. “So you admit you have it.”
“Sure,” she said casually, honestly not giving a shit about the car.
His brow furrowed. “You’re giving up? Just like that?”
“You’re a fucking idiot if you think this is about your car, Rowan. But sure, I admit I know exactly where it, and your bed, and your little dagger are being hidden.”
He narrowed his eyes. “This conversation is being recorded, and you just admitted to being an accessory to robbery, so-”
“You aren’t going to press charges,” she cut him off, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it.
Nasty little prison habit she’d developed, smoking.
Or maybe she just did it because she knew he hated the smell.
“Oh, really?” he asked incredulously, eyeing the cigarette with disdain.
She grinned. “Once you sit and hear my story and realize I’m telling the truth, you’re going to feel so guilty you won’t even care about the car. Now sit down. I’d hate to see a classic get totaled because you’re being stubborn again.”
He glared at her, but came back to the table and sat down again.
Then reached over and snatched the cigarette from her lips, putting it out against the steel table top.
She just pulled out another, lighting it with one of her last matches. The irritation on his face made it worth the loss.
He waved a hand as if to say Get on with it.
She’d debated how to tell him this story for a long time. It was long, and messy and not particularly pleasant for her. But she wanted him to know the full thing, so she’d decided to start at the very beginning.
“My parents died when I was four,” she began, ignoring his dramatic sigh. “I went into foster care, and as you can imagine, I was a particularly unruly child.”
She smiled at the few memories she had. “I stole from the nuns, snuck out of my room at night and ran through the house, set all the clocks back an hour so we could sleep in. Small stuff. But it irritated them, because they couldn’t prove it was me.”
“Sounds familiar,” he grouched, making her grin.
“I was adopted by Arobynn Hamel a year later.”
As she’d predicted, his mouth fell open at that.
Arobynn was the known king of the underworld in Rifthold. He had a hand in every aspect of crime, yet no one could do anything about it because he never committed the crime himself.
His name was revered, so much so no one ever dared to cross him.
“But your record says-”
“That I stayed in foster care until I turned eighteen, I know.”
Arobynn hated public records and had a deal with someone in the system that he’d take some of the kids off their hands if they kept quiet about it. Illegal as hell, but he wasn’t someone you refused without suffering serious consequences.
It was the perfect crime. No one would miss unwanted kids, and it gave the system one less mouth to feed.
“I didn’t know it, but he’d been watching me for a while. He… I don’t know, saw something in me. Natural, innocent talent he could work with and turn into something different. He adopted me on my fifth birthday. And then he started training me.”
“To do what?” Rowan asked, shoulders tensing.
“Everything,” she answered with a shaky laugh, taking a long drag from her cigarette. “Stuff I wanted to learn, like how to pick a lock or walk without making sound. But as I got older, he taught me other stuff. Stuff I didn’t want to know.”
“How to kill,” he finished, picking up on her tone.
She nodded, finishing her cigarette and flicking the butt on the floor.
“I was good,” she told him quietly, looking down at the table. “By the time I was fifteen, he said I was the best he’d ever had. None of his other… children could beat me in a fight, not even the older ones who had a hundred pounds on me. And I could steal anything and not leave a trace.”
His eyes didn’t show an ounce of doubt, and she didn’t know how to feel about it. But she kept going anyway.
“I was his favorite. I was his best asset, and I didn’t care about anything that would compromise me. I lost my parents, and despite how much he wanted me to, I never loved him. I had no weaknesses. Except Sam.”
“Another of his students?” Rowan asked, and it wasn’t lost on her he said students instead of children.
She nodded. “We were adopted around the same time, grew up together. He was a year older, and whenever I had a problem, he was the one I’d turn to. He was good to me, and by the time I was seventeen, not a small part of me loved him.”
Aelin broke off and took a deep breath, wishing she had another cigarette and trying to figure out how to put into words how much he’d meant to her.
“Was?” Rowan asked, so softly and quietly and understandingly that she was reminded of the man he’d once been, the one she’d loved.
Shaking her head to clear it, she said, “He made a mistake. He went on a job; he was supposed to break into one of the underground casino’s owned by Arobynn’s competitor and memorize the ledger, but he got caught. It was messy and horrible and stupid, and the owner wanted blood. Arobynn promised he’d kill Sam as retribution.”
