#celaenas wicked grin

[ohanthonytomallamadingdong]

ok so im finally reading Throne of Glass and…bruh

Celaena is amazing?? like she’s a badass assassin w a dark past and she kills people and has a wicked grin and regularly fantasizes about killing people who annoy her and can analyze the most gruesome murder scenes and fight inter-dimensional monsters-

but she’s also super feminine and loves pretty dresses and enjoys dressing up and looking good and actively enjoys parties and dances and jewelry and she gets really excited about candy bc she has a huge sweet tooth and she says sorry to the maids who have to clean up after her and she genuinely likes and respects Philippa and she protects her underdog competitors she loves dogs and respects kids and is like a really genuinely kind person-

and idk it’s just rlly nice to see a protagonist who is the epitome of a badass assassin warrior who is down to get her hands dirty and commit murder but who also blushes when she gets a crush on a pretty boy and makes friends wherever she goes

her teeth are red and you can’t always tell whether it’s from eating too much candy or ripping out throats and i respect that so much

[ae-neon]

Reading Throne of Glass (25-30)

Recap

Celaena has undergone a few Tests and while she's been able to maintain a middle place, she is beginning to worry about the difficulty of winning.

Her relationships with both Chaol and Dorian are progressing and Nehemia has insisted that she and Celaena meet up often to teach each other their languages.

She was excluded from the Samhuinn feast but found a secret tunnel in her room and followed it out to an escape route near the ocean. She chooses to stay and finish the competition to guarantee her freedom rather than run and be hated and hunted.

She returns to her room but...

Chapter 25

Celaena dreams she's back in the tunnels and takes a turn she avoided irl. She's lured along by the smell of roses which she's smelt irl in her room before. She's led to the tomb of some old king and queen.

There are wyrdmarks everywhere. Celaena figures out the tombs belong to Gavin and Elena the first king and queen of Ardalan from thousands of years ago. Elena was half Fae? (King Brannon's daughter, who is her mom, why is she half Fae will that matter?)

Elena Galathynius Havilliard. I see.

There's a legendary sword wielded by a human king who married an elf a Fae princess who was the daughter of an elf a Fae king of a forest kingdom.

The sword is called Damaris and hasn't rusted despite sitting there for a thousand years and it was used to slay the Dark Lord Erawan.

I feel some Tolkien inspo. Not a bad thing. Not even really an avoidable thing honestly. Just saying what I'm seeing.

The ghost of Elena tells Celaena that the gargoyles on the clock tower guard the portals between worlds (???)

“Something evil dwells in this castle, something wicked enough to make the stars quake. Its malice echoes into all worlds,” the queen went on. “You must stop it. Forget your friendships, forget your debts and oaths. Destroy it, before it is too late, before a portal is ripped open so wide that there can be no undoing it."

Elena gives Celaena an amulet for protection.

But—if there was a threat like that, then not only her life was at risk. And while she’d be more than happy if some dark force somehow destroyed Cain, Perrington, the king, and Kaltain Rompier, if Nehemia, or even Chaol and Dorian, were somehow harmed . . .

LEAVE KALTAIN ALONE YOU FUCKING PSYCHO??

Chapter 26

Another competitor is found dead. At this rate the competition should last half the time. The body was half eaten and Celaena jokes it was probably Cain.

She made herself grin at him. “Cain is the most likely candidate. You’re from Anielle—you should know more than anyone how they are in the White Fang Mountains.”

I get her not liking the man but her prejudice against these people is so wild???

After hearing the growls and inhuman sounds in her dream that wasn't a dream, she thinks whatever evil Elena was warning her about ate the dead competitor

She passes the body on her way to the library. Most of the organs are gone and someone had written wyrdmarks in blood on the wall.

Dorian and Chaol are sparring, they go back and forth about finding each other visiting Celaena's room in the middle of the night.

“Any word from your father?” Chaol asked in a voice that indicated he knew something was amiss. “I wonder where he went off to.”

Seeing as how Chaol supposedly sent word to the king, you'd think he knew 😑

Dorian’s blood went a bit cold. “You think they’ll try to kill Celaena?”

“I added some extra guards around her rooms.” “To protect her, or to keep her in?” (...) “What difference does it make?” Chaol said quietly. “You don’t seem to care either way. You’ll visit her no matter what I say, and the guards won’t stop you because you’re the prince.” There was something so defeated, so bitter, underlying the captain’s words that Dorian, for a heartbeat, felt badly.

Ouch. Poor Chaol.

Chapter 27

Late that afternoon, Celaena stared at the ebony clock tower. It grew darker and darker, as if it somehow absorbed the sun’s dying rays. On top of it, the gargoyles remained stationary. They hadn’t moved. Not even a finger. The Guardians, Elena had called them. But Guardians to what?

