Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass, #2)

by Sarah J. Maas

She crossed from the fireplace to where he stood, stopping a hand’s breadth away and staring up at him. Some of the color had returned to her face. He should step back, put more distance between them. But instead, he found himself reaching for her, a hand slipping around her waist and the other twining itself through her hair as he held her tightly to him. His heart thundered through him so hard he knew she could feel it. After a second, her arms came up around him, her fingers digging into his back in a way that made him realize how close they stood.

He shoved that feeling down, even as the silken texture of her hair against his fingers made him want to bury his face in it, and the smell of her, laced with mist and night, had him grazing his nose against her neck. There were other kinds of comfort that he could give her than mere words, and if she needed that kind of distraction … He shoved down that thought, too, swallowing it until he nearly choked on it. Her fingers were moving down his back, still digging into his muscles with a fierce kind of possession. If she kept touching him like that, his control was going to slip completely. And then she pulled back, just far enough to look up at him again, still so close their breath mingled. He found himself gauging the distance between their lips, his eyes flicking between her mouth and her eyes, the hand he had entwined in her hair stilling.

Desire roared through him, burning down every defense he’d put up, erasing every line he’d convince...

There had never been any line between them, only his own stupid fear and pride. Because from the moment he’d pulled her out of that mine in Endovier and she had set those eyes upon him, still fierce despite a year in hell, he’d been walking toward this, walking to her. So Chaol brushed away her tears, lifted her chin, and kissed her.

The kiss obliterated her. It was like coming home or being born or suddenly finding an entire half of herself that had been missing. His lips were hot and soft against hers—still tentative, and after a moment, he pulled back far enough to look into her eyes. She trembled with the need to touch him everywhere at once, to feel him touching her everywhere at once. He would give up everything to go with her. She twined her arms around his neck, her mouth meeting his in a second kiss that knocked the world out from under her.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” she told him. His eyes blazed with hunger that matched her own, and she kissed him again, tugging him into her bedroom. He let her pull him, not breaking the kiss as he kicked the door shut behind them. And then there was only them, and skin against skin, and when they reached that moment when there was nothing more between them at all, Celaena kissed Chaol deeply and gave him everything she had.

There was never absolute good or absolute evil (though the king was definitely the exception).

But death was her curse and her gift, and death had been her good friend these long, long years.

Silently, she began to recite the names of her dead. And as the overseer raised his whip, she added her name to the end of that list and swung her ax into his gut.

It was war upon them all. Let them tremble in fear at what they had awoken.

Then Celaena and the King of Adarlan smiled at each other, and it was the most terrifying thing Dorian had ever seen.

“Wyrdkeys,” Yellowlegs breathed, eyes glowing. “It describes the three Wyrdkeys to open the Wyrdgate.”

“The person who holds all three Wyrdkeys would have control over the broken Wyrdgate—and all Erilea. They would be able to open and close the gate at will. They could conquer new worlds or let in all sorts of life to bend to their cause. But even one key could make someone immensely dangerous. Not enough power to open the gate, but enough to be a threat. You see, the keys themselves are pure power—power to be shaped as the wielder wills it. Tempting, isn’t it?”

“Wyrd?” Mort laughed. “You’re pleading with the wrong force. If he controls the Wyrd, you’re going to have to find another means of saving yourself. And don’t you think it’s too much of a coincidence that magic stopped as soon as he began his conquest?” How magic stopped … “He used the Wyrdkeys to stifle magic. All magic,” she added, “but his own.” And by extension, Dorian’s. She swore, then asked, “So you think he might also have the second Wyrdkey?” “I don’t think a person could eliminate magic with only one—though I might be wrong. No one really knows what they’re capable of.”

“Fae, assassin—no matter what you are, I—”

“I love you.” She strangled the sob that built in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, hoping he would remember those words later—later, when he knew everything.

Maeve, Mora, and Mab.

Celaena Sardothien wasn’t in league with Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. Celaena Sardothien was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir to the throne and rightful Queen of Terrasen.

Who could have preditec this plot twist

Celaena was Aelin Galathynius, the greatest living threat to Adarlan, the one person who could raise an army capable of standing against the king.

Now, she was also the one person who knew the secret source of the king’s power—and who sought a way to destroy it. And he had just sent her into the arms of her strongest potential allies: to the homeland of her mother, the kingdom of her cousin, and the domain of her aunt, Queen Maeve ...