Rowan’s eyes widened, almost like he hadn’t realized how brutally she’d been raised until that moment.
“I begged him not to. Sam had saved me and helped me so many times that I couldn’t not do the same for him. I told him I’d do anything.”
She studied her hands, regret and guilt thick on her skin. “Arobynn said if I took ten of the jobs Sam was supposed to do, he wouldn’t kill him. I thought they’d be similar to the one he’d messed up on, small break-ins or robberies. So I accepted.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she batted it away as she continued, “The second I shook his hand, Tern–another of Arobynn’s–shot Sam in the head.”
Rowan’s face blanched so quickly, she thought he might pass out.
He started to say something, but she spoke faster. “I… snapped. I killed Tern, tried to kill Arobynn. You called me a murderer, and that’s true. I am, and I don’t regret it. Tern was a sadistic bastard, and I’m glad he’s dead. And one day, I’ll kill Arobynn for what he did.”
Rowan shook his head, confusion and shock and something similar to pity in his eyes. “Why didn’t you leave, run away?”
She leveled a look at him. “I didn’t exactly have a choice, Rowan. My punishment for Tern lasted for over a year.”
There was a long pause.
“Punishment?” he asked in a breathless voice that made something in her chest hurt.
She looked at the table again, skin pebbling at the memory of that year. “He locked me in a cell in the basement, in the dark. Once a month he’d come in to ask if I knew someone named Sam. It took me ten months to get confused, another three to say no.”
Still not meeting his eyes, she looked at his hands, noticing they were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. And a part of her, buried under all the rage and resentment and sadness, warmed at the thought that he was… he was angryfor her.
“It took me a long time after to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. But Arobynn never let me forget our deal. And right before I met you, he told me the first job.”
“What were the jobs?”
Aelin looked back up at that, the air thick between them as she said, “You already know.”
“The murders.”
She nodded, somehow managing to keep her spine straight despite the feeling of a hundred pound weight being lifted from her shoulders.
He at least knows why now, she thought to herself.
It was one of the things that had bothered her over the years. That he didn’t know why she’d done what he thought she’d done. That he thought she’d.. wanted to do it.
He was silent for a long time, just watching her with a carefully emotionless face. “Thank you for telling me that,” he said eventually. “I never could understand why.”
Then he stood and walked to the door again, and it was only when his hand was on the handle she spoke again. “You asked why I’m doing this, and why I’m doing it now.”
He opened the door but paused. Waited.
“It’s because I tried to tell you this all those years ago, and you didn’t care. You just assumed I was guilty because the evidence looked like it.”
She spoke around the lump in her throat. “I told you I didn’t kill those people, Rowan, and you didn’t even care.”
He spun around, slamming the door so hard it rattled, and in a split second, he was in front of her. A hand on the table, the other on her chair, he leaned down and got in her face.
He was so angry, so unbelievably enraged she couldn’t believe it. Hewas angry?
“I didn’t care? I didn’t fucking care, that’s what you think? Watching you get dragged away in cuffs was the worst moment of my life, and you think I didn’t fucking care?”
Shock hit her like a bucket of ice water.
That moment was crystal clear in her mind, and she couldn’t put what he was saying with what she knew.
He’d watched her with that same expressionless face, with cold eyes that had haunted her ever since.
She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn’t done.
“I fucked loved you! I thought you were the love of my life, Aelin. I begged you to tell me something that would help, tell meanything. But you didn’t! You just kept saying you were innocent; you didn’t give me anythingto actually work with.”
“I-”
“I found that stupid fucking list five days before I reported it, did you know that?”
She shook her head, because she hadn’t.
“Exactly. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he growled, eyes flashing. “I spent five days investigating it myself, trying to make sense of why you’d know those names. After your arrest, I spent two weeks trying to find anything, a single piece of evidence, that said it wasn’t you. And after the trial, I spent another two months trying to poke holes in my own goddamn case.”
He slammed a hand into the table. “I did everything I fucking could! I was desperatefor it not to be you. I argued my case so your lawyer could plead circumstantial evidence. I put you on the stand so you could say anything you wanted. I went for life sentences instead of the death penalty to give you time to actually tell me what the hell was going on!”
