Queen Of Glass

Book 2 Chapter 4

Dorian DeHavilliard looked through the iron bars of the dank cell and suppressed a sadistic smile. The dungeon was dark and damp and had such a foul smell that it had taken him a few minutes to settle his stomach. The moans and screams of those kept within these miserable catacombs were like Hell's choir—the hissing and groaning of weapons of torture beat the air like fell drums.
But there was one cell that was silent.
Dorian DeHavilliard stared down at Kaltain R'ompier's humbled and broken body and snorted with contempt. Her hair was gone and her face was now painted with blood and dirt. She lay curled in a fetal position on a filthy pile of moldy hay, clothed in shredded and vile rags.
He had seen to it that she be treated like this.

Each time he thought about it, about how she had tried to have Celaena killed and in the process of doing so had assassinated Anuksun Ytger, he grew so violently angry that he didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted to kill her, to bestow upon her every wound that she had inflicted upon Celaena Sardothien during their duel, to make her feel the terror that Anuksun Ytger had felt while dying, but self-control had its claws latched firmly in his mind and body.
He tried to be content in knowing that Duke Perringtonn and his father could do nothing about Kaltain's situation because of the uproar that would result if they managed to lessen her punishment; but the young prince was still not satisfied. News of Kaltain R'ompier's mad obsession for the crown prince had spread like wildfire throughout the country—her family was disgraced and she would be lucky to get off with anything less than a life sentence of labor in the salt mines of Endovier.
It made him feel heartsick to think about how, just three years ago, another woman had stood before a jury and tried her case and had ended up in the dreaded mines. Despite his pleading, his father hadn't allowed him to attend Celaena Sardothien's trial. The Crown Prince of Adarlan had been eager to see if the rumors were true, if Celaena Sardothien was really a woman, and what she was like. But he never got the chance to even sneak into the courtroom. It took less than an hour for them to declare her guilty and sentence her to a lifetime of brutal labor in the mines. She didn't even get to stand in her own defense.
How funny it was, he thought while staring into Kaltain's cell, that three years later, the notorious criminal would be not only free, but the woman he loved.
He thought about her every waking minute; and each night his dreams were saturated with her. He kept her hound, Fleetfoot, in his rooms, taking comfort in the canine's presence.
Naturally, he hadn't heard from Celaena, but he liked to dream that he'd awaken one morning or turn a corner or look into the distance and see her coming towards him, her task in Wendlyn successful. He had planned and imagined what their first meeting would be like after she returned: she'd walk off of her ship and stand before him and smile, her eyes beaming and her hair shining like spun gold, and he'd stare at her for a moment before she'd rush into his arms and he'd hold her until the world around them became dust and entered into infinity...
And then, after all that was done, he'd kiss her and propose to her and do something along those lines. But it was the holding that seemed to matter the most to him—he wanted to feel her in his arms, he wanted to relive those brief moments when he had held her before she had left, when her scent had filled his nose and he had felt the rise and fall of her chest against his. He just wanted to make sure that she was there, in reality, for the rest of his life.
Often, he'd be writing a diplomatic letter or law or something that didn't matter to him, and he'd begin to write her name over and over again on spare pieces of paper, changing her last name to fit his, adding in a few titles to make her seem like royalty...
In general, the name that sounded best to him was "Queen Celaena DeHavilliard of Trasien." Dorian didn't know a lot about her past, save for the snippets that she had told him about her life as an assassin, but he distinctly remembered her saying that she was from Trasien...he hoped.
He'd even made a royal heading for them: "King Dorian and Queen Celaena," but he hoped to make it into something more fancy.
Compared to the womanizer that he had been several months ago, Dorian DeHavilliard was a completely different man. It disturbed him that he had changed so much; and often he was afraid that he was becoming one of those weak-willed, sappy men that spent their lives pining after women who didn't care for them or toting on the ones that did, but each time he thought about her, it didn't really seem to matter anymore.
In fact, nothing seemed to concern him anymore except for her well-being and their future. He'd frequently find himself daydreaming about her while in court or attending one of his father's councils. The ladies of the court were in a serious state of alarm over his condition, though some dared to believe that they were the ones occupying his thoughts. True, his mother would not stop talking about how her son badly needed a wife, but it was foolish of her to believe that anyone in her court would suit him. Only a few, mainly men, remembered the woman with whom he had attended the Yulemas ball—and most of them had also noticed her disappearance. But aside from the small number who knew whom the Crown Prince was moping over, only two knew the real identity of the young woman that he loved—Chaol Wydrael and his cousin, Roland DeHavilliard.
Let's make that three, shall we?