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

“He will kill you, Celaena.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “He’ll kill you, and make me do it as punishment for being your friend.” That was the terror that he grappled with—the fear that plagued him, the thing that had kept him on this side of the line for so long.

“Archer has been giving me real information—”

“I don’t give a damn about Archer. What information could that conceited ass have that could possibly help you?”

“This secret movement from Terrasen actually exists,” she said with maddening calm. “I could use the information I’ve gathered about it to bargain with the king to let me go—or just give me a shorter contract. Short enough that if he ever finds out the truth, I’ll be long gone.”

He growled. “He could have you whipped just for being that impertinent.” But then the last part of her words registered, hitting him like a punch to the face. I’ll be long gone. Gone. “Where will you go?”

“Anywhere,” she said. “As far away as I can get.”

He could hardly breathe, but he managed to say, “And what would you do?”

She shrugged, and both of them realized that he’d been gripping her shoulders. He eased his grip, but his fingers ached to grab her again, as though it would somehow keep her from leaving. “Live my life, I suppose. Live it the way I want to, for once. Learn how to be a normal girl.”

“How far away?”

Her blue-and-gold eyes flickered. “I’d travel until I found a place where they’d never heard of Adarlan. If such a place exists.”

And she would never come back.

And because she was young, and so damn clever and amusing and wonderful, wherever she made her home, there would be some man who would fall in love with her and who would make her his wife, and that was the worst truth of all. It had snuck up on him, this pain and terror and rage at the thought of anyone else with her. Every look, every word from her … He didn’t even know when it had started.

“We’ll find that place, then,” he said quietly.

“What?” Her brows narrowed.

“I’ll go with you.” And though he hadn’t asked, they both knew those words held a question. He tried not to think of what she’d said last night—of the shame she’d felt holding him when he was a son of Adarlan and she was a daughter of Terrasen.

“What about being Captain of the Guard?”

“Perhaps my duties aren’t what I expected them to be.” The king kept things from him; there were so many secrets, and perhaps he was little more than a puppet, part of the illusion that he was starting to see through …

“You love your country,” she said. “I can’t let you give all that up.” He caught the glimmer of pain and hope in her eyes, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d closed the distance between them, one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder.

“I would be the greatest fool in the world to let you go alone.”

And then there were tears rolling down her face, and her mouth became a thin, wobbling line.

He pulled back, but didn’t let her go. “Why are you crying?”

“Because,” she whispered, her voice shaking, “you remind me of how the world ought to be. What the world can be.”

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.



She didn’t know how long they stood on that roof, tangled up in each other, mouths and hands roving until she moaned and dragged him through the greenhouse, down the stairs, and into the carriage waiting outside. And then there was the ride home, where he did things to her neck and ear that made her forget her own name. They managed to straighten themselves out as they reached the castle gates, and kept a respectable distance as they walked back to her room, though every inch of her felt so alive and burning that it was a miracle she made it back to her door without pulling him into a closet.

But then they were inside her rooms, and then at her bedroom door, and he paused as she took his hand to lead him in. “Are you sure?”

She lifted a hand to his face, exploring every curve and freckle that had become so impossibly precious to her. She had waited once before—waited with Sam, and then it had been too late. But now, there was no doubt, no shred of fear or uncertainty, as if every moment between her and Chaol had been a step in a dance that had led to this threshold.

“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.