Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass #2)(59)

“Philippa and the servants are gone until dinner,” she said huskily.

He ground his teeth at the effect her voice had on him, like someone dragging an invisible finger down his spine. “I’ve got meetings for the rest of the day,” he managed to say. It was true. “I’ve got another one in twenty minutes.” Which he’d surely be late for if he followed her, considering how long it would take to walk to her rooms.

She paused, frowning at him. But his eyes drifted to the small wooden door just a few feet away. A broom closet. She followed his attention, and a slow smile spread across her face. She turned toward it, but he grabbed her hand, bringing his face close to hers. “You’re going to have to be very quiet.”

She reached the knob and opened the door, tugging him inside. “I have a feeling that I’m going to be telling you that in a few moments,” she purred, eyes gleaming with the challenge.

Chaol’s blood roared through him, and he followed her into the closet and wedged a broom beneath the handle.

“A broom closet?” Nehemia said, grinning like a fiend. “Really?”

Celaena lay sprawled on Nehemia’s bed and tossed a chocolate-covered raisin into her mouth. “I swear it on my life.”

Nehemia leapt onto the mattress. Fleetfoot jumped up beside her and practically sat on Celaena’s face as she wagged her tail at the princess.

Celaena gently shoved the dog aside, and smiled so broadly that her face hurt. “Who knew I’d been missing out on such fun?” And gods above, Chaol was … well, she blushed to think about just how much she enjoyed him after her body had adjusted. Just the touch of his fingers on her skin could turn her into a feral beast.

“I could have told you that,” Nehemia said, reaching over Celaena to grab a chocolate from the dish on the nightstand. “Though I think the real question is, who would have guessed that the solemn Captain of the Guard could be so passionate?” She lay down beside Celaena, also smiling. “I’m happy for you, my friend.”

Celaena smiled back. “I think … I think I’m happy for me, too.”

And she was. For the first time in years, she was truly happy. The feeling curled around every thought, a tendril of hope that grew with each breath. She was afraid to look at it for too long, as though acknowledging it would somehow cause it to disappear. Perhaps the world would never be perfect, perhaps some things would never be right, but maybe she stood a chance of finding her own sort of peace and freedom.

She felt the shift in Nehemia before the princess even said a word, like a current in the air somehow chilled. Celaena looked over to find Nehemia staring up at the ceiling. “What’s wrong?”

Nehemia ran a hand over her face, letting out a deep breath. “The king has asked me to speak to the rebel forces. To convince them to back down. Or else he’ll butcher them all.”

“He threatened to do that?”

“Not directly, but it was implied. At the end of the month, he’s sending Perrington to the duke’s keep in Morath. I don’t doubt for one minute that he wants Perrington at the southern border so he can monitor things. Perrington is his right hand. So if the duke decides the rebels need to be dealt with, he has permission to use whatever force is necessary to put them down.”

Celaena sat up, folding her legs beneath her. “So you’re going back to Eyllwe?”

Nehemia shook her head. “I don’t know. I need to be here. There are … there are things that I need to do here. In this castle and in this city. But I cannot abandon my people to another massacre.”

“Can your parents or your brothers deal with the rebels?”

“My brothers are too young and untried, and my parents have enough on their hands in Banjali.” The princess sat up, and Fleetfoot rested her head on Nehemia’s lap, stretching out between them—and giving Celaena a few kicks with her hind legs in the process. “I have grown up knowing the weight of my crown. When the king invaded Eyllwe all those years ago, I knew that I would someday have to make choices that would haunt me.” She cupped her forehead in a palm. “I didn’t think it would be this hard. I cannot be in two places at once.”

Celaena’s chest tightened, and she put a hand on Nehemia’s back.

No wonder Nehemia had been so slow about looking into the eye riddle. Shame colored her cheeks.

“What will I do, Elentiya, if he kills another five hundred people? What will I do if he decides to set an example by butchering everyone in Calaculla? How can I turn my back on them?”

Celaena had no answer. She’d spent the week lost in thoughts of Chaol. Nehemia had spent her week trying to balance the fate of her kingdom. And Celaena had clues littering the ground at her feet—clues that might help Nehemia in her cause against the king, and a command from Elena that she’d practically ignored.

Nehemia took her hand. “Promise me,” she said, her dark eyes shining. “Promise me that you’ll help me free Eyllwe from him.”

Ice shot through Celaena’s veins. “Free Eyllwe?”

“Promise me that you’ll see my father’s crown restored to him. That you’ll see my people returned from Endovier and Calaculla.”

“I’m just an assassin.” Celaena pulled her hand out of Nehemia’s. “And the kind of thing you’re talking about, Nehemia …” She got off the bed, trying to control her rapid heartbeat. “That would be madness.”