Throne of Glass (Throne of Glass #1)(22)

Celaena was unable to keep a hint of a smile from her lips. Both she and the prince had grown up under strict, unforgiving fathers—well, father figure in her case. Arobynn had never replaced the father she’d lost, nor had he ever tried to. But at least Arobynn had an excuse for being equal parts tyrannical and doting. Why had the King of Adarlan let his son become anything but an identical copy of himself?

“There!” Dorian said. “A reaction—thank the gods I’ve amused her.” He glanced behind them, making sure there was no one there, before his voice quieted. “I don’t think Chaol told you our plan before the meeting—risky, on all of our parts.”

“What plan?” She traced a finger along the beading on her skirts, watching it shimmer in the afternoon light.

“For your identity. Which you should keep quiet about; your competitors might know a thing or two about Adarlan’s Assassin and use it against you.”

Fair enough, even if it had taken them weeks to bother to fill her in. “And who, exactly, am I to be, if not a ruthless killer?”

“To everyone in this castle,” Dorian said, “your name is Lillian Gordaina. Your mother is dead and your father is a wealthy merchant from Bellhaven. You are the sole heir to his fortune. However, you have a dark secret: you spend your nights as a jewel thief. I met you this summer after you tried to rob me while I was vacationing in Bellhaven, and I saw your potential then. But your father discovered your nightly fun, and removed you from the lure of the city to a town near Endovier. When my father decided to have this competition, I journeyed to find you, and brought you here as my Champion. You can fill in the gaps yourself.”

She raised her brows. “Really? A jewel thief?”

Chaol snorted, but Dorian went on. “It’s rather charming, don’t you think?” When she didn’t respond, the prince asked, “Do you find my home to your liking?”

“It’s very fine indeed,” she said dully.

“ ‘Very fine indeed’? Maybe I should move my Champion to even larger chambers.”

“If it pleases you.”

Dorian chuckled. “I’m glad to find that seeing your competition hasn’t damaged that swagger of yours. What’d you make of Cain?”

She knew whom he meant. “Perhaps you should start feeding me whatever Perrington is giving him.” When Dorian continued staring at her, she rolled her eyes. “Men of his size usually aren’t very fast, or very nimble. He could knock me out in one punch, probably, but he’d have to be swift enough to catch me.” She gave Chaol a quick glance, daring him to challenge her claim, but Dorian answered.

“Good. I thought so. And what of the others? Any potential rivals? Some of the Champions have rather gruesome reputations.”

“Everyone else looks pathetic,” she lied.

The prince’s smile grew. “I bet they won’t expect to be trounced by a beautiful lady.”

This was all a game to him, wasn’t it? Before Celaena could ask, someone curtsied in the middle of their path. “Your Highness! What a surprise!” The voice was high, but smooth and calculated. It was the woman from the garden. She’d changed—she now wore a gown of white and gold that, despite herself, Celaena greatly admired. She was unfairly stunning.

And Celaena was willing to bet a fortune that this was anything but a surprise—the woman had probably been waiting here for a while.

“Lady Kaltain,” Dorian said tersely, his body tensing.

“I’ve just come from Her Majesty’s side,” said Kaltain, putting her back to Celaena. The assassin might have bothered to care about the slight if she had any interest in courtiers. “Her Majesty wishes to see Your Highness. Of course, I informed Her Majesty that Your Highness was in a meeting and could not be—”

“Lady Kaltain,” interrupted Dorian, “I’m afraid you haven’t been introduced to my friend.” Celaena could have sworn the young woman bristled. “Allow me to present the Lady Lillian Gordaina. Lady Lillian, meet Lady Kaltain Rompier.”

Celaena curtsied, restraining the urge to keep walking; if she had to deal with too much courtly nonsense, she might be better off back in Endovier. Kaltain bowed, the gold streaks in her dress glistening in the sunlight.

“Lady Lillian is from Bellhaven—she arrived just yesterday.”

The woman studied Celaena from beneath dark, shaped eyebrows. “And how long will you be staying with us?”

“Only a few years,” Dorian said with a sigh.

“ ‘Only’! Why, Your Highness! How droll! That is a very long stretch of time!” Celaena studied Kaltain’s narrow, narrow waist. Was it really that small? Or could she barely breathe in her corset?

She caught a glance exchanged between the two men—exasperation, annoyance, condescension. “The Lady Lillian and Captain Westfall are very close companions,” Dorian said dramatically. To Celaena’s delight, Chaol blushed. “It will feel short for them, I assure you.”

“And for you, Your Highness?” Kaltain said coyly. A concealed edge lingered beneath her voice.

Mischief coiled and sprang within her, but Dorian answered. “I suppose,” he drawled, turning those brilliant blue eyes on Celaena, “that it will be difficult for Lady Lillian and I as well. Perhaps more so.”