Throne of Glass (Throne of Glass #1)(89)

“Chaol got there first when you arrived. And besides, I had to work up the nerve to approach you.” He grinned. “You’re very intimidating. Especially with the mask.”

“And I suppose it didn’t help that you had a line of ladies waiting to dance with you.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Her heart tightened, and she realized it wasn’t the answer she’d been hoping for. What did she want from him?

He held out his hand, inclining his head. “Dance with me?”

Was there music playing? She’d forgotten. The world had shrunk into nothing, dissolved by the golden glow of candles. But there were her feet, and here was her arm, and her neck, and her mouth. She smiled and took his hand, still keeping one eye on the ball around them.





Chapter 39

He was lost—lost in a world of which he’d always dreamed. Her body was warm beneath his hand, and her fingers were soft around his. He spun her and led her about the floor, waltzing as smoothly as he could. She didn’t falter a single step, nor did she seem to care about the many angry female faces that watched as dance after dance passed and they didn’t switch partners.

Of course, it wasn’t polite for a prince to dance with only one lady, but he couldn’t focus on anything beyond his partner and the music that carried them onward.

“You certainly have a lot of stamina,” she said. When had they last spoken? It could have been ten minutes or an hour ago. The masked faces around them blurred together.

“While some parents hit their children, mine also punished me with dancing lessons.”

“Then you must have been a very naughty boy.” She glanced around the ball, as if she were looking for something—or someone.

“You’re gracious with your compliments tonight.” He twirled her. The skirts of her gown sparkled underneath the chandelier.

“It’s Yulemas,” she said. “Everyone’s kind on Yulemas.” A flash of what he could have sworn was pain shone in her eyes, but it was gone before he could be certain of it.

He caught her around the waist, his feet moving to the beat of the waltz. “And how’s your present?”

“Oh, she hid under my bed, then in the dining room, which is where I left her.”

“You locked the dog in your dining room?”

“Should I have kept her in my bedroom, where she could ruin the carpets? Or in the gaming room, where she might eat the chess pieces and choke?”

“Perhaps you should have sent her to the kennels, where dogs belong.”

“On Yulemas? I couldn’t think of sending her back to that wretched place!”

He suddenly felt the urge to kiss her—hard—upon the mouth. But this—what he felt, it could never be real. Because once the ball was over, she would go back to being an assassin, and he would still be a prince. Dorian swallowed hard. For tonight, though . . .

He held her closer. Everyone transformed into mere shadows on the wall.

?

Frowning, Chaol watched his friend dance with the assassin. He wouldn’t have danced with her, anyway. And he was glad he hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask her, not after seeing the color that Duke Perrington’s face turned upon discovering the pair.

A courtier named Otho stepped beside Chaol. “I thought she was with you.”

“Who? Lady Lillian?”

“So that’s her name! I’ve never seen her before. Is she newly arrived to court?”

“Yes,” said Chaol. Tomorrow, he’d have a word with her guards about letting Celaena out tonight. Hopefully by then, he’d be less inclined to knock their heads together.

“How are you doing, Captain Westfall?” Otho said, clapping him on the back a bit too hard. His breath reeked of wine. “You don’t dine with us anymore.”

“I stopped dining at your table three years ago, Otho.”

“You should come back—we miss your conversation.” It was a lie. Otho only wanted information about the foreign young lady. His reputation with women was well known in the castle—so well known that he had to seize courtiers as they arrived or go into Rifthold for a different sort of woman.

Chaol watched Dorian dip Celaena, watched the way her lips widened in a smile and her eyes burst with light as the Crown Prince said something. Even with the mask on, Chaol could see the happiness written across her face. “Is he with her?” Otho asked.

“The Lady Lillian belongs to herself, and no one else.”

“So she’s not with him?”

“No.”

Otho shrugged. “That’s strange.”

“Why?” Chaol had the sudden urge to strangle him.

“Because it looks like he’s in love with her,” he said, and walked away.

Chaol’s eyes lost focus for a moment. Then Celaena laughed, and Dorian kept staring at her. The prince hadn’t once taken his eyes off her. Dorian’s expression was full of—something. Joy? Wonder? His shoulders were straight, his back erect. He looked like a man. Like a king.

It was impossible for such a thing to have occurred; and when would it have happened? Otho was a drunk and a womanizer. What did he know of love?

Dorian spun Celaena with speed and dexterity, and she snapped into his arms, her shoulders rising with exhilaration. But she wasn’t in love with him—Otho hadn’t said that. He had seen no attachment on her part. And Celaena would never be that stupid. It was Dorian who was the fool—Dorian who would have his heart broken, if he did actually love her.