Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass #2)(9)

“Is she for your father’s personal use, or do the other councilmen also employ her?”

“You’ve been here for less than a day, and you already have enemies to dispatch, cousin?”

“We’re Havilliards, cousin. We’ll always have enemies that need dispatching.”

Dorian frowned. It was true, though. “Her contract is exclusively with my father. But if you feel threatened, then I can have Captain Westfall assign a—”

“Oh, of course not. I was merely curious.”

Roland was a pain in the ass, and too aware of the effect his looks and his Havilliard name had on women, but he was harmless. Wasn’t he?

Dorian didn’t know the answer—and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

Her salary as King’s Champion was considerable, and Celaena spent every last copper of it. Shoes, hats, tunics, dresses, jewelry, weapons, baubles for her hair, and books. Books and books and books. So many books that Philippa had to bring up another bookcase for her room.

When Celaena returned to her rooms that afternoon, lugging hat boxes, colorful bags full of perfume and sweets, and brown paper parcels with the books she absolutely had to read immediately, she nearly dropped it all at the sight of Dorian Havilliard sitting in her foyer.

“Gods above,” he said, taking in all of her purchases.

He didn’t know the half of it. This was just what she could carry. More had been ordered, and more would be delivered soon.

“Well,” he said as she dumped the bags on the table, nearly toppling into a heap of tissue paper and ribbons, “at least you’re not wearing that dreadful black today.”

She shot him a glare over her shoulder as she straightened. Today she was wearing a lilac and ivory gown—a little bright for the end of winter, but worn in the hope that spring would soon come. Plus, dressing nicely guaranteed her the best service in whatever stores she visited. To her surprise, many of the shopkeepers remembered her from years ago—and had bought her lie about a long journey to the southern continent.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” She untied her white fur cloak—another gift to herself—and tossed it onto one of the chairs around the foyer table. “Didn’t I already see you this morning in the garden?”

Dorian remained seated, that familiar, boyish grin on his face. “Aren’t friends allowed to visit each other more than once a day?”

She stared down at him. Being friends with Dorian wasn’t something she was certain she could actually do. Not when he would always have that gleam in his sapphire eyes—and not when he was the son of the man who gripped her fate in his hands. But in the two months since she’d ended whatever had been between them, she’d often found herself missing him. Not the kissing and flirting, but just him.

“What do you want, Dorian?”

A glimmer of ire flashed across his face, and he stood. She had to tip her head back to look at him. “You said you still wanted to be friends with me.” His voice was low.

She closed her eyes for a moment. “I meant it.”

“So be my friend,” he said, his tone lifting. “Dine with me, play billiards with me. Tell me what books you’re reading—or buying,” he added with a wink in the direction of her parcels.

“Oh?” she asked, forcing herself to give him a half smile. “And you have so much time on your hands these days that you can spend hours with me again?”

“Well, I have my usual flock of ladies to attend to, but I can always make time for you.”

She batted her eyelashes at him. “I’m truly honored.” Actually, the thought of Dorian with other women made her want to shatter a window, but it wouldn’t be fair to let him know that. She glanced at the clock on the small table beside a wall. “I actually need to go back into Rifthold right now,” she said. It wasn’t a lie. She still had a few hours of daylight left—enough time to survey Archer’s elegant townhouse and start trailing him to get a sense of his usual whereabouts.

Dorian nodded, his smile fading.

Silence fell, interrupted only by the ticking of the clock on the table. She crossed her arms, remembering how he’d smelled, how his lips had tasted. But this distance between them, this horrible gap that spread every day … it was for the best.

Dorian took a step closer, exposing his palms to her. “Do you want me to fight for you? Is that it?”

“No,” she said quietly. “I just want you to leave me alone.”

His eyes flickered with the words left unsaid. Celaena stared at him, unmoving, until he silently left.

Alone in the foyer, Celaena clenched and unclenched her fists, suddenly disgusted with all of the pretty packages on the table.

Chapter 5

On a rooftop in a very fashionable and respectable part of Rifthold, Celaena crouched in the shadow of a chimney and frowned into the chill wind gusting off the Avery. She checked her pocket watch for the third time. Archer Finn’s previous two appointments had only been an hour each. He’d been in the house across the street for almost two.

There was nothing interesting about the elegant, green-roofed townhouse, and she hadn’t learned anything about who lived there, other than the client’s name—some Lady Balanchine. She had used the same trick she’d employed at the other two houses to gain that bit of information: she pretended to be a courier with a package for Lord So-and-So. And when the butler or housekeeper said that this was not Lord So-and-So’s house, she’d feigned embarrassment, asked whose house it was, chatted up the servant a bit, and then went on her way.