Throne of Glass (Throne of Glass #1)(44)

He smiled roguishly. “We decided to meet tonight. Don’t you remember?”

“I thought it was a joke.”

“I’m Crown Prince of Adarlan.” He sank into a chair before the fire. “I never joke.”

“Are you allowed to be here?”

“Allowed? Again: I’m a prince. I can do what I like.”

“Yes, but I’m Adarlan’s Assassin.”

He wouldn’t be intimidated, even if she could grab that billiards cue and skewer him with it in a matter of seconds. “From your playing, it seems that you’re a great deal more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, trying not to get lost in her strange, lovely eyes, “I don’t think anyone who plays like that can be just a criminal. It seems like you have a soul,” he teased.

“Of course I have a soul. Everyone has a soul.”

She was still red. He made her that uncomfortable? He fought his grin. This was too much fun. “How’d you like the books?”

“They were very nice,” she said quietly. “They were wonderful, actually.”

“I’m glad.” Their eyes met, and she retreated behind the back of the chair. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought himself to be the assassin! “How’s training going? Any competitors giving you trouble?”

“Excellently,” she said, but the corners of her mouth drifted downward. “And no. After today, I don’t think any of us will be giving anyone any trouble.” It took him a moment to realize she was thinking of the competitor who had been killed while trying to escape. She chewed on her bottom lip, quiet for a heartbeat, before she asked: “Did Chaol give the order to kill Sven?”

“No,” he said. “My father commanded all the guards to shoot to kill if any of you tried to escape. I don’t think Chaol would ever have given that order,” he added, though he wasn’t sure why. But the unnerving stillness in her eyes abated, at least. When she didn’t say more, Dorian asked as casually as he could: “On that note, how are you and Chaol getting along?” Of course, it was a totally innocent question.

She shrugged, and he tried to not read too far into the gesture. “Fine. I think he hates me a bit, but given his position, I’m not surprised.”

“Why do you think he hates you?” For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to deny it.

“Because I’m an assassin, and he’s Captain of the Guard, forced to belittle himself by minding the would-be King’s Champion.”

“Do you wish it were otherwise?” He gave her a lazy grin. That question wasn’t so innocent.

She inched around the chair, coming closer to him, and his heart jumped a beat. “Well, who wants to be hated? Though I’d rather be hated than invisible. But it makes no difference.” She wasn’t convincing.

“You’re lonely?” He said it before he could stop himself.

“Lonely?” She shook her head and finally, after all that coaxing, sat down. He fought against the urge to reach across the space between them to see if her hair was as silky as it looked. “No. I can survive well enough on my own—if given proper reading material.”

He looked at the fire, trying not to think about where she’d been only weeks before—and what that kind of loneliness might have felt like. There were no books in Endovier. “Still, it can’t be pleasant to be one’s own companion at all times.”

“And what would you do?” She laughed. “I’d rather not be seen as one of your lovers.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“I’m already notorious as an assassin—I don’t particularly feel like being notorious for sharing your bed.” He choked, but she went on. “Would you like me to explain why, or is it enough for me to say that I don’t take jewels and trinkets as payment for my affection?”

He snarled. “I’m not going to debate morality with an assassin. You kill people for money, you know.”

Her eyes became hard and she pointed to the door. “You may leave now.”

“You’re dismissing me?” He didn’t know whether to laugh or yell.

“Shall I summon Chaol to see what he thinks?” She crossed her arms, knowing she had won. Perhaps she’d also realized that there was fun to be had in riling him, too.

“Why should I be thrown from your rooms for stating the truth? You just called me little more than a whoremonger.” He hadn’t had this much fun in ages. “Tell me about your life—how you learned to play the pianoforte so masterfully. And what was that piece? It was so sad; were you thinking about a secret lover?” He winked.

“I practiced.” She stood, walking toward the door. “And yes,” she snapped, “I was.”

“You’re quite prickly tonight,” he said, trailing her. He stopped a foot away, but the space between them felt strangely intimate, especially as he purred, “You’re not nearly as chatty as you were this afternoon.”

“I’m not some odd commodity that you can gawk at!” She stepped closer. “I’m not some carnival exhibit, and you won’t use me as part of some unfulfilled desire for adventure and excitement! Which is undoubtedly why you chose me to be your Champion.”