To the portals??

Nehemia warns Celaena to leave the wyrdmarks alone

Yulemas and the final duel are two months away

Does that mean Eyllwe is near the equator? If there's not snow in Eyllwe why is there snow in Ardalan? That the very least it should be quite hot in Ardalan most of the time, they literally border each other.

“Smeared?” Nehemia said, her voice dropping into a hush. “Not splattered?” SJM makes a point that Celaena isn't fluent in Eyllwe but this level of word use is expert??

Celaena and Nehemia get confronted by Cain, he reveals he knows everything about who Celaena is though Nehemia doesn't understand because it's in the common tongue. Nehemia looks out for Celaena and they walk away without making a scene.

Later, Chaol and Dorian are watching Celaena train. Dorian gets jealous of Celaena being close with Nox Owen.

Days later Celaena and Chaol are in the library and she's looking for information on the wyrdmarks

“No. Yes. It’s interesting: some theories suggest the Mother Goddess is just a spirit from one of these other worlds, and that she strayed through something called a Wyrdgate and found Erilea in need of form and life.”

(...)

“There’s an idea that before the Goddess arrived, there was life—an ancient civilization, but somehow, they disappeared. Perhaps through that Wyrdgate thing. Ruins exist—ruins too old to be of Fae making.”

Is this the same Mother of the acotar universe? Did she just go around creating worlds and starting religions?

Shouldn't Chaol be investigating the gruesome serial murders happening in the castle rather than guarding Celaena in the library?? Almost like he's the Captain of the Royal Guard or something

[wyrdgates] were both real and invisible things. Humans could not see them, but they could be summoned and accessed using the Wyrdmarks. They opened into other realms, some of them good, some of them bad. Things could come through from the other side and slither into Erilea.

Maybe the clock tower is a marker for a gate or something

It was a large black volume entitled The Walking Dead in tarnished silver letters. Lolol what the heck is this

Celaena reads from the black book that smells like soil and is giving her chills and spooky stuff starts to happen. She's hearing things. I like these horror elements and I wish sjm would lean into it

There was a scraping noise somewhere beneath her feet—close, as if someone were running a fingernail along the ceiling below. Celaena slammed the book shut and stepped away from the table. The hair on her arms rose, and she almost stumbled into the nearest table as she waited for something—a hand; a wing; a gaping, fanged mouth—to appear and grab her.

It was ...Chaol trying to ...scare her? Um what??

Chapter 28

Celaena is trying to play pool and failing and Dorian manages to sneak up on her again. One might think he was the world's greatest assassin.

Dorian is great at pool and Celaena isn't, I see where this is going.

Though it was the oldest and most shameless trick in the book, he reached over her and put his hand on top of the one that gripped the cue. He then positioned the fingers of her other hand on the wood before lightly gripping her wrist. To Dorian’s dismay, his face became warm. His eyes shifted to her, and, to his relief, he found that she was as red as he, if not more so.

After that we get a montage of them playing pool, eating cake and chatting the night away.

I get what sjm is doing, page time is limited - or at least it once was before everyone and their mom started publishing 800 page tomes of fantasy romance - but this isn't actually showing, it's telling.

We see Celaena's connection to Chaol, we can track the changes and levels of intimacy in their conversations from one to the next but again with Dorian it's a lot of "trust me" writing.

It's better from Dorian's pov because he notes things about her and genuinely wants to know more. But Celaena's pov is just "wow, Dorian is hot, wanna kiss him"

Chapter 29

Another Test, essentially just duels.

Context; Some random makes a remark about Celaena and Nox Owen defends her and it starts a little scuffle

Pelor, who had been lingering nearby, retreated a few steps. Smart move.

Added this just to highlight my fave. Pelor for the win.

Celaena loses her temper and absolutely owns the random dude in a spar without unsheathing her sword.

Kaltain Rompier POV

Across the castle, Kaltain Rompier clapped lightly as a troupe of acrobats finished their tumbling. The performance had stopped at last. She didn’t feel inclined to watch peasants bouncing about in bright colors for hours, but Queen Georgina enjoyed it, and had invited her to sit beside the throne today.

What if I told you Kaltain was against the exploitation of the working class lol

Kaltain is being bewitched. She suffers insane nightmares and migraines and swears she hears a voice in her head.

Kaltain and Georgina gossiping, I love them

“What a pity. I had hoped that you of all people would know. You’re such a clever girl, Kaltain.” “Thank you, Your Majesty. You are too kind.” “Nonsense. I’m an excellent judge of character; I knew how extraordinary you were the moment you entered the court.

Exactlyyy

Kaltain manages to get it out of Georgina that the Queen thinks Kaltain's beauty and wealth more than make up her lack in status - enough to even earn her approval to aim for Dorian.

