Dorian grinned. “What remarkable eyes you have! And how angry you are!”
Coming within strangling distance of the Crown Prince of Adarlan, son of the man who sentenced her to a slow, miserable death, her self-control balanced on a fragile edge—dancing along a cliff.
“I demand to know,” she began, but the Captain of the Guard pulled her back from the prince with spine-snapping force. “I wasn’t going to kill him, you buffoon.”
“Watch your mouth before I throw you back in the mines,” the brown-eyed captain said.
“Oh, I don’t think you’d do that.”
“And why is that?” Chaol replied.
Dorian strode to his throne and sat down, his sapphire eyes bright.
She looked from one man to another and squared her shoulders. “Because there’s something you want from me, something you want badly enough to come here yourselves. I’m not an idiot, though I was foolish enough to be captured, and I can see that this is some sort of secret business. Why else would you leave the capital and venture this far? You’ve been testing me all this time to see if I am physically and mentally sound. Well, I know that I’m still sane, and that I’m not broken, despite what the incident at the wall might suggest. So I demand to be told why you’re here, and what services you wish of me, if I’m not destined for the gallows.”
The men exchanged glances. Dorian steepled his fingers. “I have a proposition for you.”
Her chest tightened. Never, not in her most fanciful dreams, had she imagined that the opportunity to speak with Dorian Havilliard would arise. She could kill him so easily, tear that grin from his face . . . She could destroy the king as he had destroyed her . . .
But perhaps his proposition could lead to escape. If she got beyond the wall, she could make it. Run and run and disappear into the mountains and live in solitude in the dark green of the wild, with a pine-needle carpet and a blanket of stars overhead. She could do it. She just needed to clear the wall. She had come so close before . . .
“I’m listening,” was all she said.
Chapter 3
The prince’s eyes shone with amusement at her brashness but lingered a bit too long on her body. Celaena could have raked her nails down his face for staring at her like that, yet the fact that he’d even bother to look when she was in such a filthy state . . . A slow smile spread across her face.
The prince crossed his long legs. “Leave us,” he ordered the guards. “Chaol, stay where you are.”
Celaena stepped closer as the guards shuffled out, shutting the door. Foolish, foolish move. But Chaol’s face remained unreadable. He couldn’t honestly believe he’d contain her if she tried to escape! She straightened her spine. What were they planning that would make them so irresponsible?
The prince chuckled. “Don’t you think it’s risky to be so bold with me when your freedom is on the line?”
Of all the things he could have said, that was what she had least expected. “My freedom?” At the sound of the word, she saw a land of pine and snow, of sun-bleached cliffs and white-capped seas, a land where light was swallowed in the velvety green of bumps and hollows—a land that she had forgotten.
“Yes, your freedom. So, I highly suggest, Miss Sardothien, that you get your arrogance in check before you end up back in the mines.” The prince uncrossed his legs. “Though perhaps your attitude will be useful. I’m not going to pretend that my father’s empire was built on trust and understanding. But you already know that.” Her fingers curled as she waited for him to continue. His eyes met hers, probing, intent. “My father has gotten it into his head that he needs a Champion.”
It took a delicious moment for her to understand.
Celaena tipped back her head and laughed. “Your father wants me to be his Champion? What—don’t tell me that he’s managed to eliminate every noble soul out there! Surely there’s one chivalrous knight, one lord of steadfast heart and courage.”
“Mind your mouth,” Chaol warned from beside her.
“What about you, hmm?” she said, raising her brows at the captain. Oh, it was too funny! Her—the King’s Champion! “Our beloved king finds you lacking?”
The captain put a hand on his sword. “If you’d be quiet, you’d hear the rest of what His Highness has to tell you.”
She faced the prince. “Well?”
Dorian leaned back in his throne. “My father needs someone to aid the empire—someone to help him maneuver around difficult people.”
“You mean he needs a lackey for his dirty work.”
“If you want to put it that bluntly, then, yes,” the prince said. “His Champion would keep his opponents quiet.”
“As quiet as the grave,” she said sweetly.
A smile tugged on Dorian’s lips, but he kept his face straight. “Yes.”