Dorian woke up with a headache. His head throbbed and his ears were ringing as if he had been listening to his hunting hounds baying for far longer than was appropriate. He stood up and made his way to his private dining chamber, swearing as his vision swam. He swigged down a glass of watered wine and grabbed a few small oat cakes. He went back to his sitting room and plopped down into the big armchair stationed by the window. Sun streamed in and warmed him as he stared out of the window morosely, chewing the food slowly. Thoughts churned through his brain, and he pushed down the memories of his midnight visit to the balcony. And the dream. But now he had to focus; he had to go see Chaol and prepare to figure out what Perrington was doing. All he knew was that it involved the demon king. He shuddered, thinking of all the people stuck in the fortress at Morath. On the great mountain that held such poison and pain. He sucked in a breath remembering the pain that had squeezed him while the demon was inside of him. Stop, he scolded himself. You already lose enough sleep dwelling on it. He lethargically made his way to his bathing chamber, the warmth of the sun on that old tattered chair that he had refused to get rid of had made him lazy as a farm cat. He took a bath in the tub, adding some sweet smelling salts to the warm water. The smell reminded him of Sorscha, and with a pang in his heart he realised that he had forgotten one of the most intimate characteristics of the woman he had loved. He soaked in the tub until the water was lukewarm and then got dressed in a pair of fine breeches and a cool shirt. It was spring and already warm. He left off a formal tunic and after putting on his boots, made his way to his study. His father's private work chamber had been in the glass castle and he had made sure that if anything remained of the monstrosity, it was destroyed. Now his study was in the heart of the stone fortress; a large comfortable room with a pair of couches on one end near a grand fireplace, so that he might sit and discuss matters with Chaol and his other advisers. Along the other three walls were shelves of books. A wonderful deep wood comprised the shelves, and the lines of tomes were occasionally broken by a trinket of sorts – glass bottles with miniature ships, a small statue of a dog, a globe. On his travels, Dorian had collected a number of interesting items, and now he displayed most of them along with his books. His desk, also made of mahogany, stood opposite the fireplace, and received sun from the large windows on the left side. A serving table stood on the right wall, with glass jars full of different beverages. From juices to ale and mead, Dorian had it whenever he pleased. Although, right now, with his splitting headache, all he wanted was a glass of water. He sunk down behind his desk, his comfortable chair making a soft whooshing sound as he did so. He motioned for one of his guards to call a maid and reviewed a report sitting on his desk while he waited. The maid appeared, a pretty girl, slightly on the plump side, but with a pleasant enough face. Before he might have looked her over teasingly, wanting to make her blush, just for the sport of it. He had never realised that he may have been thought of as a rake, but know he realised just how much he had used his powers as a handsome young prince to get him what he had thought he wanted. The maid standing in front of him only looked at him with pity now.
"Could you bring me some water please…" he struggled for the girl's name.
"Meg," she said kindly. "My name's Meg, Your Highness." She bobbed a little curtsey and he smiled. For the first time in a long while he felt truly happy, reflecting her jovial smile. "Right away, Your Highness," she turned to bustle off when Dorian spoke.
"Dorian," he corrected. She smiled again and he saw that she was just being friendly, not looking to be the King's next fling.
"Right away, Dorian." She disappeared from view and Dorian smiled to himself. A few minutes later she was back with a jug and a glass for him, a bowl of lemons sitting next to it. A large bowl of fresh chopped fruit also sat on the tray. She set the tray down on the serving table and brought a goblet to him, a slice of lemon adding a tinge of freshness. The bowl of chopped fruit remained on the tray. Dorian nodded his thanks and raised the goblet before taking a drink. Meg waited for him to finish before being dismissed. She stood quietly for a few minutes before clearing her throat softly.
"M'lo – Dorian, sorry," she winced. "May I have my leave?"
Dorian shook his head and her face clouded over with confusion. "Did you, did you know…" he couldn't bring himself to say her name.
"Sorscha?" her question was soft and Dorian sensed much more emotion than her face conveyed.
"Yes…" he trailed off and looked out of the window. Sun streamed in, and outside, in the courtyard, he saw gardeners tending to the rosebushes and other fragrant blossoms. He sighed and looked back to the maid. She gave him a tight smile and he smiled back, just as small and sad. "You may have your leave," he said and she bobbed a quick curtsey before bustling out. Dorian spread open a large map of the continents and reviewed Adarlan and Morath. He was just weighing down the edges of the map when his door burst open again and Meg ran in. Followed by another maid who was white as a sheet.
"Dorian," she breathed heavily, her cheeks turning red. "Dorian, there's someone here, she said she wanted to speak to you."
"Beautiful, she is beautiful," muttered the other girl. Dorian furrowed his brow, not knowing what they were going on about. "Stormed in, her hair…stormed in like a beautiful tornado."
