Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass #2) by Sarah J. Maas

Chaol cut a glance at him. “You think that’s what I’m worried about?”

Yes. And it’s obvious to everyone except the two of you.

But he didn’t want to have this conversation with Chaol, and Chaol sure as hell didn’t want to have this conversation with him, so Dorian just shrugged. “She’ll be fine, and you’ll laugh at yourself for worrying. Even if he’s as well-guarded as she claims, she’s the Champion for a reason, right?”

Chaol nodded, though Dorian could still see the worry in his eyes.



Celaena knew the scarlet dress was a little scandalous. And she knew that it was definitely not appropriate for winter, given how low the front dipped, and how much lower the back went. Low enough to reveal through the black lace mesh that she wasn’t wearing a corset beneath it.

But Archer Finn had always liked women who were daring with their clothes, who were ahead of the trend. And this dress, with its close-fitting bodice, long, tight sleeves, and gently flowing skirt, was about as new and different as it came.

Which was why, when she ran into Chaol on her way out of her rooms, she wasn’t very surprised when he stopped dead and blinked. Then blinked again.

Celaena smiled at him. “Hello to you, too.”

Chaol stood in the hallway, his bronze eyes traveling down the front of her dress, then up again. “You’re not wearing that.”

She snorted and walked past him, deliberately giving him a view of the far more provocative back. “Oh, yes. I am.”

Chaol fell into step beside her as she made her way down to the front gate and the waiting carriage. “You’re going to catch your death.”

She slung her ermine cloak around her. “Not with this, I won’t.”

“Do you even have any weapons with you?”

She stomped down the main staircase that led to the entrance hall. “Yes, Chaol, I have weapons. And I’m wearing this dress because I want Archer to ask the same thing. To think I don’t have any on me.”

There were indeed knives strapped to her legs, and the pins sweeping her hair into a curling cascade down one shoulder were long and razor-sharp—commissioned, to her delight, by Philippa, so she didn’t need to “go traipsing around with cold metal jammed between your breasts.”

“Oh,” was all Chaol said. They reached the main entrance in silence, and Celaena slipped on her kid gloves as they neared the towering double doors that opened onto the courtyard. She was just about to walk down the front steps when Chaol touched her shoulder.

“Be careful,” he said, examining the carriage, the driver, the footman. They seemed to pass inspection. “Don’t put yourself at risk.”

“I do this for a living, you know.” She never should have told him about her capture, never should have let him see her as vulnerable, because now he’d just worry about her and doubt her and irritate her to no end. She didn’t know why she did it, but she shook off his touch and hissed, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He stiffened as if he’d been struck, his teeth flashing. “What do you mean, tomorrow?”

Again, that stupid, bright anger took over, and she gave him a slow smile. “You’re a smart boy,” she said, stalking down the steps to the carriage. “Figure it out yourself.”

Chaol kept staring as though he didn’t know her, his body so very still. She wouldn’t have him thinking her vulnerable, or foolish, or inexperienced—not when she’d worked so hard and sacrificed so much to get to this point. Maybe it had been a mistake to let him in; because the idea of him thinking that she was weak, that she needed to be protected, made her want to shatter someone’s bones.

“Good night,” she said, and before she could reconsider all that she’d just implied, she got into the carriage and drove away.

She’d worry about Chaol later. Tonight, her focus was on Archer—and on getting the truth out of him.



Archer was waiting inside an exclusive dining room, frequented by the elite of Rifthold. Most of the tables were already occupied, the patrons’ fine clothes and jewels glimmering in the dim light.

As the servant at the front helped her out of her cloak, she made sure that she was angled away from Archer—so he could get an eyeful of the exquisite black lace that covered the open back (and mostly concealed her scars from Endovier). She felt the eyes of the servant on her, too, but pretended not to notice.

Archer let out a breath, and she turned to find him grinning, slowly shaking his head.

“I think ‘stunning,’ ‘beautiful,’ and ‘dazzling’ are the words you’re looking for,” she said. She took his arm as they were escorted to a table tucked into an alcove of the ornate room.

Archer ran a finger along the red velvet sleeve of her gown. “I’m glad to see your taste matured along with the rest of you. And with your arrogance, it seems.”

She would have smiled anyway, she told herself.

Once they were seated, had the menu recited to them, and ordered the wine, Celaena found herself staring into that exquisite face. “So,” she said, leaning back in her seat, “how many ladies want to kill me tonight for monopolizing your time?”

He gave a laugh like a tickle of breath. “If I told you, you’d be bolting back to the castle.”