Queen Of Glass

Book 2 Chapter 13

"Gods above, Dorian—pay attention!"
Dorian DeHavilliard blinked and felt the wave of reawakening to reality hit him. How long had he been out of it? A
lazy smile spread itself across his face as he remembered the reason why he had slipped into a daydream.
"Sorry," he grinned at Chaol, and picked up the parchment in front of him. "Where were we?"
Chaol scowled at him and shook his head. "I was trying to explain the army's current positioning..." Chaol raised his eyebrows in expectation of Dorian's understanding, but upon receiving a blank look from the Crown Prince, the Captain of the Guard rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "At least tell me you were thinking of something moderately interesting."
Dorian ran a hand through his dark hair and beamed at Chaol. "I had this dream last night..." he began, and thought his face would break in two from his smile.
Chaol snorted. "I wonder whom it was about."
The Crown Prince laughed and shook his head. "It felt so real though—it actually felt as if she and I were there in this sort of...paradise. I swear on my crown that it was her mind as well as mine."

Chaol raised an eyebrow. "You've gone completely mad. It was a dream, Dorian. I know they can feel real at times, but in the end, it's just something that your mind created."
He bit down on his lip, and stared deeply into Chaol's eyes. "I don't think it was my mind that created that dream, Chaol," he said softly. "I think it was—"
"Oh—I see what you mean."
An uneasy feeling settled in Dorian's stomach in response to Chaol's desire to avoid speaking about magick. But he wasn't the only one with magick now—Celaena had it...and in abundance. He had awoken that morning, feeling happy and relieved for the first time in over a month. He could still feel her in his arms, hear the beat of her heart, and the smell of her hair...he could still taste her...
He looked down at the parchment, a blush rising to his cheeks as he remembered his gushing confession. Even if it had been just a dream, the fact that he would so willingly pour out everything in his heart was a bit embarrassing and humiliating. He was a prince—he wasn't supposed to be falling all over a woman like this! Especially with a dividing country, a war, and magick to deal with.
Dorian straightened himself, still trying to rid himself of morning grogginess. His eyes scanned the map before him, reading what was written in bold red ink. "We've taken all of the White Fang Mountains?" He narrowed his brows. "What's the economic advantage in that? I mean: there has to be a population of five-hundred for that region—what could my father see in it?"
Chaol nodded his head. "That's what I was wondering—it seems that your father is acquiring territories as fast as his army can conquer them...whether or not they're beneficial to Adarlan."
"Why, though? The White Fangs hardly have any people, and their only source of income is through their fur trade, which doesn't seem to be doing too well at the present moment...He's up to something." "I think that this may be a political tactic of his," Chaol said after a moment or two of silence as the two young men studied the map once more. "I think that with the ongoing war with Wendlyn—and the likelihood that it could fail—your father needs a way to reassure his council and his people that he is still as deadly and capable as he
was when he conquered the majority of this continent. He also needs to prove that to himself."
"And probably add as much territory as he can before I take the throne," Dorian added in darkly. Chaol gave him a weighing look. "You're...you're not going to continue your fathers unfinished work?"
Dorian leaned back in his chair, an arrogant look seeping across his features. "Of course not. By the time he finally dies, he'll probably have conquered the entire world—what work would I have to do then?" Chaol raised an eyebrow. Dorian shook his head. "My interests for my country lie elsewhere."
"Do you still have that piece of paper that the Minister of Trasien gave to you?" Chaol whispered, leaning forward across the broad table. So this was why Chaol had insisted on meeting with him!
Dorian nodded and put a hand into his pocket, where he had been hiding the cryptic information that the old man had given him. They had been trying to decipher the few words written on it for days, and it had always resulted in frustration and heavy drinking. There were two obvious words on it—two amongst a few others—but the connection between them, between any of them was utterly lost to the young men.
"I still can't make anything of it," he said quietly, glancing around his room to make sure that there were no stray ears to hear their words.
"Let me read it again," Chaol said and extended his hand. Dorian handed him the small piece of paper and sat back in his chair again, watching Chaol's face as he read what the minister had scribbled.
"At least he told us when to meet him next."
"He didn't say where. I hope he doesn't mean either of those two towns on there."
Chaol rubbed his eyes. "I doubt that he did. I have a feeling that he'll find us." They were silent again, and Dorian felt a familiar knot of worry clench his stomach. Things seemed to be happening so quickly...