"I'm sorry, ladies, but I do not –" his words were cut off by strong female figure striding into his office.
Manon's insides twisted at the pitiful sounds of the maid weeping. She hadn't meant to frighten the girl, just drive home to fact that her need to see Dorian was urgent. Humans, her mind spat out, as if it were a rotten egg in her mouth. She dropped her sword on one of the couches situated near the door and unhooked her red cloak. She threw it onto the back of the lounge as well, its folds pooling over the back of the chair like a waterfall of blood. She shot an annoyed look at the servants, a plump girl was comforting the maid who had met her at the front hall. She schooled her features and looked around the room casually. There. At the desk. He stood now, tall and handsome, his features surprised and open. His sapphire blue eyes held a hint of hesitation, but were otherwise warm. She focused in on the narrow white scar that marred his perfect features. Others would say that it depleted his beauty, but Manon thought it gave him… character. She gave a toothy grin to the maids and saw Dorian's features become guarded.
"Meg," his deep voice sent a tiny shiver down her spine. "Take your companion back to the maid's quarters and make sure she is given some sweetened wine. After she is feeling better I ask that you come back to me, no need to wait for my permission to enter." He nodded his head and the plump maid led the sobbing girl away, soothing her as she went. Manon stood by the couch, arms folded, waiting for an invitation to sit. Any other human and she would have had them serving her wine and grapes, but since it was Dorian… well, she'd lay on the niceties. Dorian circled round his desk and leaned back against it. Half sitting, his legs stretched out in front of him. They seemed to go on forever, Manon thought. This room seemed to be too small for the King, his solid frame taking up more space than he realised. He casually folded his arms over his chest, his biceps shown off in the white shirt he wore. It was not tied at the neck and she could see the dip between his collar bones and part of his tanned chest. She made herself look away, to study the books lining the shelves. She stepped away from the couch and made her way around the office, running her hand along the spines of the material bounds volumes. She came to a tapestry of a waterfall and gasped when she thought it moved. Behind her, Dorian chuckled. He hoisted himself from his place against his desk and came to stand near her, observing the tapestry.
"When the magic was released, the tapestries came to life. This one… this one my mother had kept locked away from my father. It is a prophecy of sorts." He gestured to the tapestry and Manon turned back to it, watching as suddenly the waterfall seemed to freeze; the water below it becoming stitched with the ripples of frost. Ice settled on the pond and snowflakes started to fall.
"It's your magic," she breathed, understanding.
"Yes," Dorian agreed. "My magic. Although I'm not quite at the stage where I can do that, all I can do is freeze a bowl of water. I did a lot more when I defeated my father, but I think it was because Aelin helped me. Now my gift needs more magic to nurture it, to help it grow."
"Show me," her command was brisk, and she realised she was talking to him as if he was one of her army, her Thirteen, not the man who made her stomach do flips and her mind turn as if in an intricate dance. She tried to remedy it with the smile that she had come to like. The one that was more timid than joyous; not fully flourished in its new discovery. Dorian's grin was quick, charming, and she knew why so many women had followed him to bed and beyond. A pitcher of water sat on a serving table and he made his way towards it. Tossing a few lemon quarters into a bowl of fruit, he filled the bowl that they had been occupying. Clearing a small space of his desk he set the bowl down. A few rolled parchments fell off the desk and Manon's lightning-fast reflexes saved another pile of papers from the same fate. Dorian payed no attention to the fallen information, and instead gave Manon a quick glance to see that she was watching. He turned his eyes back to the glass dish and breathed out calmly through his nose. She saw his nostrils flare ever so slightly and his eyes close for split second longer than a usual blink. Then he raised his left hand ever a tiny bit, flicked his fingers outwards. Fascinated, Manon saw the water starting to change colour, becoming an opaque white. Spreading from the edge of the bowl nearest Dorian, the rest of the water froze. Manon shifted closer and drew one perfect nail across the surface of the ice. Frozen. Solid. She'd seen his powers first hand. If this is what he could do without help and training, she couldn't possibly comprehend the full power he had. Dorian turned to her and the side of his mouth turned up in a quirky grin.
"Impressed?" he asked, smugness flowing from him in waves. She concentrated on keeping her face void of emotion, willing her blood to cool and her face to stay pale. Her ivory skin gave her a wraith-like appearance, and she was proud of it. He would not be found blushing in the King's office. The man had barely said anything to her and she already felt like a stupid mortal girl fawning after some handsome man.
"Satisfactorily so," she kept her voice icy. "But I haven't come here to watch you play ice Queen," she moved away from him, hoping that the distance would return some sense to her. "You know that my Grandmother has me working for Perrington. I am the Wing Leader of the Thirteen, his aerial army general."
