Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass #2)(44)

Dorian and the king were where his loyalty lay. Without his loyalty, he was no one. Without it, he’d given up his family, his title, for nothing.

Chaol finished explaining his security plans for the carnival that would arrive today, and the king nodded. “Very well, Captain. Make sure your men watch the castle grounds, too. I know what sort of filth likes to travel with these carnivals, and I don’t want them wandering around.”

Chaol bowed his head. “Consider it done.”

Normally, the king would dismiss him with a grunt and a wave, but today, the man merely studied him, an elbow propped on the arm of his glass throne. After a moment of silence—during which Chaol wondered if a castle spy had somehow been looking through the keyhole when Celaena touched him—the king spoke.

“Princess Nehemia needs to be watched.”

Of all the things the king could have said, this was not what Chaol had expected. But he kept his face blank and did not question the words that implied so much.

“Her … influence is starting to be felt in these halls. And I am beginning to wonder if perhaps the time has come to remove her back to Eyllwe. I know that we already have some men watching her, but I also received word that there was an anonymous threat on her life.”

Questions roared through him, along with a rising sense of dread. Who had threatened her? What had Nehemia said or done to warrant the threat?

Chaol stiffened. “I haven’t heard anything about that.”

The king smiled. “No one has. Not even the princess herself. It seems she’s made some enemies outside the palace as well.”

“I’ll have extra guards watch her rooms and patrol her wing of the castle. I’ll alert her immediately of—”

“There is no need to alert her. Or anyone.” The king gave him a pointed look. “She might try to use the fact that someone wants her dead as a bargaining chip—might try to make herself into a martyr of sorts. So tell your men to stay quiet.”

He didn’t think Nehemia would do that, but Chaol kept his mouth shut. He’d tell his men to be discreet.

And he wouldn’t tell the princess—or Celaena. Just because he was friendly with Nehemia, just because she was Celaena’s friend, it didn’t change anything. While he knew that Celaena would be furious that he didn’t tell her, he was the Captain of the Guard. He had fought and sacrificed nearly as much as Celaena had to get to this position. He’d let her get too close by asking her to dance—he’d let himself get too close.

“Captain?”

Chaol blinked, then bowed low. “You have my word, Your Majesty.”

Dorian panted, swinging the sword through the air in a precise parry that sent the guard scrambling. His third match, and his third opponent about to go down. He hadn’t slept last night, nor had he been able to sit still this morning. So he’d come to the barracks, hoping to have someone wear him down enough for exhaustion to take over.

He parried and deflected the guard’s assault. It had to be a mistake. Maybe he’d dreamed it all up. Maybe it had just been a combination of the right elements at the wrong time. Magic was gone, and there was no reason that he should have that power, when not even his father had been gifted with magic. Magic had been dormant in the Havilliard bloodline for generations.

Dorian got past the guard’s defense in an easy maneuver, though when the young man raised his hands in defeat, the prince had to wonder if he’d let him win. The thought sent a growl rippling through him. He was about to demand another match when someone sauntered over to them. “Mind if I join?”

Dorian stared at Roland, whose rapier looked like it had hardly ever been used. The guard took one look at Dorian’s face, bowed, and found someplace else to be. Dorian watched his cousin, the black ring on Roland’s finger. “I don’t think you want to dance with me today, cousin.”

“Ah,” Roland said, frowning. “About yesterday … I’m sorry for that. Had I known the labor camps were such a sensitive matter for you, I never would have broached the subject or worked with Councilor Mullison. I called off the vote after you left. Mullison was furious.”

Dorian raised his brows. “Oh?”

Roland shrugged. “You were right. I don’t know anything about what it’s like in those camps. I only took up the cause because Perrington suggested that I work with Mullison, who stood to gain a lot from the expansion because of his ties to the iron industry.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

Roland gave him a winning smile. “We are family, after all.”

Family. Dorian had never really considered himself to be in an actual family. And certainly not now. If anyone found out about what had happened in that hallway yesterday, about the magic he might have, his father would kill him. He had a second son, after all. Families weren’t exactly supposed to think like that, were they?

Dorian had gone looking for Nehemia last night out of desperation, but in the light of morning, he was grateful he hadn’t seen her. If the princess had that sort of information about him, she could use it to her advantage—blackmail him all she wanted.

And Roland … Dorian began walking away. “Why don’t you save your maneuvering for someone who cares?”

Roland kept pace beside him. “Ah, but who else is more worthy than my own cousin? What greater challenge than winning you over to my schemes?” Dorian shot him a warning glare and found the young man grinning. “If only you’d seen the chaos that erupted after you left,” Roland went on. “As long as I live, I’ll never forget the look on your father’s face when you growled at them all.” Roland laughed, and, despite himself, Dorian found a smile tugging on his lips. “I thought the old bastard would combust right there.”