Rising Flames | Throne of Glass

12

~    o n e   y e a r   l a t e r    ~

Sweat dropped down her brow as she hefted the pickaxe again, dropping it into the rock. Debris sprayed.

Repeat.

She'd been going on like this for three-hundred-and-sixty-four days now. No day was ever different.

Until the sound of marching filled the mines, and a pair of strong arms grabbed her shoulder, heaving her onto her feet.

What was going on? This didn't usually happen! Unless... the King had finally ordered for her release. Or death. The latter didn't sound half as good as the former.

She let go of the pickaxe.

Thud.

She knew there were six guards standing behind her - one carrying her chains, the other holding a sword to the back of her head.

She craned her neck to view her captor, and caught a glimpse of tight lips beneath a heavy black hood. The rest of the man was clothed in black also, a sword with a pommel in the shape of an eagle sheathed by his side. But when she heard him introduce himself as Chaol Westfall, Captain of the Guard, her ears had pricked - and an all-too-familiar feeling had threatened to make her knees wobble. I will not be afraid. Fear was something she hadn't allowed herself to feel; those precious words Sam had given her were the only thing that kept her from breaking.

He noticed her staring, and a hand drifted to rest on the pommel. A smile tugged on her lips.

'Pray, tell me where we are going?' she asked sweetly.

No reply. Instead, she was led up, down, left and right around the hallways and stairs. If he was trying to fool her into submission, it was proved unsuccessful; they'd walked down the same hallway at least thrice already.

She studied her dark, dirt-encrusted hands whilst wondering how many of these guards she could kill. And possibly see if the captain would fare as well as her first overseer. 'Get rid of that smirk,' he growled. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword.

She refrained the urge to grin by biting the inside of her cheek. Oh, how thin she was! There was hardly any flesh on her body, let alone her face. Her cheekbones must have stuck out dreadfully.

Finally, she was led a direct route to two grand, red-and-gold doors. She pulled back at first, till the captain asked, tone faintly amused, 'You'd rather go back to the mines?'

'If you had told me what this is all about, maybe I wouldn't have been so inclined to resist.'

'You'll find out soon enough,' was his reply.

Her gut clenched. This was it. She would die.

The man kicked them open with a boot, dragging her in with him, fingers digging mercilessly into her shoulders. She stood in a throne room, a disgustingly large chandelier occupying most of the ceiling - it almost seemed like mockery, reminding her of the poor people working to death in the mines below them.

Fourteen guards, all bearing the royal emblem on their black-uniformed chests, stood in the room - plus the captain, fifteen soldiers. All who would undoubtedly kill her with ease when given the order. She felt quite dizzy all of a sudden - and a weight was slowly sinking down in her chest.

Celaena Sardothien finally lifted her gaze.

And found the Crown Prince of Adarlan staring down at her.

~

'Your Highness,' said the Captain of the Guard. He straightened from his low, and removed his hood. And for a moment, Celaena was frozen. He was so young!

"This is she?" the Crown Prince of Adarlan asked. The captain nodded. There was silence for a heartbeat - until the prince lifted his chin higher - and Celaena would have snorted if it weren't for the large audience they had. Bow to him indeed! If these were to be the last moments of her life, she wouldn't spend it groveling before a pompous boy of Adarlan!

Heavy footfalls sounded behind her, and she managed to catch a glimpse of a sandy moustache before a hand wrapped round the back of her neck and she was thrown to the floor. Tears welled despite her best efforts as her cheek collided with the icy marble floor - and light flashed before her eyes. Her arms were painfully wrenched at an awkward angle within their irons.

"That is how you should greet your future king," a ruddy, red-faced man snapped.

She snarled at the kneeling bastard. If she could lash the chains against his throat, then grab his sword-

His grip tightened on her neck. There was another pause before the Crown Prince finally spoke. "I don't quite comprehend why you'd force someone to bow when the purpose of the gesture is to display allegiance and respect." His words were like dripping honey, glorious and smooth and coated with that tangible, blithe boredom. "It is clear that you respect me, Duke Perrington, but it's a bit unnecessary to put such effort into forcing Celaena Sardothien to have the same opinion. And don't you have a meeting with Endovier's treasurer? I wouldn't want you to be late, especially when you came all this way to meet with him."

Understanding the dismissal, the man grunted and let go of his clutch. She didn't move until his footsteps had disappeared from earshot.

When she stood, she stared at the imprint of grit she'd left on the floor. Dorian Havilliard frowned from upon his perch, sprawled across his throne. 'I thought I asked you to have her cleaned.'

Celaena had forgotten there were others in the room till the captain stepped forwards and said, 'I didn't want to keep you waiting.'

She bristled at that. She was, when clothed properly and bathed, quite pretty - and even more so with the help of cosmetics. But now, here she was, no more attractive than a street urchin! Her skin was so dark with dirt that they were almost the same shade as the captain's gloves. And her hair! You simply couldn't see that it would have once been golden with the amount of dust clogged within the waves.

The Crown Prince stepped forwards, and to her dismay, took her chin in his hand. 'My, what remarkable eyes you have!' he grinned. 'I suppose that, once you're clean, you could look rather lovely.' She growled, jerking her chin out of his grasp.

'So,' he said, clasping his hands behind his back, 'you are Celaena Sardothien, Adarlan's greatest assassin.' She cocked her head. 'You seem a little young.' He began to pace round her, each step smooth and ever the royal portrait. She felt his eyes studying the scars from the lashings she'd received on her back. 'I've some fascinating stories about you. How did you find Endovier after living with such luxury in Rifthold?'

I'd like to see you in the mines.

'Why, I had the time of my life! Would His Highness like to experience such pleasure, perhaps?' she purred, batting her lashes.

'Watch your tongue,' the captain growled.

But a smile grew on the Crown Prince's face as he walked to stand before her. 'My, you do have some cheek in you, don't you?' From beneath a mop of raven black hair, his eyes - a brilliant sapphire hue - held hers, piercing and beautiful, and she felt a twang of annoyance. Princes aren't supposed to be handsome! Just whiny, snivelling, bratty-

'But I wouldn't be so brash if my freedom was on the line.' 

[200906]

second day of school and i already have three pieces of homework already

biology physics dt

literally who the heck gets dt homework

also sry for the slow updates cuz i do write-lots-of-parts-then-publish rather than publish-as-you-write