Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass, #2)

by Sarah J. Maas

She wouldn’t mind working with him—but not in the way Roland meant. Her way would include a dagger, a shovel, and an unmarked grave.

“Because I do worry!” “Well, you shouldn’t! I’m just as capable of looking after myself as you are!” He took a step toward her, but she held her ground. “Believe me, Celaena,” he snarled, his eyes flashing, “I know you can look after yourself. But I worry because I care. Gods help me, I know I shouldn’t, but I do. So I will always tell you to be careful, because I will always care what happens.” She blinked. “Oh,” was all she managed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, then took a long, deep breath.

But Celaena and Chaol just sat there, staring at each other. And not just staring, but something more than that. Dorian stopped hearing the music. She had never looked at him like that. Not once. Not even for a heartbeat.

damn ….

He would move on. Because he would not be like the ancient kings in the song and keep her for himself. She deserved a loyal, brave knight who saw her for what she was and did not fear her. And he deserved someone who would look at him like that, even if the love wouldn’t be the same, even if the girl wouldn’t be her. So Dorian closed his eyes, and took another long breath. And when he opened his eyes, he let her go.

Chaol spotted her. Well, she’d certainly abandoned her post. But not to face some potential threat. Chaol crossed his arms. Celaena had left her post to dance.

“I heard the music and I just wanted to dance for a few minutes. To just … forget everything for one waltz and pretend to be a normal girl. So”—she glared at him now—“go ahead and snarl and snap at me about it. What will my punishment be? Three extra miles tomorrow? An hour of drills? The rack?” There was a sort of bleak bitterness in her words that didn’t sit well with him. And yes, they would have a conversation about abandoning posts, but right now—right now … Chaol stepped up to the line. “Dance with me,” he said, and held out his hand to her.

Nothing. Everything. Because when he’d said it, it hadn’t been the way Dorian had asked her to dance at the Yulemas ball. That had merely been an invitation. But this … His hand remained reaching toward her.

She knew his every move and he knew hers, as though they’d been dancing this waltz together all their lives. Faster, never faltering, never breaking her stare. The rest of the world quieted into nothing. In that moment, after ten long years, Celaena looked at Chaol and realized she was home.

“Would you stop it, then?” Her dark eyes were fixed on his face. “Speak to your father at the council meeting; convince the others to say no.” No one except for Celaena dared speak to him like that.

Nehemia stared at him for a long moment before nodding. “You have power in you, Prince. More power than you realize.” She touched his chest, tracing a symbol there, too, and some of the court ladies gasped. But Nehemia’s eyes were locked on his. “It sleeps,” she whispered, tapping his heart. “In here. When the time comes, when it awakens, do not be afraid.” She removed her hand and gave him a sad smile. “When it is time, I will help you.”

“I don’t want company.” “Want and need are different things.”

“Is that … chocolate cake?” “I thought you might need some.” “Need, not want?” A ghost of a smile was on her lips, and he almost sagged in relief as he said, “For you, I’d say that chocolate cake is most definitely a need.”

Chaol surveyed the room, turning in place. “It’s the Fae woman’s garden—from Rena Goldsmith’s song,” he said softly. His golden eyes were bright. She swallowed hard. “I know it’s not much—” “No one has ever done anything like this for me.” He shook his head in awe, looking back at the greenhouse. “No one.”

“Before I forget to say it: Thank you. This is …” He examined the glittering greenhouse again, then looked out to the river beyond the glass walls. “This is …” He shook his head once more, setting down his glass, and she caught a glimmer of silver in his eyes that made her heart clench. He blinked it away and looked back at her with a small smile. “No one has thrown me a birthday party since I was a child.”

“But Dorian doesn’t know what my favorite stew is, does he?” He glanced up at her, and she bit her lip. “How long have you been paying attention?”

“Well, you might think you’re mysterious and brooding and stealthy, Captain, but once you know where to look, you’re a fairly easy book to read. Every time we have roast boar stew, I can barely get a spoonful before you’ve eaten the whole tureen.” He tipped his head back and laughed, and the sound sent heat coursing through every part of her. “And here I was, thinking I’d managed to hide my weaknesses so well.” She gave him a wicked grin. “Just wait until you see the other courses.”

And she would never come back. And because she was young, and so damn clever and amusing and wonderful, wherever she made her home, there would be some man who would fall in love with her and who would make her his wife, and that was the worst truth of all. It had snuck up on him, this pain and terror and rage at the thought of anyone else with her. Every look, every word from her … He didn’t even know when it had started. “We’ll find that place, then,” he said quietly. “What?” Her brows narrowed. “I’ll go with you.”

“What about being Captain of the Guard?” “Perhaps my duties aren’t what I expected them to be.”

“I would be the greatest fool in the world to let you go alone.”

“Because,” she whispered, her voice shaking, “you remind me of how the world ought to be. What the world can be.”

The kiss obliterated her. It was like coming home or being born or suddenly finding an entire half of herself that had been missing.

He would give up everything to go with her.

No—she wasn’t human at all. Celaena was Fae.

Celaena Sardothien was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir to the throne and rightful Queen of Terrasen.

Celaena was the lost Queen of Terrasen.