Chapter 30

“You’re not focusing.” “Yes, I am!” Celaena said through her teeth, pulling the bowstring back even farther. “Then go ahead,” Chaol said, pointing to a distant target along the far wall of the abandoned hallway. An outrageous distance for anyone—except her. “Let’s see you make that.” She rolled her eyes and straightened her spine a bit. The bowstring quivered in her hand, and she lifted the tip of her arrow slightly. “You’re going to hit the left wall,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m going to hit you in the head if you don’t shut up.” She turned her head to meet his gaze. His brows rose, and, still staring at him, she smiled wickedly as she blindly fired the arrow. The whiz of the arrow’s flight filled the stone hallway before the faint, dull thud of impact. But they remained gazing at each other.

See how different the Chaol x Celaena moments are? The reader is allowed to feel the chemistry for themselves.

It's suddenly 3 weeks since the last competitor's murder so a little over one month left until Yulemas and the final duel

Celaena tells Chaol that Cain knows who she is but they are interrupted to be told another body has been found. It's the random guy that she beat in the sparring Test.

At the crime scene Celaena turns into Sherlock Holmes despite her job not requiring this level of skill and Chaol turns into someone born yesterday with no deductive reasoning despite having been the lead investigator for all murders up until now.

we love breaking the worldbuilding to make our self-insert character look cool

Later, Dorian catches her unaware for the third time. He might as well be his dad's Champion

"(...) But what a miserable day it was! The pups are mutts, and—” He put his head in his hands. “Pups?” “One of my bitches gave birth to a litter of mongrels. Before, they were too young to tell. But now . . . Well, I’d hoped for purebreds.” “Are we speaking of dogs or of women?” “Which would you prefer?” He gave her an impish grin.

...

Celaena's connection to music is further reinforcing the idea that Rhysand is the main character in acotar. SJM cannot help her self-centred writing and I think that slipped from one favourite to the next.

Also makes me think about Dorian as her endgame the way Feyre is Rhysand's.

This is one of the best Dorian and Celaena moments so far. He genuinely wants to know more about her but Celaena has so many secrets she's keeping not from him but from herself - she's locked her past away and she's terrified of opening that box.

He looked at the window and the snow that swirled beyond. “I’m not married,” he said softly, “because I can’t stomach the idea of marrying a woman inferior to me in mind and spirit. It would mean the death of my soul.”

Dorian, you're pretty and I like you but you're on thin fucking ice. Again, Rhysand is just Dorian in a black tunic. The whole "my equal thing" is exhibit E

Celaena drags him for it as she should but not for viewing other women as inferior to him obviously because she's sjm...

You deserve to be laughed at for such foolish thoughts! I spoke from my soul; you speak only from selfishness.” (Celaena) “You’re remarkably judgmental.” (Dorian) “What’s the point in having a mind if you don’t use it to make judgments?” (Celaena) “What’s the point in having a heart if you don’t use it to spare others from the harsh judgments of your mind?” (Dorian) “Oh, well said, Your Highness!” He stared at her sullenly. “Come now. I didn’t wound you that severely.” (Celaena) “You’ve attempted to ruin my dreams and ideals. I get enough from my mother as it is. You’re just being cruel.” (Dorian) “I’m being practical. There’s a difference. And you’re the Crown Prince of Adarlan. You’re in a position where it’s possible for you to change Erilea for the better. You could help create a world where true love isn’t needed to secure a happy ending.” (Celaena)

Nice exchange, good dialogue.

He looked at his hand, still touching hers. “Where did you get that ring?” She contracted her hand into a fist as she pulled it away from him. The amethyst in her ring glowed in the firelight. “It was a gift.” “From whom?” “That’s none of your concern.” He shrugged, though she knew better than to tell him who’d really given it to her—rather, she knew Chaol wouldn’t want Dorian to know. “I’d like to know who’s been giving rings to my Champion.” The way the collar of his black jacket lay across his neck made her unable to sit still. She wanted to touch him, to trace the line between his tan skin and the golden lining of the fabric.

Hahaha, why did we ever get rid of love triangles? I'm kinda enjoying this

Skip to another day and Chaol is watching Duke Perrington and noting the weird expressions that pass over his face every now and then.

Perrington’s eyes fell upon the black ring on his left hand and darkened, as if his pupils had expanded to encompass all of each eye. Then it was gone—his eyes returned to normal. Chaol looked to Kaltain. Had she noticed the odd change?

He later thinks Perrington was watching him right back.

----

Overall still okay with little peaks and dips here and there.

Already rewrite ideas begin to fill my mind about how the core 4 could have been better set up but I'll leave stuff like that for after I've finished this first book at least.

