Assassins Don't Go to High School

Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters in this story. They're from the novel Throne of Glass, and belong to Sarah J Maas
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~Celaena~ 10 months earlier

I sip my champagne casually, as I let my eyes wander around the room, never looking at one place for too long or meeting the gaze of anyone else. He's wearing a navy tux with a matching bow tie, the watch he wears costs about as much as the yearly tuition at his children's private school, and the blonde woman in red at his side is not his wife.

Mitchell Vice, or Clint Thurman, his alias for tonight, is my assignment. To him, this is just another auction. Just another opportunity to spend his wealth and show off whatever eye candy he can get to hang off his arm. I know of at least a dozen things he's done that would make him a target. Which of those is the reason he's a target, I don't know. Because I don't ask. Clients give me a name and payment and I do their dirty work.

I could've easily shot him from a window in the next building over. Or perhaps lured him into a back room and slit his throat. But making it seem like an accident is much easier to cover up. And much more fun.

It took a moment of deliberation on how to do it, but I decided on a tasteless, untraceable poison that once swallowed, will expand the food molecules in the victim's throat. The poison prevents the food from being dislodged by the Heimlich and air from reaching the lungs.

I rise from my seat, and make colloquial conversation with strangers, biding my time until I can leave unnoticed. I know my attire for the evening is a little much considering I was supposed to lay low, but I couldn't resist. I relish in the attention I attract from people all across the room, taking in my stunning gown. And it is breathtaking. A shimmery gold, floor-length gown, that pools around my feet and dips all the way down to my lower back. My long white-blonde hair curled in tight ringlets and pinned up elegantly.

As the server brought out dessert- a three-layered chocolate cake- I knew it was time to take my leave, police questioning can complicate things. I accepted a cake from the young man, because I mean, it's chocolate cake, and give him a flirtatious smile as I walk through the crowd of people to get to the exit. I wave and smile at strangers I've never met to make my dash for the door seem unsuspecting.

As I make my way out, I have to politely shake off several men as they offer to "get me a drink" or "take me out later." It takes every ounce of my self restraint not to snap a particularly persistent man's arm as he places it, unwarranted, around my waist. I managed to escape without mangling any perverts in the process. I make it as far as the parking lot before I hear Mitchell's female companion scream, "HELP HIM, SOMEBODY, DO SOMETHING! CALL 911!"

I snicker under my breath. Call for help all you want, sweetheart, he's as good as dead. I make my way to the car waiting for me at the end of the parking lot. I disabled the cameras on my way in, so there were no complications as I got into the idling vehicle.

"It's done?" Sam asks.

"You doubt me?" I challenge.

"Never," he says, giving me that smile that makes me blush. "However," he continues, "do you even understand the meaning of 'inconspicuous'?"

I give him a fake pout, "Can't I have any fun while working?"

"Why can't you take fun in shopping or spa days like normal women?" He chuckled under his breath, "No, Celaena takes fun in looking so beautifully breathtaking that men can't stop drooling and women question their sexuality."

"I do take joy in shopping and spa days," I playfully punch him in the arm, "Can you blame me for just trying to indulge in my beauty while I'm still in my youth," I smirk at him, "and you can't blame them for taking notice." He laughs and leans over to kiss me but I just smile into his mouth, "Eyes on the road, hot stuff."

"Oh please, I might actually be a better driver than assassin," he says, and as if to prove his point he closes his eyes and takes both hands off the wheel, steering instead with his knees. I shriek-laugh and grip the safety handle.

"SAMUEL CORTLAND YOU DRIVE CORRECTLY THIS INSTANT!"

He grins from ear to ear, eyes still closed, "Sure thing cutie, all you gotta do is kiss me."

I huff as I lean over and place my hands on the sides of his handsome face as I plant a kiss on his mouth. He opens his eyes and threads his fingers through my hair, deepening the kiss.

"I love you, Celaena," Sam says.

"I love you too, even if you are a reckless driver," I pinch his cheek, "now drive properly."

"Delighted to," he gives me that smile again, as he turns to look forward.

Those were that last words we ever exchanged

Because then the windshield shattered

And there was a lot of noise

And a lot of blood

And a lot of screaming on my part

I had to take the wheel

But we crashed

And I was sobbing and screaming

And Sam was dead