Rowan was asleep when Aelin shifted at his side and he blinked sleepily down at his queen. She was staring up blankly at the ceiling.

"Aelin?" he murmured.

She turned onto her side to face him; he was nearly unsettled when she stared up vacantly at him, her eyes empty. Soft and warm but... her eyes... the coldness in them.

"Fireheart?" To his relief she blinked and warmth filled her eyes. Yes? she asked.

"What happened the night before?"

"Hmm?"

"You were... crying," he said, his voice strained. She gave him a confused look. "I... think you were having a nightmare." He hesitated as she buried her face in his neck. "What was it about?"

She stifled a sob and his hand immediately went to her hair, soothing her. His skin grew damp beneath her face.

"Aelin? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He didn't want her to be hurting, but he had to know, if only so he can help.

Random streams of thought registered in his mind. Aelin's. All Rowan could make out were a few words. Nehemia... Coward... Sam, her parents... uncle... Galan Ashryver... hates me... unworthy... crown... Aedion... says... a traitor...

It was agony to listen to this. Then her barriers went down, one last name to make her hate herself. One last from someone dear to her.

Rowan...

He couldn't imagine how she'd managed to get his name into this whirl of self hatred; but maybe it was because of his behavior when he had first met her. Doesn't care... nothing to you...

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her, holding Aelin close. "I'm sorry," he repeated, again and again. She let it out, sobs shaking her small frame. Rowan stroked her hair, trying to calm her.

"Aelin," he started, but thought better of what he was going to say. She wasn't ready. Not yet.

She just hugged him harder. He felt terrible for what he'd said in Wendlyn when he'd snapped at her. He murmured wordless sounds of comfort, waiting for her to raise her head.

It could have been minutes or hours, but he was content to be able to lie there and comfort her. Aelin was half lying on him and he could feel the temptation to kiss her. Fighting it off, Aelin finally looked up at him, her face blotchy and eyes red.

Rowan's restraint was holding on by a thread. When Aelin was able to speak again, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, sitting up.

"I was back in Nehemia's room on the night she was killed. There was blood everywhere and her body got up. Called me coward when I apologized, then she changed into Sam, then my family then Dorian, Chaol and Lysandra. Then finally you and Aedion," she explained, tearing up again. "You all said the same thing: unworthy, traitor, murderer. Sam said he never loved me, that it had been Arobynn's idea. Then you said you didn't care."

When she finished he damned consequences to the wind and gave up on self-restraint. He kissed her hair and her cheek, breathing in her scent of crackling embers.

"Sleep," he cooed. "I'll keep the nightmares away."

"With what?" she asked, curious and amused but wary at the same time.

"With my bare hands, of course," he replied. Rowan laid back down, drawing her to him so she was back to half lying on him. He wiped away the tears and rested his chin on top of her head. Aelin lay there enveloped in his warmth, listening to his steady heartbeat.

"Sleep," he crooned to her. "Sleep... my sweet Aelin."

To his utter delight, she obeyed and closed her eyes, sighing softly. Soon, her breathing became deep and even. Calm.

It troubled him that she still thought this way about herself. But perhaps these type of wounds will never heal; maybe they'll always hurt, but he could try. Try to heal her, those invisible wounds. As long as she's happy, he will be. As long as it's true.

Light comes from within, he remembered reading somewhere, so he fell asleep with a vision of them together, surrounded by light.