She was breathing heavily, heart breaking and reforming over and over again at what he was saying, what he was implying.
“I didn’t assumeshit,” he said in a low voice, so close they shared air. “You didn’t tell me anything.”
Aelin’s voice trembled as she croaked, “I tried.”
He shook his head, letting out a breath of amusement. “No, you didn’t. If this past week has proven anything, it’s that you don’t tryto do anything, you do it. You didn’t tell me anything, Aelin. You’re stillnot telling me anything.”
“I’m telling you to look again! I’m telling you you didn’t look hard enough, because I left breadcrumbs only you could find, breadcrumbs that explain everything.”
“Stop playing games with me!” he shouted, eyes flashing with a fresh wave of anger. “It’s been eight years! Stop holding onto whatever secret you’re holding onto and just tellme!”
Gods, she wanted to.
He was the one person she couldn’t trust with this secret, this stupid, most important secret, and yet he was the also the one person she wanted to tell it to.
She opened her mouth to tell him, but what came out was, “I didn’t kill them, Rowan. I promise I didn’t kill them. I can’t… I can’t tell you anything else.”
“Jesus, Aelin,” he spat, pushing off the table and turning to leave.
“Just look into it,” she called after him, fingers digging into the table to resist the urge to try and follow him. “I promise you can figure everything out, and you’ll understand everything. Please.”
She knew why, after all this time, it was so important for him to know the truth when that hadn’t been her original plan.
It was because she’d spent eight years believing he hadn’t tried, believing she hadn’t been a good enough person for him to even look into the possibility it wasn’t her.
And maybe it was because he was once again leaving her, or maybe it was because she felt like she was in that courtroom again, begging him to believe her, or maybe it was because of something she didn’t even understand yet.
Regardless of the reason, she found herself saying, “I loved you, too, you know.”
He looked at her with sad eyes that she was sure mirrored her own and shook his head. “Not enough, apparently.”
“You don’t believe that,” she argued, shaking her head and trying to keep the building emotions down.
“If you’d loved me, you would’ve told me. You would’ve given me the proof, whatever breadcrumbs you’re talking about. You wouldn’t have let me watch them take you away.”
“Rowan-”
“You wouldn’t have thought, for a second, that I didn’t try to fight for you. And you sure as hell wouldn’t have waited eight years to do whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
“I had to,” she whispered, even as she knew it wouldn’t be enough.
She shook with the effort to not tell him everything, but even after all he’d told her and how everything had changed, she just couldn’t. Not yet.
He stood at the door, watching her with those eyes she’d once thought looked like the most beautiful emeralds. “Sometimes I think about it, you know. What life would be like if I hadn’t tried to fix your sink in the middle of the night.”
She smiled sadly. “Me too.”
Rowan shook his head, gaze taking in her face like he thought he’d never see her again.
He thought it was over now, she realized. He thought that now she knew he hadn’t given up on her immediately, now that she’d told him the story she’d wanted to tell him, that it was over and she’d give up.
“Look again,” she whispered. “You know I didn’t do it. It’s why you’re here, why you kept looking after the trial ended. You knowI wouldn’t.”
“Goodbye, Aelin,” he said instead, not telling her any of the things she really wanted to hear.
It wasn’t until the door shut behind him she finally let herself cry.
She’d told herself that it didn’t matter; that in a month the truth would come out and everything would be normal again.
She’d told herself she was only messing with Rowan for revenge, not because she wanted to see him again or test that he’d find the clues she’d left for him.
She’d told herself this was just a game.
She’d told herself all sorts of things that turned out to be lies.
