>>Aelin
The corridor leading to our chambers was quieter than I expected. Still perfumed from the festivities, but silent now—save for the sound of our footsteps echoing off the obsidian walls and the distant throb of torches.
Draegon's arm was warm beneath my hand, but I couldn't stop the way my fingers trembled against his sleeve. I waited, waited until the last turn in the hall, until we were out of sight and out of earshot.
Then I said, quietly, "You should tell them."
He didn't slow. "Tell who?"
"Your brothers," I murmured. "About the tower."
His stride faltered, only slightly. A shadow passed across his expression, but he kept moving, jaw tightening. I didn't press, not yet. I let the silence stretch a few more steps, but the air was shifting. Heavy.
Tense.
"You saw the way they looked at you tonight," I tried again. "It's not just grief or hate, Draegon. It's confusion. They don't know. They don't understand. But they should."
He stopped this time.
