Sarah Maas - Throne of Glass

“I’m still sorry,” he said.

“It was very long ago,” she repeated. “I don’t even remember what they looked like.” That was another lie. She remembered every detail of her parents’ faces. “Sometimes, I forget that they ever existed.”

He nodded, more to confirm that he’d heard her than that he understood.

“What you did for me, Chaol,” she tried again. “Not even with Cain, but when you—”

“I have to go,” he interrupted, and half turned away.

“Chaol,” she said, grabbing his hand and whirling him to face her. She only saw the haunted gleam in his eyes before she threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly. He straightened, but she crushed her body into his, even though it still aggravated her wounds to do so. Then, after a moment, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her close to him, so close that as she shut her eyes and breathed him in, she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

His breath was warm on her neck as he bent his head, resting his cheek against her hair. Her heart beat so quickly, and yet she felt utterly calm—as if she could have stayed there forever and not minded, stayed there forever and let the world fall apart around them. She pictured his fingers, pushing against that line of chalk, reaching for her despite the barrier between them.

“Is everything all right?” Dorian’s voice sounded from the doorway.

Chaol pulled away from her so fast that she nearly stumbled back. “Everything’s fine,” he said, squaring his shoulders. The air had turned cold, and Celaena’s skin prickled as his warmth vacated her body. She had a hard time looking at Dorian as Chaol nodded to the prince and left her chambers.

Dorian faced her as Chaol left. But Celaena remained watching the door, even after Chaol had shut it behind him. “I don’t think he’s recovered well from killing Cain,” Dorian said.

“Obviously,” she snapped. Dorian raised his brows, and she sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You two looked like you were in the middle of . . . something,” Dorian said cautiously.

“It’s nothing. I just felt bad for him, is all.”

“I wish he hadn’t run off that quickly. I have some good news.” Her stomach twisted. “My father stopped dragging his feet about drawing up your contract. You’re to sign it in his council chamber tomorrow.”

“You mean—you mean I’m officially the King’s Champion?”

“It turns out he doesn’t hate you as much as he let on. It’s a miracle he didn’t make you wait longer.” Dorian winked.

Four years. Four years of servitude, and then she’d be free. Why had Chaol left so soon? She looked to the door, wondering if she could catch him in the hall.

Dorian put his hands on her waist. “I suppose this means we’ll be stuck with each other for a while longer.” He lowered his face to hers.

He kissed her, but she stepped out of his arms. “I—Dorian, I’m the King’s Champion.” She choked on a laugh as she said it.

“Yes, you are,” Dorian replied, approaching her again. But she kept her distance as she looked out the window, to the dazzling day beyond. The world was wide open—and hers for the taking. She could step over that white line.

She shifted her gaze to him. “I can’t be with you if I’m the King’s Champion.”

“Of course you can. We’ll still have to keep it a secret, but—”

“I have enough secrets. I don’t need another one.”

“So I’ll find a way to tell my father. And mother.” He winced slightly.

“To what end? Dorian, I’m your father’s minion. You’re the Crown Prince.”

It was true—and if this relationship became something more , then it would only complicate matters when she eventually left the castle. Not to mention the complications of being with Dorian while she served as his father’s Champion. And whether he admitted it or not, Dorian had his own obligations to fulfill. Though she wanted him, though she cared for him, she knew a lasting relationship wouldn’t end well. Not when he was the heir to the throne.

His eyes darkened. “Are you saying that you don’t want to be with me?”

“I’m saying that . . . that I’m going to leave in four years, and I don’t know how this could possibly end well for either of us. I’m saying I don’t want to think about the options.” The sunlight warmed her skin, and the weight around her shoulders drifted away. “I’m saying that in four years, I’m going to be free, and I’ve never been free in my entire life .” Her smile grew. “And I want to know what that feels like.”

He opened his mouth, but stopped as he beheld her smile. Though she had no regrets about her choice, she felt something strangely like disappointment when he said, “As you wish.”

“But I’d like to remain your friend.”

He put his hands in his pockets. “Always.”

She thought about touching his arm, or about kissing his cheek, but “free” kept echoing through her again and again and again, and she couldn’t stop smiling.

He rolled his neck, and his smile was a bit strained. “I think Nehemia is on her way here to tell you about the contract. She’ll be mad at me for telling you first; apologize for me, will you?” He paused when he opened the door, his hand still upon the knob. “Congratulations, Celaena,” he said quietly. Before she could reply, he shut the door and left.

Alone, Celaena looked to the window and put a hand on her heart, whispering the word to herself again and again.

Free.

Several hours later, Chaol stared at the door to her dining room. He didn’t entirely know what he was doing back here. But he’d looked for Dorian in his rooms, and he hadn’t been there, and he needed to tell him that things weren’t as they’d seemed when he walked in on them earlier. He glanced at his hands.

The king had barely said anything to him over the past week, and Cain’s name hadn’t been mentioned in any of their meetings. Not that it would be, as Cain was little more than a pawn in a game to amuse the king, and certainly not a member of the royal guard.

But he was still dead. Cain’s eyes would open no more because of him . . . He would not draw breath because of him . . . His heart had stopped beating because of him . . .

Chaol’s hand drifted to where his sword should have been. He’d thrown it in the corner of his room as soon as he’d returned from the duel last week. Mercifully, someone had cleaned the blood from it. Perhaps the guards who had taken Chaol to his chambers and given him a strong drink. They’d sat in silence until some semblance of reality returned, and then left without a word, not waiting for Chaol to thank them.

Chaol ran a hand through his short hair and opened the dining room door.

Celaena was picking at her dinner, slouched in her seat. Her brows rose. “Two visits in one day?” she said, setting down her fork. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He frowned. “Where’s Dorian?”

“Why would Dorian be here?”

“I thought he usually came here at this hour.”

“Well, don’t expect to find him here after today.”

He approached, stopping at the edge of the table. “Why?”

She popped a piece of bread into her mouth. “Because I ended it.”

“You did what?”

“I’m the King’s Champion. Surely you realize how inappropriate it would be for me to have a relationship with a prince.” Her blue eyes glittered, and he wondered at the slight emphasis she put on prince , and why it made his heart skip a beat.

Chaol fought his own smile. “I was wondering when you’d come to your senses.” Did she fret as he did? Did she constantly think about her blood-covered hands? But for all of her swaggering, for all of her gloating and parading about with hands on her hips . . .