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The only thing all the intended disorientation had accomplished was to familiarize her with the building. Idiots.
Queen!
Still, the image haunted his dreams throughout the night: a lovely girl gazing at the stars, and the stars who gazed back.
Libraries were full of ideas—perhaps the most dangerous and powerful of all weapons.
“Celaena.” She blinked, her cheeks burning. Chaol’s features softened. “He’s just a man. But a man you should treat with the respect his rank demands.” He began walking with her again, slower.
“From the way you two are blatantly ignoring me, I’d say she could pass for your sister! Though you don’t really look like each other—it would be hard to pass off someone so pretty as your sister.”
“Enjoyed that, did you?” Chaol growled. “Immensely.” Celaena patted Chaol’s arm as she took it in her own. “Now you must pretend that you like me, or else everything will be ruined.” “You and the Crown Prince share the same sense of humor, it seems.” “Perhaps he and I will become dear friends, and you will be left to rot.”
Celaena followed after her, unceremoniously stripping down to her underclothes and enjoying it far too much when Chaol’s cheeks reddened before he turned away.
the way music could break and heal and make everything seem possible and heroic.
Celaena’s eyes flew open. She panted. “Are you …,” someone said beside her, and she jerked. Where was she? “It was a dream,” said Chaol.
“I never took you for a superstitious person. How does that fit into your career?”
“As my friend, you should either bring me along, or keep me company.” “Friend?” he asked. She blushed. “Well, ‘scowling escort’ is a better description. Or ‘reluctant acquaintance,’ if you prefer.” To her surprise, he smiled.
Chaol watched the prince disappear, his red cape billowing behind him, and sighed. He knew jealousy when he saw it, and while Dorian was clever, he was just as bad as Celaena at hiding his emotions.
“For the world’s greatest assassin, this is pathetic,” said Dorian, stepping from the doorway.
Though it was the oldest and most shameless trick in the book, he reached over her and put his hand on top of the one that gripped the cue. He then positioned the fingers of her other hand on the wood before lightly gripping her wrist. To Dorian’s dismay, his face became warm.
He won every game, yet she hardly noticed. As long as she hit the ball, it resulted in shameless bragging. When she missed—well, even the fires of Hell couldn’t compare to the rage that burst from her mouth. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d laughed so hard.
When she wasn’t cursing and sputtering, they spoke of the books they’d both read, and as she jabbered on and on, he felt as if she hadn’t spoken a word in years and was afraid she’d suddenly go mute again. She was frighteningly smart. She understood him when he spoke of history, or of politics—though she claimed to loathe the subject—and even had a great deal to say about the theater. He somehow wound up promising to take her to a play after the competition. An awkward silence arose at that, but it quickly passed.
“What’s the point in having a mind if you don’t use it to make judgments?” “What’s the point in having a heart if you don’t use it to spare others from the harsh judgments of your mind?”
“If it pleases Your Magnanimous Holiness, I shall call you by your first name.”
She was a criminal—a prodigy at killing, a Queen of the Underworld—and yet … yet she was just a girl, sent at seventeen to Endovier.
“Are you my present, or is there something in that basket at your feet?” she asked. “If you’d like to unwrap me,” he said, lifting the large wicker basket onto the table, “we still have an hour until the temple service.”
“I—er, I didn’t expect you to.” He blushed madly and glanced at the clock. “I have to go. I’ll see you at the ceremony—or perhaps tonight after the ball? I’ll try to get away as early as I can. Though I bet that without you there, Nehemia will probably do the same—so it won’t look so bad if I leave early, too.” She’d never seen him babble like this.
Why did Chaol never joke with her as Dorian did? Perhaps he truly didn’t find her attractive. The possibility of it stung more than she would have liked.
“So, you liked it?” He grinned lazily. “No! Oh, go away!” She flung herself onto her pillows, pulling the blankets above her head. She was going to die from embarrassment.
“We all bear scars, Dorian. Mine just happen to be more visible than most. Sit there if you like, but I’m going to get dressed.”
He saw her face each time he closed his eyes. She haunted his thoughts, made him wish to do grand and wonderful things in her name, made him want to be a man who deserved to wear a crown.
Freedom or death lay at this table. Her past and future were seated on a glass throne.
“You were brought here—all of you were. All the players in the unfinished game. My friends,”
“You could rattle the stars,” she whispered. “You could do anything, if you only dared. And deep down, you know it, too. That’s what scares you most.”
