Throne of Glass (Throne of Glass, #1)

by Sarah J. Maas

Princes are not supposed to be handsome! They’re sniveling, stupid, repulsive creatures! This one … this … How unfair of him to be royal and beautiful.

“She has somewhat of a tongue, doesn’t she?

To kill for him—to be a fang in the mouth of the beast that had already consumed half of Erilea

If she were to die now, it would be in complete bliss.

My Most True Assassin, Enclosed are seven books from my personal library that I have recently read and enjoyed immensely. You are, of course, free to read as many of the books in the castle library as you wish, but I command you to read these first so that we might discuss them. I promise they are not dull, for I am not one inclined to sit through pages of nonsense and bloated speech, though perhaps you enjoy works and authors who think very highly of themselves. Most affectionately, Dorian Havilliard

“There!” Dorian said. “A reaction—thank the gods I’ve amused her.”

“You’ll be sweating when I skin you alive and squish your eyeballs beneath my feet,” she muttered, picking up the rapier. “That’s the spirit.”

She was surprised that her hands had not forgotten, that somewhere in her mind, after a year of darkness and slavery, music was still alive and breathing. That somewhere, between the notes, was Sam. She forgot about time as she drifted between pieces, voicing the unspeakable, opening old wounds, playing and playing as the sound forgave and saved her.

He had come here with the intention of embarrassing a snide assassin, and had instead found a young woman pouring her secrets into a pianoforte.

“No. I can survive well enough on my own—if given proper reading material.”

“You think that was bad? You should see them when they really get going.”

“Shut your stupid mouth, or I’ll punch your teeth down your throat and shut it for you.”

Queen

“Are you planning on biting the cue again? Because if you are, I’d like to invite the court painter so I can forever remember the sight.”

“You’re immensely entertaining when you’re hopping mad.”

“If you don’t stop feeling and start instructing, I’m going to rip out your eyes and replace them with these billiard balls.”

Find the evil in the castle … But the only truly evil thing in this world is the man ruling it.

“I like music,” she said slowly, “because when I hear it, I … I lose myself within myself, if that makes sense. I become empty and full all at once, and I can feel the whole earth roiling around me. When I play, I’m not … for once, I’m not destroying. I’m creating.” She chewed on her lip. “I used to want to be a healer. Back when I was … Back before this became my profession, when I was almost too young to remember, I wanted to be a healer.” She shrugged. “Music reminds me of that feeling.”

“You marry the person you love—and none other,”

“No fair maiden should die alone,” he said, putting a hand on hers. “Shall I read to you in your final moments?

What story would you like?” She snatched her hand back. “How about the story of the idiotic prince who won’t leave the assassin alone?” “Oh! I love that story! It has such a happy ending, too—why, the assassin was really feigning her illness in order to get the prince’s attention! Who would have guessed it? Such a clever girl. And the bedroom scene is so lovely—it’s worth reading through all of their ceaseless banter!”

“It’s Dorian, by the way. Not ‘Your Highness.’ ” “Very well.” “Say it.” “Say what?”

“Give me that, you demon-woman. I’ll not have you matching us against each other.”

Celaena closed her eyes and smiled. She could think of no nicer Yulemas gift than for Cain to be found dead the next morning.

“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.” She laughed. “Happy Yulemas, Dorian.” “And to you as well. I can see that I— Are your teeth red?”

“While some parents hit their children, mine also punished me with dancing lessons.”

“We all bear scars, Dorian. Mine just happen to be more visible than most.

There was a darkness in his eyes that felt cold and foreign, like the gaps between the stars.

“My name is Celaena Sardothien,” she whispered. “But it makes no difference if my name’s Celaena or Lillian or Bitch, because I’d still beat you, no matter what you call me.”

Magic calls to magic.”

“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.”