Queen Of Glass

Chapter 13

Celaena smiled and picked at her nails while Tul'rouse spoke before the group of assembled hopefuls. She had those court nobles fooled. She had to admit she was taken by surprise when that man had asked her to dance, but he had taken her shock for modesty and had delighted in her.
Stupid bastard.
The court was how she had expected it to be: over-painted, over-bound, and overly fake. The gentlemen were just as delicate and foolish as the ladies. And all of them were so empty-headed that Celaena wondered if she could use their heads as substitutes for drums.
Celaena fought not to laugh at the image she conjured in her head.
Her smile turned quickly into a frown as her thoughts shifted to Prince Dorian. He had made her stand in front of him for a full minute before the Queen's court, his eyes never leaving her face. It had been alarmingly embarrassing, especially when she saw the smile that the Queen of Adarlan had given her as Celaena had walked away from Dorian. Was this how he spent his days? With these idiots? The prince of the most powerful country in the world should be doing more important political things...not dancing and flirting so shamelessly!
She was surprised that the Queen of Adarlan was so hollow—she had never seen or met the woman before, but she had expected the wife of the man that had ruined her country to be a bit more respectable and commanding. This woman was no queen, nor had she any right to hold claim over any court across the continent.
Their court was a joke. It did nothing for the world, absolutely nothing, save for bestow pounds of gold upon their tailors and entourages. They danced and sat and fanned themselves the whole day—there was no romanticism or heroism about this court! It was corrupt, a mockery of what the world had once been! The more she thought about it, the more Dorian DeHavilliard's pretty face began to blend in with their wigs and corsets and decorative swords.
Celaena knew all about Dorian's reputation with women—she had overheard Jodra talking to another girl about it. Prince Dorian DeHavilliard could have any woman that he desired and he took full advantage of that fact. He would take a lover for a few days or maybe a month or so and once he tired of her, he would leave her a trinket for her services.
Celaena found this to be short of prostitution. How could Chaol possibly want to be friends with that sort of womanizer?
Chaol.

Celaena felt a pang of guilt sweep through her. She had accused him wrongfully and had treated him badly. He didn't come to bring her to this morning's lesson and while she had seen him standing beside Dorian, looking quite pleasant, Celaena dreaded how he would treat her at their afternoon session. She hadn't even been able to look at his face when he had appeared at court. Celaena hated this feeling of anxiety and regret—what if he had been wounded by her words?
Celaena looked down at her hands and realized she had been wringing them so badly that her fingers were swollen and red. Trying to keep her face expressionless, Celaena tuned back into Tul'rouse's lecture, hoping that it would keep her worries at bay.
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
Crown Prince Dorian DeHavilliard walked the halls of the palace, his cousin Roland beside him. Roland was a second cousin, yet the two had barely seen each other while growing up. They were friends, but not close ones. If Dorian hadn't had the responsibilities as Crown Prince of Adarlan, he imagined that he would have turned out much like Roland—passionate about life, fencing, and women.
Barely nineteen with the face of a cherub, Roland had all of the court ladies aflutter whenever he visited. He had arrived only an hour ago, giving Dorian the excuse to leave his mother's court. The youth's face glowed as much as his golden hair and his steps were light and carefree. Roland enjoyed courtly activities, yet they did not dominate his life—and his wardrobe. Thankfully, he had dressed well the few times he had visited him: combining fashion and comfort in his clothes. Roland never went anywhere without a rapier sheathed at his side and was always ready for a quick duel.
Dorian liked his endless amounts of energy and cunning—a quality that gave him a boyish innocence and pride. It made Dorian feel more alive to be with his cousin, it made him feel more connected to the youth of their time.
But now he seemed different—a bit more reserved, as if he were constantly thinking, planning something. His eyes had a gleam to them that was now not so innocent, and Dorian had no trouble noticing the extra amount of embroidery that had gone into his blue jacket and white pants. His boots were of the finest quality, and his rapier had been replaced by a more delicate-looking sword that was clearly for show.
They were walking silently now, conversation having died minutes before. Seven girls in fancy dresses walked past them (the eighth being Princess Anuksun), smiling and greeting him. Where was the ninth? Where was she? Dorian's step fumbled. He hadn't meant to bring Roland to this part of the castle. Kaltain R'ompier licked her lips at him as she walked by. Dorian shuddered.
Roland grinned. "Your harem, I take it?"
Dorian snorted, "Ah, if only. They're just a bunch of local noble girls who, by the grace of my kind mother, are learning more about what life in court is like. They're probably going to occupy my future wife's court...that is, if I ever get married."
"You still haven't found anyone?" Roland asked, raising a blond eyebrow.
Dorian shook his head. "I'm limited to princesses and court ladies. I've tasted all of them and none of them appeal to me." Dorian sighed. "It's hard to find a woman that you can respect these days."
Roland chuckled. "Don't worry about it—you'll find someone 'appealing' enough for you. Everyone does."
Dorian laughed bitterly, ignoring his cousin's cautious tone. "Oh, really? Try telling that to my parents. They both married for looks and money and look what's happened to them. They claimed to be in love, and they might have been with the idea of love, but seriously now! They're miserable with each other. It's hard to believe that you, a noble, actually believe in that "one person for everyone" concept. Especially now that you've grown up into what I hear is a bed-warming fiend! There are too many people in the world for it to work out like that."
Roland ran a hand through his dark blond hair, an oily smile spreading. "Don't be so unromantic, Dorian. Give it as much time as your parents will allow. You'll find her—just be patient. And if she isn't the one, I'm sure that you'll be able to maintain a few extra beds on the side."