Chaol had never met anyone quite like Celaena Sardothien.
She was an assassin. One of the deadliest and most notorious. By all accounts, he shouldn't trust her.
Shouldn't let her around Dorian, his prince and best friend.
Shouldn't feel anything more than a wary distrust.
Shouldn't be her friend.
.
"Come quick!"
The page boy skidded to a halt in the doorway of Sorscha's workroom, and doubled over, panting. "Come quickly!" he repeated. "The prince and his Champion have need of you!"
With that, he took off again, and Sorscha barely had time to snatch up her healer's bag before charging after him.
She followed him up, up, up, through the warm healer's catacombs up into the chilly castle, sunlight flashing through the windows as they raced past. The temperature plunged even further as they entered the gardens, and Sorscha could see her breath misting in front of her.
She and the page came hurtling to a stop as they reached the veranda around that horrid clocktower.
No one even noticed their entrance; all eyes were focused on the huge body twitching on the ground, two guards gently tugging their Captain away from it. The king was shouting something, but Sorscha couldn't make it out, too absorbed in watching the prince, his Champion curled in his arms, babbling about something Sorscha didn't even begin to understand.
The woman -beautiful, even when bruised and bloody- quieted, and the prince kissed her forehead. He turned away from the reeking body on the flagstones, and stalked past Sorscha, still in cradling the Champion.
He only spared Sorscha one glance. "Follow me."
She stumbled after him, blood pounding in her head. Follow me.
Sorscha followed the prince up through the castle and into a decadent suite of rooms; not the prince's, every healer knew where he lived.
Follow me follow me follow me
She didn't dare say anything to him. Not now. Not when he was so focused on the beautiful girl he was holding.
Her hands shook, the mark throbbing.
She took a deep breath. And another.
There was work to do.
