Queen Of Glass

Chapter 8

The next five days passed in a similar manner. Every morning she would train with Lord Chaol until lunch...or until Celaena collapsed to the ground and groaned that she was about to die of hunger and fatigue.
Instead of the medley of weapons that Celaena had used the first time they had sparred, Lord Chaol had insisted that they divide the three or four hours that they spent together into hour-long sessions with each weapon. The knives still remained her favorite, but Celaena was growing fond of using the fighting sticks. She was the worst with the mace— on several occasions it had flown freely from her hand and chipped one of the marble pillars or knocked over the weapon rack.
Celaena Sardothien would then pass her afternoons reading in a chair on her balcony—and by the end of five days, Celaena had read four of the seven books that Prince Dorian had lent her.
She saw no sign of the Crown Prince, but this did not bother Celaena in the least. Lord Chaol often took his lunch with her, and twice did he dine with her for supper. He wasn't as much of a pompous bastard as Celaena had first thought him to be. He was thoroughly educated and maintained good conversation—especially about books.
Lord Chaol told her about his childhood, his parents, and answered just about every question Celaena asked him.
He was a childhood friend of the prince. The only noble-born children in the palace at the time and nearly the same in age (he was two years older than Dorian DeHavilliard), they became fast friends at an early age, a friendship that would continue for almost two more decades.
The son of a local baron, Lord Chaol Wydrael was destined to follow in his father's footsteps and join the royal council, confined to stuffy rooms and boring conversation; he was doomed to be separated from his beloved childhood friend. To escape this dismal future, he joined the royal guard at age sixteen, eight years ago, handing over his power as future baron to his younger brother, Paonian. After six years of dedicated work, Lord Chaol was appointed Captain of the Royal Guard. He was the youngest captain in Adarlan's history, but he did his job, proving the king's criticized appointment to be a wise one indeed. No one had ever committed a crime in the castle that did not go unsolved, and Chaol's complex network of spies and allies made his reign as captain the most successful in a hundred years.
Since his appointment as protectorate of the Royal Family, he had never been separated from his friend—though on several occasions that Chaol did not want to talk about, their friendship was nearly torn apart by personal and political drama. It turned out that he was not nearly was traditionalist as his friend, and when Adarlan's policies towards several cultural debates had become finalized in harsh terms, it had been the Captain of the Guard, not the Crown Prince, who had objected.
When asked about her own past, Celaena had smiled at Chaol and told him that it was not nearly as sweet or interesting as his was and that it wasn't worth telling.
In truth, Celaena wasn't proud or comfortable when talking about her past, and she could only name three people (two of whom were dead) that knew the whole story. Thankfully, Lord Chaol had taken that as a satisfactory answer and had not pressed where he was not wanted.
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
On the sixth morning, Chaol did not awake Celaena Sardothien. Instead, she slept until nearly lunchtime, enjoying the much-needed sleep. Celaena had started to truly enjoy wandering around in her undergarments, and now didn't even bother to cover up while standing on her balcony.
It was a beautiful day once again. The temperature was warm and it could have passed for spring, were it not for the golden trees of the game park that lingered in the distance. Her room was only two stories up, so Celaena could often hear conversations going on below. Very often they were abnormally dull and light; however, today a very intriguing one was going on beneath the shade of her terrace.

A dark-haired lady in an ornate red dress stood below with two other women—both blondes. They all seemed slightly uneasy and out of place, looking around constantly as if they were unsure about their location. Were they three of the nineteen other women that were due to arrive today? From their conversation, it sounded like it.
Leaning over the edge, keeping her gaze on the garden before her, Celaena began to casually eavesdrop on the conversation.
"I haven't seen any real competition so far, you know," the raven-haired woman was drawling. Her voice was cultured and cold—she was probably rich and of noble blood. "I saw five women all from Mecherta, you know, that wretched country of farmers! It's practically in the Wastes of the West! And all of them looked as if they could have been servants working here—or even worse—the slaves in the salt mines of Endovier!"
The three women giggled stupidly.
Celaena scowled. Lord Chaol had ordered her not to tell them her real name or what she did for a living. She was to give herself a name and occupation, plus a history behind it. However, at that moment, Celaena Sardothien would have very much liked to have jumped straight into the conversation and comment on the conditions of Endovier and those who were assigned to work there, but the prospect of freedom held her tongue still.
"There was another woman that I saw getting out of a carriage with an extraordinary amount lot of luggage. She had red hair that was so frizzy and large, it could have passed for a shabby carpet!" The woman laughed again, and her two blonde friends sniggered behind their hands.
"Anyway, I heard that the prince himself selected one of the women—and you know what Prince Dorian is like. He's well-known with the ladies of the royal court, if you catch my drift! He's bound to have selected the prettiest woman he could find. So, she's the only one I'm really worried about, no offense to either of you. Hopefully she'll be eliminated within the first week. I suspect that the prince's whore will not be looked upon with-"
CRASH
Celaena had innocently knocked over one of the flowerpots on her balcony with her elbow. Unfortunately, it missed the woman, but landed close enough to splatter soil and mud (for the servants had watered them earlier) all over the bottom of the woman's dress.
Smirking as the ladies screamed and looked around in terror for the source of the rampant flowerpot, the prince's whore walked back into her chambers and called for her servants to dress her in the finest attire they could find.