Throne of Glass

“Wake up.” Not surprisingly, it was Chaol.

She shimmied beneath the blankets, pulling them over her head, but he grabbed the covers and threw them to the floor. Her nightgown was wrapped around her thighs. Celaena shivered.

“It’s cold,” she moaned, holding her knees to her body. She didn’t care that she had only a few months to beat the other Champions—she needed sleep. It would have been nice if the Crown Prince had considered springing her from Endovier earlier so she could have some time to regain her strength; how long had he known about this competition, anyway?

“Get up.” Chaol ripped the pillows from beneath her head. “Now you’re wasting my time.” If he noticed how much skin she was showing, he didn’t react.

Grumbling, Celaena slithered to the edge of the bed, dangling a hand over the edge to touch the floor. “Fetch my slippers,” she mumbled. “The floor’s like ice.”

He growled, but Celaena ignored him as she got to her feet. She staggered and slouched into the dining room, where an enormous breakfast lay on the table. Chaol jerked his chin toward the food. “Eat up. The competition starts in an hour.”

Whatever nerves she felt, she kept them hidden from him as she gave an exaggerated sigh and collapsed into a chair with the grace of a large beast. Celaena scanned the table. Yet again, there were no knives. She stabbed her fork into a piece of sausage.

From the doorway, Chaol asked, “Why, might I ask, are you so tired?”

She gulped down the rest of the pomegranate juice and wiped her mouth on a napkin. “I was up until four reading,” she said. “I sent a letter to your princeling, asking for permission to borrow books from the library. He granted my wish, and sent seven books from his personal library that I’m commanded to read.”

Chaol shook his head in disbelief. “It isn’t your place to write to the Crown Prince.”

She gave him a simpering smile and took a bite of ham. “He could have ignored the letter. And besides, I’m his Champion. Not everyone feels obligated to be as nasty to me as you do.”

“You’re an assassin.”

“If I say I’m a jewel thief, will you treat me with more courtesy?” She waved a hand. “Don’t answer that.” She spooned porridge into her mouth, found it to be bland, and scooped four heaping mounds of brown sugar into the gray mess.

Would the competitors actually be worthy opponents? Before she could start worrying, she examined his black clothes. “Don’t you ever wear normal clothing?”

“Hurry up,” was all he said. The competition awaited.

Suddenly not hungry, she pushed away her bowl of porridge. “I should get dressed, then.” She turned her head to call for Philippa, but paused. “Just what sort of activities might I expect at the tournament today? So I can dress accordingly, of course.”

“I don’t know—they don’t give us the details until you arrive.” The captain rose and drummed the pommel of his sword before calling to a servant as Celaena walked into her bedroom. Behind her, Chaol spoke to the servant girl. “Dress her in pants and a shirt—something loose, nothing frilly or revealing, and bring a cloak.” The girl disappeared into the dressing room. Celaena followed after her, unceremoniously stripping down to her underclothes and enjoying it far too much when Chaol’s cheeks reddened before he turned away.

A few minutes later, Celaena frowned at herself as she hurried after the captain into the foyer. “I look ridiculous! These pants are absurd, and this shirt is awful.”

“Stop whining. No one gives a damn about your clothes.” He flung open the door to the hall, the guards outside instantly at attention. “Besides, you can take them off at the barracks. I’m sure everyone will be thrilled to see you in your undergarments.” She swore violently under her breath, pulling her green velvet cloak tight around herself, and trailed after him.