Throne of Glass (Throne of Glass #1) by Sarah J. Maas

“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?”

She clamped her mouth shut, shaking her head in violent protestation.

He grabbed her nose and pinched it closed, and try as she might, she could not dislodge his fingers. She opened her mouth, and he burst into laughter. “Been eating candies, have you?”

“You sent those?” She kept her mouth closed as much as possible.

“Of course.” He picked up the brown bag of candy on the table. “What’s your . . .” He trailed off as he weighed the bag in his hands. “Didn’t I give you three pounds of candy?”

She smiled impishly.

“You ate half the bag!”

“Was I supposed to save it?”

“I would have liked some!”

“You never told me that.”

“Because I didn’t expect you to consume all of it before breakfast!”

She snatched the bag from him and put it on the table. “Well, that just shows poor judgment on your part, doesn’t it?”

Dorian opened his mouth to reply, but the bag of candy tipped over and spilled across the table. Celaena turned just in time to see the slender golden snout protruding from the basket, inching toward the candy. “What is that?” she asked flatly.

Dorian grinned. “A Yulemas present for you.”

The assassin flipped back the lid of the basket. The nose instantly shot inward, and Celaena found the strange golden-haired pup quivering in a corner with a red bow around her neck.

“Oh, puppy,” she crooned, and petted her. The dog trembled, and she glared at Dorian over her shoulder. “What did you do, you buffoon?” she hissed.

Dorian threw his hands in the air. “It’s a gift! I almost lost my arm—and more important parts—trying to put that bow on, and then she howled all the way up here!”

Celaena looked piteously at the dog, which was now licking the sugar off her fingers. “What am I going to do with her? You couldn’t find an owner, so you decided to give her to me?”

“No!” he said. “Well, yes. But—she didn’t seem so frightened when you were around, and I remembered how my hounds followed you when we traveled from Endovier. Perhaps she’ll trust you enough to become adapted to humans. Some people have those kinds of gifts.” She raised an eyebrow as he paced. “It’s a lousy present, I know. I should have gotten you something better.”

The dog peered up at Celaena. Her eyes were a golden-brown color, like molten caramel. She seemed to be waiting for a blow to fall. She was a beautiful thing, and her huge paws hinted that she might someday grow large—and swift. A slight smile spread on Celaena’s lips. The dog swished her tail—once, then another time.

“She’s yours,” Dorian said, “if you want her.”

“What shall I do with her if I’m sent back to Endovier?”

“I’ll worry about that.” Celaena stroked her folded velvet-soft ears, then ventured low enough to scratch her chin. The pup’s tail wagged in earnest. Yes, there was life in her.

“So you don’t want her?” he muttered.

“Of course I want her,” Celaena said, then realized what the implications would be. “But I want her trained. I don’t want her urinating on everything and chewing on furniture and shoes and books. And I want her to sit when I tell her to and lay down and roll over and whatever it is that dogs do. And I want her to run—run with the other dogs when they’re practicing. I want her to put those long legs to use.”

Dorian crossed his arms as Celaena scooped up the dog. “That’s a long list of demands. Perhaps I should have bought you jewelry after all.”

“When I’m training”—she kissed the pup’s soft head, and the dog nestled her cold nose against Celaena’s neck—“I want her in the kennels, training as well. When I return in the afternoon, she may be brought to me. I’ll keep her in the night.” Celaena held the dog at eye level. The dog kicked her legs in the air. “If you ruin any of my shoes,” she said to the pup, “I’ll turn you into a pair of slippers. Understood?”

The dog stared at her, her wrinkled brow lifting, and Celaena smiled and set her down on the floor. She began sniffing about, though she stayed far from Dorian, and she soon disappeared beneath the bed. The assassin lifted the dust ruffle to peer underneath. Thankfully, the Wyrdmarks had been washed away entirely. The dog continued her exploration, sniffing everywhere. “I’ll have to think of a name for you,” she said to her, and then stood. “Thank you,” she said to Dorian. “It’s a lovely gift.”

He was kind—unnaturally kind, for someone of his upbringing. He had a heart, she realized, and a conscience. He was different from the others. Timidly, almost clumsily, the assassin strode over to the Crown Prince and kissed him on the cheek. His skin was surprisingly hot, and she wondered if she’d kissed him properly as she pulled away and found his eyes bright and wide. Had she been sloppy? Too wet? Were her lips sticky from the candy? She hoped he wouldn’t wipe his cheek.