And Celaena was willing to bet a fortune that this was anything but a surprise—the woman had probably been waiting here for a while.

“Lady Kaltain,” Dorian said tersely, his body tensing.

“I’ve just come from Her Majesty’s side,” said Kaltain, putting her back to Celaena. The assassin might have bothered to care about the slight if she had any interest in courtiers. “Her Majesty wishes to see Your Highness. Of course, I informed Her Majesty that Your Highness was in a meeting and could not be—”

“Lady Kaltain,” interrupted Dorian, “I’m afraid you haven’t been introduced to my friend.” Celaena could have sworn the young woman bristled. “Allow me to present the Lady Lillian Gordaina. Lady Lillian, meet Lady Kaltain Rompier.”

Celaena curtsied, restraining the urge to keep walking; if she had to deal with too much courtly nonsense, she might be better off back in Endovier. Kaltain bowed, the gold streaks in her dress glistening in the sunlight.

“Lady Lillian is from Bellhaven—she arrived just yesterday.”

The woman studied Celaena from beneath dark, shaped eyebrows. “And how long will you be staying with us?”

“Only a few years,” Dorian said with a sigh.

“ ‘Only’! Why, Your Highness! How droll! That is a very long stretch of time!” Celaena studied Kaltain’s narrow, narrow waist. Was it really that small? Or could she barely breathe in her corset?

She caught a glance exchanged between the two men—exasperation, annoyance, condescension. “The Lady Lillian and Captain Westfall are very close companions,” Dorian said dramatically. To Celaena’s delight, Chaol blushed. “It will feel short for them, I assure you.”

“And for you, Your Highness?” Kaltain said coyly. A concealed edge lingered beneath her voice.

Mischief coiled and sprang within her, but Dorian answered. “I suppose,” he drawled, turning those brilliant blue eyes on Celaena, “that it will be difficult for Lady Lillian and I as well. Perhaps more so.”

Kaltain snapped her attention to Celaena. “Wherever did you find that dress?” she purred. “It’s extraordinary.”

“I had it made for her,” Dorian said casually, picking at his nails. The assassin and the prince glanced at each other, their blue eyes reflecting the same intent. At least they had one common enemy. “It does look extraordinary on her, doesn’t it?”

Kaltain’s lips pursed for a moment, but then bloomed into a full smile. “Simply stunning. Though such pale green tends to wash out women of pallid skin.”

“The Lady Lillian’s paleness was a source of pride for her father. It makes her rather unusual.” Dorian looked to Chaol, who failed in his attempt to not appear incredulous. “Don’t you agree, Captain Westfall?”

“Agree about what?” he snapped.

“How unusual our Lady Lillian is!”

“Shame on you, Your Highness!” Celaena chided, concealing her wicked amusement beneath a giggle. “I pale in comparison to Lady Kaltain’s fine features.”

Kaltain shook her head, but looked at Dorian as she spoke. “You are too kind.”

Dorian shifted on his feet. “Well, I’ve dallied enough. I must attend to my mother.” He bowed to Kaltain, then to Chaol. Finally, he faced Celaena. She watched with raised brows as he lifted her hand to his lips. His mouth was soft and smooth upon her skin, and the kiss sent a red-hot line of fire up through her arm that singed her cheeks. She fought against the urge to step back. Or smack him. “Until our next meeting, Lady Lillian,” he said with a charming smile. She would have highly enjoyed seeing Kaltain’s face, but she dipped into a curtsy.

“We must be on our way as well,” Chaol said as Dorian strode off, whistling to himself, his hands in his pockets. “May we escort you anywhere?” It was an insincere offer.

“No,” Kaltain said flatly, the facade falling. “I’m meeting with His Grace, Duke Perrington. I do hope we’ll see more of each other, Lady Lillian,” she said, watching her with a keenness that would make any assassin proud. “We must be friends, you and I.”

“Of course,” Celaena said. Kaltain swept past them, the skirts of her dress floating in the air around her. They resumed walking, waiting until her footsteps had vanished from their ears before speaking. “Enjoyed that, did you?” Chaol growled.

“Immensely.” Celaena patted Chaol’s arm as she took it in her own. “Now you must pretend that you like me, or else everything will be ruined.”

“You and the Crown Prince share the same sense of humor, it seems.”

“Perhaps he and I will become dear friends, and you will be left to rot.”

“Dorian is more inclined to associate with ladies of better breeding and beauty.” She whipped her head to look at him. He smiled. “How vain you are.”

She glared. “I hate women like that. They’re so desperate for the attention of men that they’d willingly betray and harm members of their own sex. And we claim men cannot think with their brains! At least men are direct about it.”

“They say that her father is as rich as a king,” Chaol said. “I suppose that’s part of why Perrington is so infatuated. She arrived here in a litter bigger than most peasant huts; it was carried here from her home. A distance of almost two hundred miles.”

“What debauchery.”

“I pity her servants.”

“I pity her father!” They chuckled, and he lifted the arm linked with hers a bit higher. She nodded to the guards outside her chambers as they stopped. She faced Chaol. “Are you eating lunch? I’m starved.”

He glanced at the guards, his smile fading. “I have important work to do. Like prepare a company of men for the king to bring with him on his journey.”

She opened the door, but looked at him. The tiny freckle upon his cheek moved upward as a smile spread once more.

“What?” she asked. Something smelled delicious inside her chambers, and her stomach grumbled.

Chaol shook his head. “Adarlan’s Assassin,” he chuckled, and began walking back down the hall. “You should rest,” he called over his shoulder. “The competition actually begins tomorrow. And even if you’re as fantastic as you claim to be, you’re going to need every moment of sleep you can get.”

Though she rolled her eyes and slammed the door, Celaena found herself humming throughout her meal.

Chapter 11

Celaena felt as if she’d barely closed her eyes when a hand jabbed her side. She groaned, wincing as the drapes were thrown back to welcome the morning sun.

“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?