“Would you like to dance with me?”
He laughed. “With you? No.”
She looked at the marble floor, her chest tight. “You needn’t be so cruel.”
“Cruel? Celaena, Perrington is just over there. I’m sure he’s not happy about you being here, so I wouldn’t risk drawing his attention any more than necessary.”
“Coward.”
Chaol’s eyes softened. “If he weren’t here, I would have said yes.” (...)
“Anyway,” Chaol added, jerking his chin at Dorian, “I think you have far more attractive suitors vying for your attention. I’m boring company to keep.”
“I don’t mind being here with you.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Chaol said dryly, though he met her stare.
“I mean it. Why aren’t you dancing with anyone? Aren’t there ladies whom you like?”
“I’m the Captain of the Guard—I’m not exactly a catch for any of them.” There was some sorrow in his eyes, though it was well concealed.
“Are you mad? You’re better than everyone in here. And you’re—you’re very handsome,” she said, taking his hand in her free one. There was beauty in Chaol’s face—and strength, and honor, and loyalty. She stopped hearing the crowd, and her mouth became dry as he stared at her. How had she missed it for so long?
“You think so?” he said after a moment, looking at their clasped hands.
She tightened her grasp. “Why, if I wasn’t—”
―
Sarah J. Maas,
Throne of Glass
