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“I intercepted Chaol, and he informed me of your ‘condition.’ You’d think a man in his position wouldn’t be so squeamish, especially after examining all of those corpses.”
Calaena opened an eye and frowned as Dorian sat on her bed. “I’m in a state of absolute agony and I can’t be bothered.”
“It can’t be that bad,” he said, fishing a deck of cards from his jacket. “Want to play?”
“I already told you that I don’t feel well.”
“You look fine to me.” He skillfully shuffled the deck. “Just one game.”
“Don’t you pay people to entertain you?”
He glowered, breaking the deck. “You should be honored by my company.”
“I’d be honored if you would leave.”
“For someone who relies on my good graces, you’re very bold.”
“Bold? I’ve barely begun.” Lying on her side, she curled her knees to her chest.
He laughed, pocketing the deck of cards. “Your new canine companion is doing well, if you wish to know.”
She moaned into her pillow. “Go away. I feel like dying.”
“No fair maiden should die alone,” he said, putting a hand on hers. “Shall I read to you in your final moments? What story would you like?”
She snatched her hand back. “How about the story of the idiotic prince who won’t leave the assassin alone?”
“Oh! I love that story! It has such a happy ending, too—why, the assassin was really feigning her illness in order to get the prince’s attention! Who would have guessed it? Such a clever girl. And the bedroom scene is so lovely—it’s worth reading through all of their ceaseless banter!”
“Out! Out! Out! Leave me be and go womanize someone else!” She grabbed a book and chucked it at him.”
― Throne of Glass
Calaena opened an eye and frowned as Dorian sat on her bed. “I’m in a state of absolute agony and I can’t be bothered.”
“It can’t be that bad,” he said, fishing a deck of cards from his jacket. “Want to play?”
“I already told you that I don’t feel well.”
“You look fine to me.” He skillfully shuffled the deck. “Just one game.”
“Don’t you pay people to entertain you?”
He glowered, breaking the deck. “You should be honored by my company.”
“I’d be honored if you would leave.”
“For someone who relies on my good graces, you’re very bold.”
“Bold? I’ve barely begun.” Lying on her side, she curled her knees to her chest.
He laughed, pocketing the deck of cards. “Your new canine companion is doing well, if you wish to know.”
She moaned into her pillow. “Go away. I feel like dying.”
“No fair maiden should die alone,” he said, putting a hand on hers. “Shall I read to you in your final moments? What story would you like?”
She snatched her hand back. “How about the story of the idiotic prince who won’t leave the assassin alone?”
“Oh! I love that story! It has such a happy ending, too—why, the assassin was really feigning her illness in order to get the prince’s attention! Who would have guessed it? Such a clever girl. And the bedroom scene is so lovely—it’s worth reading through all of their ceaseless banter!”
“Out! Out! Out! Leave me be and go womanize someone else!” She grabbed a book and chucked it at him.”
― Throne of Glass
“It might have looked beautiful, had she not known what corruption and filth dwelt within it. And what monstrosity ruled over it all.”
― Throne of Glass
― Throne of Glass
“You might fight well, but your manners are a disgrace."
"I can act and talk like a lady, if it pleases me.”
― Throne of Glass
"I can act and talk like a lady, if it pleases me.”
― Throne of Glass
“No, he had to remember she was an assassin with the blessing of a pretty face and sharp wits. She washed her hands with blood, and was just as likely to slit his throat as offer him a kind word.”
― Throne of Glass
― Throne of Glass
“She faced Chaol. The wind ripped a few strands of hair from her braid, and she tucked them behind her ears.
“No matter what happens,” she said quietly, “I want to thank you.”
Chaol tilted his head to the side. “For what?” Her eyes stung, but she blamed it on the fierce wind and blinked away the dampness.
“For making my freedom mean something.” He didn’t say anything; he just took the fingers of her right hand and held them in his, his thumb brushing the ring she wore.
“Let the second duel commence,” the king boomed, waving a hand toward the veranda. Chaol squeezed her hand, his skin warm in the frigid air.
“Give him hell,” he said.”
―
“No matter what happens,” she said quietly, “I want to thank you.”
Chaol tilted his head to the side. “For what?” Her eyes stung, but she blamed it on the fierce wind and blinked away the dampness.
“For making my freedom mean something.” He didn’t say anything; he just took the fingers of her right hand and held them in his, his thumb brushing the ring she wore.
“Let the second duel commence,” the king boomed, waving a hand toward the veranda. Chaol squeezed her hand, his skin warm in the frigid air.
“Give him hell,” he said.”
―
Huynh-mai’s 2025 Year in Books
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