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

She remained outside her rooms, running an eye over him. He looked fine—no bruises, no signs of injury—yet something was off. “What are you doing here?”

He avoided her gaze. “I was looking for Nehemia, but her servants said she was out. I thought they meant here; then I thought you two might be out for a stroll.”

“I haven’t seen her since this morning. Is there something you want from her?”

Dorian took a ragged breath, and Celaena suddenly realized just how cold it was in the hallway. How long had he been sitting here on the freezing floor? “No,” he said, shaking his head as if convincing himself of something. “No, there isn’t.”

He began walking away. She started speaking before she knew she’d opened her mouth. “Dorian. What’s wrong?”

He turned. For a heartbeat, there was something in his eyes that reminded her of a world long since burned—a glimmer of color and power that still stalked the edges of her nightmares. But he blinked, and it was gone. “Nothing. There’s nothing wrong at all.” He strode away, hands still in his pockets. “Enjoy your cake,” he said over his shoulder, and then was gone.





Chapter 19


Chaol stood before the king’s throne, almost boring himself to tears as he gave yesterday’s report. He tried not to think about last night—how the brief touch of Celaena’s fingers through his hair and on his face had sent a pang of desire through him so strong he’d wanted to grab her and pin her on the couch. It had taken all his self-control to keep his breathing steady, to keep pretending that he was asleep. After she’d left, his heart had been pounding so hard it took him an hour to calm enough to actually sleep.

Looking at the king now, Chaol was glad he’d controlled himself. The line between him and Celaena was there for a reason. Crossing it could call into question his loyalty to the king before him—not to mention the way it would impact his friendship with Dorian. The prince had made himself scarce this past week; Chaol would have to make a point today to go see him.

Dorian and the king were where his loyalty lay. Without his loyalty, he was no one. Without it, he’d given up his family, his title, for nothing.

Chaol finished explaining his security plans for the carnival that would arrive today, and the king nodded. “Very well, Captain. Make sure your men watch the castle grounds, too. I know what sort of filth likes to travel with these carnivals, and I don’t want them wandering around.”

Chaol bowed his head. “Consider it done.”

Normally, the king would dismiss him with a grunt and a wave, but today, the man merely studied him, an elbow propped on the arm of his glass throne. After a moment of silence—during which Chaol wondered if a castle spy had somehow been looking through the keyhole when Celaena touched him—the king spoke.

“Princess Nehemia needs to be watched.”

Of all the things the king could have said, this was not what Chaol had expected. But he kept his face blank and did not question the words that implied so much.

“Her … influence is starting to be felt in these halls. And I am beginning to wonder if perhaps the time has come to remove her back to Eyllwe. I know that we already have some men watching her, but I also received word that there was an anonymous threat on her life.”

Questions roared through him, along with a rising sense of dread. Who had threatened her? What had Nehemia said or done to warrant the threat?

Chaol stiffened. “I haven’t heard anything about that.”

The king smiled. “No one has. Not even the princess herself. It seems she’s made some enemies outside the palace as well.”

“I’ll have extra guards watch her rooms and patrol her wing of the castle. I’ll alert her immediately of—”

“There is no need to alert her. Or anyone.” The king gave him a pointed look. “She might try to use the fact that someone wants her dead as a bargaining chip—might try to make herself into a martyr of sorts. So tell your men to stay quiet.”

He didn’t think Nehemia would do that, but Chaol kept his mouth shut. He’d tell his men to be discreet.

And he wouldn’t tell the princess—or Celaena. Just because he was friendly with Nehemia, just because she was Celaena’s friend, it didn’t change anything. While he knew that Celaena would be furious that he didn’t tell her, he was the Captain of the Guard. He had fought and sacrificed nearly as much as Celaena had to get to this position. He’d let her get too close by asking her to dance—he’d let himself get too close.

“Captain?”

Chaol blinked, then bowed low. “You have my word, Your Majesty.”



Dorian panted, swinging the sword through the air in a precise parry that sent the guard scrambling. His third match, and his third opponent about to go down. He hadn’t slept last night, nor had he been able to sit still this morning. So he’d come to the barracks, hoping to have someone wear him down enough for exhaustion to take over.

He parried and deflected the guard’s assault. It had to be a mistake. Maybe he’d dreamed it all up. Maybe it had just been a combination of the right elements at the wrong time. Magic was gone, and there was no reason that he should have that power, when not even his father had been gifted with magic. Magic had been dormant in the Havilliard bloodline for generations.