She turned back to face him, her golden eyes piercing into him, as if she could see straight into his soul. He resumed his position leaning against the desk and she sat herself down on one of the couches. He was no threat to her, she knew. If he made a move to harm her she would rip his throat out. She drew her legs onto the chair, folding her ankles comfortably. Slinging an arm over the back of the lounge seemed to be the cue for Dorian as he made his way over to the couch opposite her.
"Yes," he said. "I am well aware of where your loyalties lie," nodding slowly, contemplatively.
"But you could be wrong," she stared back at him, one eyebrow raised in challenge, saying what she couldn't voice for fear of being heard.
"So I may be wrong…" he leaned back in the chair and clasped his hands in front of him, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. He looked at her for a moment before getting up and fetching something from his desk. Manon tracked his movements wordlessly. He returned with three rolls of paper. The first one he spread out, placed on it a small coloured orb and motioned for her to hold the corners.
"You know what this is," he said quietly, looking at her across the table short table between them.
"Yes," she breathed. It was Morath, where Perrington was keeping the Thirteen and making monsters. Except that when she looked closer she saw that it was not where Perrington was – the marker that is. She looked up at him. Even sitting down he was taller that her. She was not a short woman by any means, but she was not tall either. She didn't need height to instil fear in people. "May I?" she gestured to the orb. Dorian nodded. With slender fingers and perfectly manicured nails she picked up the orb and moved it across the map to the other side of the great mountain. Near a forest, Perrington's keep had been built where it would seem impossible to situate a building, let alone a monstrous castle with a tower. "Wrong side," she let a small smile escape and was mesmerized for a moment by Dorian's exchange grin. His teeth were perfectly straight and white, and Manon thought about how he must be repulsed by her own Iron teeth. She had never thought that people would be disgusted by them, just petrified. Dorian nodded thoughtfully.
"We didn't know exactly where it was, we just guessed. If you weren't here today we may have gone off in a completely wrong direction," Dorian spoke softly, appreciatively. Manon raised her eyes from looking at the map to meet his. She ran her gaze over his features once more, lingering on his mouth for just a tad longer. When she made eye contact again she realised he'd been monitoring her perusal of him. His mouth twitched up in a smirk at the corner, and Manon averted her gaze quickly. She was unable to stop the blasted heat that curled through her cheeks, and made her toes squirm in her boots. Standing abruptly she looked down at Dorian, filling her eyes with as much distain as she could muster for this man. He rose slowly from his chair, and Manon was aware of their significant height difference when her gaze finally rested at his shoulders. Broad and strong, the shoulders of a warrior, now the shoulders of a king. Dorian paced beside the table, and Manon patiently waited for him to say something. She glanced out the window to see sunshine outside, and for a desperate moment wanted only to be in the mountains somewhere lying in a field of wildflowers, just like that stupid beast of hers. She smirked fondly at the thought of him, and Dorian glanced up sharply at her chuckle. He closed the distance between them suddenly, in two urgent strides. He came to stand directly before her, so close that she could feel his breath hit her temple, and she could see the hard strong column of his throat. He swallowed once, and she looked into his eyes, feeling vulnerable, yet so alight with a strange fire that seemed to burn in her whenever he was around. He gazed down at her, and her eyes roamed over the plains of his face. So dratted handsome, she thought to herself. Manon knew that if anyone would be her undoing, it would be this man.
"Would you consider working for us, as a spy," Dorian's words were slow, and whispered. He had learned in closer to her, his voice flowing over her ear like gentle honey. Their bodies barely touched, only the tips of their toes, their chests, and their fingertips. Manon swallowed, weighing her decision. But she couldn't think properly, not with him this close. Every part of her that touched him was shot through with a strange electricity, and deep down a subtle ache had begun. Tilting her head up ever so slightly, she gave her whispered answer: "We'll see. I will meet you again with my answer."
Dorian followed Manon's figure as she strode from the room. Head held high, her delicate shoulders set square. Despite her petit stature it was obvious that she was strong, her muscle honed like a delicate weapon. Her hips swayed, and her long hair rippled behind her. She didn't bother closing the door, and Dorian listened to her footsteps fading down the halls. He closed his eyes, wishing eternal damnation upon himself for falling for her. He hadn't even fallen fully yet, but he knew he was on a dangerous path. He breathed in deeply, and was able to still pick up her scent. Soft and feminine, and so different from the persona she attempted to portray. He chuckled. He liked her. He liked that she was tough, yet also so obviously vulnerable. He doubted that anyone beside him saw her vulnerability though. When she has leaned into him, answered his desperate question, it had nearly been his undoing. He had just wanted to grab her waist right then, and kiss her senseless. It had taken everything in him not to do it, and he was pleased that he hadn't done it, eager to try it at a later date. She smiled to himself, clasping his hands behind his back and making his way into a warm patch of sunlight. He'd see her again. And when he did, he somehow knew that her answer would make him very, very pleased.