~~~
@audreycressworth@whimsicallyreading@onceupona-chaos@lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole@surielandiareendgame@captain-swan-is-endgame@poisonous00@vasudharaghavan@sailorsassley@endlessdaydream@swankii-art-teacher@beanco8@stokingthemidnightflame@mis-lil-red@ladyfireheart-and-buzzard@sheharahu@perseusannabeth@cursebreaker29@a-bit-of-a-cactus@elriel4life@girl-who-reads-the-books@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln@live-the-fangirl-life@ireallyshouldsleeprn@highqueenofelfhame@gracie-rosee@rowaelinismyotp@nahthanks@ghostlyrose2@lovemollywho@inardour@tillyrubes10@claralady@tswaney17@rowanisahunk@superspiritfestival@thegoddessofyou@awesomelena555@booksofthemoon@greerlunna@jlinez@studyliketate@over300books@justgiu12@maastrash@aesthetics-11@bamchickawowow@b00kworm@sleeping-and-books@musicmaam@hizqueen4life@maybekindasortaace
Prisoner’s Game Pt. 1 (Rowaelin)
Synopsis: Aelin Galathynius never thought of herself as a vengeful woman. Until her boyfriend not only testifies, but leads a case against her that lands her in prison for the rest of her life. Post I-Love-You’s. He didn’t believe her, and she’s about to show him that not only is she innocent, he made the worst mistake of his life betting against her. To a woman with nothing but time, life’s just a game, after all.
The cinderblock wall dug into her back uncomfortably as she reclined against it, the air in the room was stale, and she hadn’t showered in two days. By any measurement, Aelin Galathynius was far from her best.
And yet she somehow managed to look perfectly at ease–happy even–as she lounged in her cell, toying with the ends of her too-long hair.
It was a ruse, of course, just a little trick to piss off the man currently stomping into her space. By the flare of Rowan Whitehorn’s eyes, it worked.
“Hello, Rowan,” she greeted pleasantly, giving him a little smile and acting like it wasn’t taking everything in her not to use the makeshift knife under her pillow to gut him like the spineless coward he was.
She could tell, even across her 8x12 cell, that he was gritting his teeth and fighting a similar action.
The heel of his expensive Italian loafers clicked as he walked across the space to the small table and took a seat at the steel chair in front of it. He tried to push it out further, but stopped when he realized it was bolted to the floor.
“Aelin,” he said back, none of the so-obvious anger he was feeling present in his voice. “Been a long time.”
Eight years, six months, three weeks, two days, and thirteen hours.
Not that she was counting or anything.
She nodded her agreement, reclining further on the bed and crossing her legs as if she was in the finest dress she owned, not a faded orange jumpsuit.
“What brings you to my side of town, Rowan? Here to finally switch sides and represent me?”
Dressed in a two-thousand dollar suit and tie, hair perfectly gelled back, he looked like he was successful a lawyer meeting with a wealthy client, but they both knew the last thing he’d ever do was work for her.
“You know why I’m here.”
She did indeed, but she still said, “I must be exceptionally smart to know why you’ve come all the way here-”
“Cut the shit,” he snapped, finally losing a bit of his cool. He regained it quickly, though, and continued, “I want to know how you did it.”
She frowned at her split ends. “Did what?”
Rowan waited until she looked at him to respond. “You know what.”
Sighing so deeply it should’ve rattled the walls, she said, “I can’t believe I’ve spent the last eight years thinking you underestimated my intelligence. You clearly think I’m some sort of oracle genius.”
Rowan mimicked her sigh, and she bit her lip to stifle a laugh.
Probably trying to stall, he spent a moment looking at her cell, at the completely bare walls and lack of photographs. All she had was the tally marks drawn in pencil on one wall and a dusty chess set sitting on the table.
When he’d taken inventory of those two things, he sat and just looked at her.
It was clear she wouldn’t admit to knowing exactly why he sat in front of her, and he was simply putting off being the one to fold.
Predictable, proud little man.
Eventually, he took his loss and said, “I want to know how you managed to rob me from inside the most secure prison in Rifthold.”
She smiled, a full, undulated smile she hadn’t used in a long time.
She’d been planning this moment since the day the bars had locked behind her, and it felt damn good to finally see it come to fruition.
According to what she’d heard, definitely not what she knew from personal experience, the private vault in Rowan’s apartment had been broken into. Apparently, only one thing was missing: an antique dagger that had been handed down in the family and was now worth over a million bucks.
“Why do you think it was me?” she asked, still smiling.
He gritted his teeth some more, and she internally snickered at the idea he’d have permanent tooth damage because of her. Something else to remember her by.
Green eyes spitting flames at her, he growled, “You left a goddamn business card.”
