Queen Of Glass

Chapter 28

The King of Adarlan stared at his son mercilessly. Hot rage and fear coursed through his veins and his lips quivered with restraint. His son had assaulted a member of his household in order to "defend" Celaena Sardothien. Duke Perringtonn's worries had been correct—the assassin had his son wrapped around her bloody finger. Extreme measures had to be taken.
"You drew blood in your own house," the King of Adarlan said, his voice like volcanic murmurings.
Dorian DeHavilliard's stared at his father's feet. "He was in the midst of forcing himself upon her," he said softly, but strongly.
"Too bad he didn't get through with it," the King snapped, his temper getting the better of him. "It would have served the bitch right."
Dorian's sapphire eyes flashed and a snarl appeared on his son's lips as the temper that he had inherited from his father rose to the surface. The King of Adarlan felt his anger rising in response. His son never looked at him like that. His son wouldn't dare to look at him like that. "Assassin or not," Dorian growled, "she is still a woman."
His son's face glowed with unbridled fury. He had seen that face once—long ago in another empire. It had been for similar reasons that the King of Adarlan had come to see that expression—the male had been defending what he honored and loved, and was willing to defy anyone and everything in order to preserve it. A sick feeling settled over the King of Adarlan. The only way he had been able to quench that defiance had been to execute that man...and his family.
"She's a criminal, and you're a fool for seeing her otherwise," he said, his hands aching to find someplace to lodge themselves on his son's face or body.
A lazy, arrogant smile spread across Dorian's face and a sleepy look came into his eyes. The King of Adarlan had never seen his son on the killing-edge, but now he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of the Prince of Adarlan's fury.
It only took a split second for the king to feel his rage slipping into panic; and as his son's blue eyes stared at his face, he struggled to maintain the anger and control that had been so apparent moments before. When had he taught his son to do this? When was his son able to command his fear? When had his son turned from a concern into a threat?
"You know," Dorian said quietly, too quietly, "everyone's been telling me that lately." He looked down at his nails and then up at his father again, his face so dangerously close to open-rage and violence. "But," his son said, his bored expression taking hold once more, "I'm beginning to think that you are the fools."
Killing-edge or not, this was still his son and he would not be spoken to in such a manner. The king felt his temper returning. "She has her claws deeply attached in your mind, boy," the king said with venom, standing up from the glass throne on which he had been seated. "Do you remember what she did to Lord Frivall? What about Lord Joden? No woman who does that deserves to be called human. No creature that does that deserves to be treated with kindness and respect."
"She did it to survive," his son snarled at him.
Laughter of disbelief burst from the king's throat. "Survive?" His eyes grew wide in rage and shame at his weak- minded fool of a son. "She's a killer, boy. She could have done anything other than killing, but she chose it. She has

you wrapped around her finger, doesn't she? Yes, yes...she's smart enough to know what a weak-willed bastard I've raised. She's smart enough to know that you are foolish enough to fall for a pretty face."
A deep-throated growl came from Dorian's throat. "I am not wrapped around her finger."
A wicked smile spread itself across the king's face as his eyes filled with an eerie light. "Then I suppose you would
have no qualms about me signing her execution sentence?"
Without warning, the windows of the room exploded, glass and wood shattering and flying in all directions as wind burst through the room, howling in rage.
The king, in shock and terror, fell back onto his throne, covering his head with his arms to protect himself. What in the name of Hell's Gates was this? He could hear glass shattering and breaking, flying all around him. The end was coming...
The doors flew open as guards poured in, armed and ready for battle. It was then that the wind disappeared as quickly as it came and a silence settled over the room as the guards halted, lowering their swords. The king raised his head from his protective self-embrace and looked around, dumbstruck, his rage forgotten.
The floor-to-ceiling windows that lined half of the chamber had been entirely blown out. Deadly debris now littered the entire floor and the two remaining walls, glass and wood spikes protruding dangerously from their glass surface. Furniture lay toppled and torn by glass shards.
Standing up with shaking knees, the King of Adarlan motioned for his guards to get someone to clean up the mess. One of the dangers of building his glass palace so high into the air were the strong winds that whipped at it from time to time. The king had never believed that anything could ever break the glass of Adarlan, but these winds had now proved him wrong.
His heart was pounding in his chest like a drum. He could have been torn to shreds. What a disgraceful end that would have been to the greatest monarch of all-time--destroyed by unruly winds. How shameful. To think he had been scared by something like this! Calming his nerves, the king placed a heavy hand down upon his breast, but quickly withdrew. Protruding from his thick jacket was an oblong shard of glass, barely centimeters from his flesh.
Without conscious reason, the King of Adarlan looked at his Heir. Dorian was still standing before him, unmoved and unmarred by any of the destruction. His face was blank, yet his eyes...
The king stared at the prince's cold, frozen eyes, the world seeming to hold its breath. He found himself locked within that gaze, slowly being drowned by the cold rage that lay inside. His heir...his son...
And then Dorian simply turned on his heel and left, without a farewell word or bow, the crowd of immensely confused and relieved guards parting for him to pass.
The King of Adarlan stared down at the glass shard that still lay imbedded in his surcoat. With tensed fingers, he removed it, carefully avoiding the sharp edges. Laying it on the palm of his hand, the king examined it with slight curiosity. A bit more force and it would have cut through to his heart.
The King of Adarlan raised his eyes to where the Prince of Adarlan had been standing moments before.
A circle, not more than four feet in diameter, lay on the floor where his son had stood, void and clean of any debris.
Dorian DeHavilliard leaned against a stone wall of the palace, far away from the glass spires above, his hands shaking wildly, glad to feel the security and strength that the stone offered him. What had happened?
Moments earlier, his temper had ascended to new levels, making him openly challenge his father both mentally and physically. A reckless sense of rebellion had surged through his veins as he had stood his ground, defending both his pride and the woman who, despite everything, he still loved. He had never risen to the killing-edge in his father's presence. He had never dared.
But now...