Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass #2)(22)

Celaena forced herself to snort, to wave her hand in dismissal. “This is an awfully heavy discussion for breakfast.” She filled her mouth with toast. When she dared a glance at the princess, Nehemia’s expression remained contemplative. “Any news about the king?”

Nehemia clicked her tongue. “Only that he’s added that little grub, Roland, to his council, and Roland seems to have been given the task of handling me. Apparently, I’ve been too pushy with Minister Mullison, the councilman responsible for dealing with Calaculla’s labor camp. Roland is supposed to placate me.”

“I can’t tell who I feel worse for: you or Roland.”

Nehemia jabbed her in the side, and Celaena chuckled, batting her hand away. Fleetfoot used their temporary distraction to swipe a piece of bacon right off the platter, and Celaena squawked. “You brazen thief!”

But Fleetfoot leapt off the bed, scuttled to the hearth, and stared right at Celaena as she gobbled down the rest of the bacon.

Nehemia laughed, and Celaena found herself joining in before she tossed Fleetfoot another piece of bacon. “Let’s just stay in bed all day,” Celaena said, throwing herself back onto the pillows and nestling into the blankets.

“I certainly wish I could,” Nehemia said, sighing loudly. “Alas, I have things to do.”

And so did she, Celaena realized. Like preparing for her dinner that evening with Archer.

Chapter 10

Dorian shivered as he entered the kennels that afternoon, brushing snow from his red cloak. Beside him, Chaol puffed air into his cupped hands, and the two young men hurried farther inside, the straw-coated floors crunching underfoot. Dorian hated winter—the intolerable cold and the way his boots never seemed completely dry.

They had chosen to enter the castle through the kennels because it was the easiest way to avoid Hollin, Dorian’s ten-year-old brother, who had returned from school that morning and was already shrieking demands at anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. Hollin would never look for them here. He hated animals.

They strode through the chorus of barking and whining, Dorian pausing every now and then to greet a favorite hound. He could have spent the rest of the day here—if only to avoid the court dinner in honor of Hollin. “I can’t believe my mother pulled him out of school,” he muttered.

“She missed her son,” Chaol said, still rubbing his hands together, though the kennels were deliciously warm compared to outside. “And now that there’s this movement growing against your father, he wants Hollin where we can keep an eye on him until it gets sorted out.”

Until Celaena kills all the traitors, was what Chaol didn’t need to say.

Dorian sighed. “I don’t even want to imagine what sort of absurd gift my mother bought him. Do you remember the last one?”

Chaol grinned. It was hard not to remember the last gift Georgina had bought her younger son: four white ponies with a tiny golden carriage for Hollin to drive about himself. He’d trampled half of the queen’s favorite garden.

Chaol led them toward the doors at the far end of the kennels. “You can’t avoid him forever.” Even as the captain spoke, Dorian could see him scanning, as he always did, for any sign of danger, any threat. After so many years, Dorian was used to it, but it still rankled his pride a little.

They passed through the glass doors and into the castle. To Dorian, the hall was warm and glowing; wreaths and garlands of evergreen still decorated archways and tabletops. To Chaol, he supposed, an enemy could be waiting anywhere.

“Maybe he’s changed in the past few months—matured a little,” Chaol said.

“You said that last summer, and I almost punched his teeth out.”

Chaol shook his head. “Thank the Wyrd my brother was always too afraid of me to talk back.”

Dorian tried not to look surprised. Since Chaol had abdicated his title as heir of Anielle, he hadn’t seen his family in years, and rarely spoke about them.

Dorian could have gleefully killed Chaol’s father for disowning him, refusing even to see Chaol when he brought his family to Rifthold for an important meeting with the king. Even though Chaol had never said it, Dorian knew the scars went deep.

Dorian sighed loudly. “Remind me again why I’m going to this dinner tonight?”

“Because your father will kill you and me if you don’t show up and formally greet your brother.”

“Maybe he’d hire Celaena to do it.”

“She has dinner plans tonight. With Archer Finn.”

“Isn’t she supposed to kill him?”

“She wants information, apparently.” A heavy pause. “I don’t like him.”

Dorian stiffened. They had managed, at least for the afternoon, to not talk about her—and for those few hours, it had been like nothing had ever changed between them. But things had changed. “I don’t think you need to worry about Archer stealing her away—especially if he’s going to be dead by the end of the month.” It came out sharper and colder than he intended.

Chaol cut a glance at him. “You think that’s what I’m worried about?”

Yes. And it’s obvious to everyone except the two of you.

But he didn’t want to have this conversation with Chaol, and Chaol sure as hell didn’t want to have this conversation with him, so Dorian just shrugged. “She’ll be fine, and you’ll laugh at yourself for worrying. Even if he’s as well-guarded as she claims, she’s the Champion for a reason, right?”