Aelin forced her eyes up to the empty bed above her head, trying her hardest not to laugh. “Maybe I’m being framed?”
“Your fingerprints were on it.”
She did laugh then, then laughed some more when his eyes narrowed. He looked like he was about to strangle her. “Rowan, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m incarcerated.”
She gestured around them to her cell to prove her point.
The bastard just smiled.
Of course he knows that, she thought bitterly, forcing her hand back to her lap and away from where it’d started to creep toward the pillow.
“So how would I rob you?” she asked, getting her mind back on track.
“That’s what you’re going to tell me,” he demanded angrily. “I want to know how you got out of here, got all the way across Rifthold, broke into my apartment, and stole from me without any surveillance camera picking it up.”
Aelin ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it just right. When she caught sight of the impatience on his face, she fluffed it some more and readjusted the thin jacket on her shoulders.
It was always too damn cold in this place. She hadn’t been warm in almost nine years.
Because of him.
Just for that, she fluffed her hair some more.
Then she said simply, “I didn’t.”
“Stop lying!” he shouted at her, eyes flashing.
She wasn’t, but that was besides the point.
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes like he’d won. “I got my cousin to-”
“Aedion spent the night in Wendlyn. His travel is verified, and there are at least a hundred eye witnesses that witnessed him singing karaoke all night. Stop. Fucking. Lying.”
Once again, she wasn’t lying.
Aedion sure as hell hadn’t been in Wendlyn last night. She’d just wanted to make sure his alibi was air-tight as planned.
Sighing again, she asked, “Rowan, even if I did do it, why the hell would I tell you about it?”
His jaw worked for a moment, and she could tell whatever he was about to say was difficult for him. “I’ll get time off your sentence if you tell me what you’ve done with it.”
She tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it.
It burst out of her, full and uncontrollable, and she flopped over on the dirty mattress and howled for a good few minutes.
He glared at her, looking for all the world like he was experiencing a portion of the rage she was made of, but regardless of the threat in his eyes, she took her time composing herself.
“I’m serving ten consecutive life sentences, you idiot.”
One for each and every one of her “victims.”
“I’ll make it nine,” he offered generously.
“Even if I was a cat, that’d still leave me dying in a prison cell. Offer me something else.”
He just glared at her, unwilling to give her anything she could actually use or want. Just like she’d expected.
“That’s what I thought. So no, Rowan Whitehorn, I’m not accepting your little deal. You can think I robbed you all you want; hell, you can even know, in your famous gut, that I did it.” She tilted her head, a cruel smile filling her lips. “But it isn’t about what you believe, it’s about what you can prove. Isn’t that right?”
His eyes shuttered at the words, and just like that, they were sucked into the memory of all those years ago.
~Eight years ago~
~Rowan~
Rowan rolled over, edging away from the woman next to him carefully as to not wake her.
Her hair was spread out on his chest, her soft hand was on his stomach, and her leg was draped over his. By all accounts, she was all over him.
And it felt so fuckinggood.
He’d never met anyone like Aelin before. Anyone so full of life, so hilariously open.
It was like she was constantly on fire, flitting from one place to the next with endless energy and jabs about him being too old and slow.
“What are you going?” she murmured, nails digging in slightly to keep him where he was.
“To get some water. Go back to sleep.”
He leaned down and kissed her brow, and she sighed happily and rolled over. Like a total cliché, he watched her sleep for a moment, trying to get his feelings under control.
They’d been seeing each other for less than a year, but he couldn’t imagine his life without her. He was in love with her, and if the way she acted and smiled around him was any indication, she loved him, too.
He ran a thumb over her cheekbone, smiling when she tilted her face into his touch.
He was whipped, and he didn’t even care.
Rowan shook his head at himself, pulled on a pair of boxers, padded to the kitchen, and held a glass under the faucet.
Then frowned as it sputtered.
He figured he’d at least make himself useful, knowing damn well she would never agree to call the plumber when she could “figure out how to fix it herself on Youtube.”
So he knelt down in her kitchen and opened the cabinet door, trying to see what the problem with the pipe was.
Except he never got that far.
His eyes got stuck on the piece of paper sticking out under a false piece of wood covering the back panel.
