A Court of Glass and Flames [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter Ten

Rowan

Rowan vomited into the toilet again. And again. And again. The cool porcelain of the toilet calmed his roiling mess of a mind, striking him deep in his centre.

Pregnant. Feyre was pregnant. As Lyria had been. His soft-spoken, lovely mate— who was not. He had left her there to be slaughtered. No one else. Him.

And... he had threatened Feyre. Sucked the air out of her lungs, and handled her roughly. What did she think of him? How had he not smelt it on her?

Feyre's screams still rang in his ears. The agony in her voice had been obvious. He stood up. There was no way he was going to sit here feeling sorry for himself. Aelin would have laughed herself hoarse to see him sulking.

He stalked out the room, smoothly shifting in a flash of light. No one noticed the hawk as it flew out of an open window, soaring into the distance.

                                     oOo

Dorian

Dorian struggled to remain composed as the ministers argued about rebuilding.

"We should start with the merchant docks, then move onto the estates." Minister Arban argued, spittle flying from his mouth. He restrained the urge to brush it from his tunic.

"The slums were hit the hardest, therefore we should worry about them first. Hundreds of families have been misplaced." Even as king, any plans for rebuilding needed to be approved by the ministers. Which was making rebuilding harder then it already was.

Just as Arban opened his mouth to undoubtedly strike down any opposition to his plans, a young messenger burst through the doors.

"Your Majesty, there is something you need to attend to. Immediately." Dorian tried not to look too relieved at being spared the boredom of debating with the Ministers. "Of course, right away" He rose, smoothing down his tunic. "Thank you for this meeting. We will continue this at a later date. Dorian strode to the double doors at the end on the Great Hall, the messenger scurrying after him.

Although the heavy wooden doors were firmly shut, Dorian still waited until they were at the end on the corridor to speak. Lest any unwanted listeners picked up on their conversation. "I'm sorry to be so, ah... secretive your Majesty, but the male who requested an audience with you wanted it to be kept private." It was the fear on the boys face when he mentioned the male, that made Dorian pause. The messenger could be faking, but his ashen skin and sweaty forehead said otherwise. Dorian nodded, and the boy sagged with relief.

"This way then, Majesty." The boy held the door open and Dorian swept through it, only to be met by a face he hadn't hoped to see anytime soon.

"I need your help Dorian." Then Rowan Whitethorn, King Consort of Terrasen, and fiercest purebred Fae warrior on this continent and others, fainted.

                                      oOo

Cassian

Celeana was a stupid, smirking excuse for a faerie. There was no other way to put it. The unbearable smugness on her face when she stood over him, sword at his throat... it had been hard not to rip out her own throat. Yet, beyond the arrogant, swaggering mask, there was a certain stillness. As if the sarcasm and arrogance were a shield between her and something she did not want to face.

Based on what Mor and Az had told Cassian, there were definitely some shadows in Celaena's past. And if she left them, let them fester and curdle, well... he had seen some very broken warriors in his lifetime.