Knowing it was wrong to pry but somehow unable to stop himself, he tugged the paper loose.
Then fell backwards to his ass, heart hammering and brain spinning as he read it over and over again.
The list of names wasn’t long, but all ten of the people on it were highly distinguished members of society.
And they were all dead.
He wouldn’t know that, since the death of the last person on the list wasn’t even public record yet, but he was the attorney working with the police to find the killer.
Why did she have this list?
And what did the numbers next to the names mean?
One way or another, he knew he had to find out. He also knew he couldn’t ask her. He was in too deep, too unbiased to know whether or not she was lying.
He didn’t trust himself with her, so he’d have to go the traditional route.
He took a picture of the paper quickly, tucking it back where he’d found it. He snuck back in the room to get dressed, leaving her a note he had to go to work.
He thought he was going to be sick as he left her apartment, a feeling suspiciously similar to dread coiling in his stomach.
There was only one way she could know that last name, only one explanation that made sense.
But he hadto know for sure. Had to know if he’d been an idiot this past year; an idiot who’d spent almost every night sleeping next to the killer he’d been searching for.
So he started investigating his girlfriend.
Six days later, he found the security deposit boxes and the murder weapons inside, still covered in dried blood that would be matched to the victims. All with Aelin’s prints on them.
Two days after that, the woman he’d thought was the love of his life was arrested on ten counts of murder.
Despite the tears she shed, despite the promises she made to him, despite the love she claimed to have for him, Rowan told the cops everything.
Even though he couldn’t imagine her killing anyone.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe, it matters what I can prove.”
That was the last thing he’d said to her, right as she was being dragged out of the court room and yelling at him to believe her.
The truth of the matter was that when it came down to it, he didn’t trust her enough. The facts were against her, everyone on the jury had been against her, and in the end, Rowan was too.
~Present~
~Aelin~
Rowan shook his head, almost like he needed to clear it from the memory they’d obviously both been immersed in, and she smiled.
She hoped what happened all those years ago still haunted him, hoped he went to sleep at night thinking about her and the betrayal he’d served to her on a silver platter.
The first year of her sentence, she was so lost in emotion–in the rage and confusion and deep, deep hurt–that she couldn’t bring herself to do anything.
He hadn’t even bothered to ask her first. That’s what had hurt the worst.
He’d seen that stupid, stupid list and had jumped to the first conclusion possible.
She knew it had looked bad, had looked like she was guilty, but she’d thought that if the worst happened, he’d at least ask her to explain before slapping the cuffs on her.
But he hadn’t. She’d gone to prison, and his career had exploded into stardom from the success of the case.
“See, Rowan, when you refused to accept any other explanation other than the easy one, you made a mistake. Because I didn’t kill those people.”
He rolled his eyes. “Aelin-”
“And I’m not only going to prove it,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “I’m going to ruin your precious little life while I do it. Just like you did mine.”
She stood, put a hand on the steel table, and leaned over him.
“If you want it to stop, all you have to do is drop these bullshit murder charges and issue a public apology for locking me up in the first place.”
He stood too, so close his loafers brushed the toe of her dusty, prison issued sneakers.
“That’s never going to happen,” he promised, voice uncompromising and angry.
Aelin smiled, having predicted his reaction down to the facial expression.
His pride, she’d decided, would be the first thing to go.
She reached around him to slide the pawn on the chess board forward, leaned in even further, and whispered, “Let the game begin, then.”
~~~~~~~~~~
@perseusannabeth@cursebreaker29@a-bit-of-a-cactus@elriel4life@girl-who-reads-the-books@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln@live-the-fangirl-life@ireallyshouldsleeprn@highqueenofelfhame@gracie-rosee@rowaelinismyotp@nahthanks@ghostlyrose2@lovemollywho@inardour@tillyrubes10@claralady@tswaney17@rowanisahunk@superspiritfestival@thegoddessofyou@awesomelena555@booksofthemoon@greerlunna@jlinez@studyliketate@over300books@justgiu12@maastrash@aesthetics-11@bamchickawowow@b00kworm@sleeping-and-books@musicmaam@hizqueen4life@maybekindasortaace