[jinxcdd]

‘ did you throw a rock through my fucking window? ’ LOL

@littlequeens

The night was still, a rare calm hanging over Rifthold. The moonlight painted long shadows across the cobblestones as Jinx crouched on the rooftop, her heart racing. Jinx could see the shattered glass glinting in the moonlight, the remnants of the rock she had hurled through the window. A wicked grin tugged at her lips.

This was going to be fun.

Jinx watched as Celaena Sardothien, the infamous Adarlan’s Assassin, storm towards the broken window. Her voice, usually smooth and controlled, was tinged with fury as she demanded, "Did you throw a rock through my fucking window?"

Jinx stifled a giggle, her fingers drumming against the cool metal of her weapon. "How else was I gonna get yer attention? They said you were smart" she taunted from the shadows before jumping down into the alley below and into the light.

“You should see the look on your face, Cel,” She hummed, using the nickname as if they were old friends. Jinx had a feeling that it would irk her, “It’s priceless.” Twirling her dagger between her fingers, Jinx continued calling up to her, “So, I hear yer the best. But I’m not convinced. Thought I’d see for myself.”

[leiawritesstories]

trick or treat!

treat! one day late hahaha, thanks to college eating up all my time

I'm going to ramble for a bit about Until Proven Guilty, because it punched through my writer's block recently and it's my current hyperfixation 🙃

Anyway, if you like the idea of Aelin being involved in some shaaaady things and Rowan being the man investigating her crimes, this is the fic for you!! I read the Mindf*ck series by S. T. Abby a couple of weeks ago (for the first time!) and got some ideas and now things might get....a little more violent......or a lot....

The whole idea behind this AU is that I love the Celaena side of Aelin and wanted to explore that character, so this little thing was born, and it's gone in some truly unexpected directions recently. I've just plotted out the next chapter, and it involves a little twist that even I didn't see coming until Frederick the angst monster popped his wicked head in and said "hey, what if we [REDACTED]"

and i said YES

spoiler-free snippet below:

Her fist smashed into his smug little grin with an immensely satisfying crunch. "Take that, you sleazy bastard," she growled.

[CENSORED] screeched, pressed his hands into his rapidly swelling face, and moaned pitifully. "You bit--"

She kneed him in the groin, and when he doubled over, whimpering, she slammed her knee into the side of his head. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. She and [CENSORED] maneuvered his limp, unresisting body into the shadows of the alley and left him there.

"No, Aelin, you can't kill him yet," [CENSORED] reminded her.

Aelin sighed dramatically. "But it's my birthday!"

[thechaotic-simp]

Levi stood and gave him a wicked grin. “Are they?” He nodded behind him where celaena’s form had been laying at his feet, now encased in shadow.

“There goes your leverage.” Levi waved a finger and her body disappeared.

[highqueenofelfhame]

fafs - twenty

A/n: Sorry for the delay! This chapter was just too important to rush. If you wanna set the mood, listen to simmer by hayley williams. Also a super special shout out to katie for basically becoming my beta and making my writing better!!

Aelin had a ritual for a normal job.

In the days leading up to a job, she would perfect her cover, altering her appearance enough that she wasn’t so easily recognizable. Brown contacts would disguise the blue and gold of her eyes. Sometimes she would dye her golden hair red or brown, forgoing the heat of a wig, and spend weeks following the hit annoyed she had done it.

Sometimes she even used special effects products to craft scars on her face, or to give her nose an entirely different shape than what it was. She perfected walking with a convincing limp, mastered several accents that were so wildly different from her own, and could blend in seamlessly with any crowd from the seedy underbelly of the city all the way to the intricate court of esteemed royalty. Celaena Sardothien was a chameleon, a whisper on the wind that could vanish just as soon as she appeared.

Before a hit, Aelin would spend hours playing music loudly enough for it to reverberate through the walls of her apartment.  The music was the same each time - a symphony of songs that rose in tempo and volume so that by the time she was dressed, she was bouncing on her toes and ready for what may come.

She would have sharpened her weapons in time with the melody. She would have pulled on her suit in a methodical way, zipping up the back as a song came to a climax. A slow grin would have spread across her lips as her playlist progressed, her adrenaline pumping,  unable to stop from jumping in place.

But this was not a normal job. Aelin hadn’t taken care when pulling on her suit, her body littered with small cuts and scrapes from the hidden weapons all over.  She  hadn’t even cared to alter her appearance for this foray into the underworld. Aelin hadn’t even bothered with a mask. She wanted them all to know who it was that ended their miserable lives. She wanted them to feel the wrath of the queen of assassins descending upon them. Most of all, she wanted them to see the raging inferno burning in the golden iris of her eyes while they took their last, shuddering breaths.

There would be no music for her this time.The only song she could hear in her head was the relentless pounding of  the volatile rage that rushed through her veins . The rage that had always lay in wait, a predator ready to strike at any given moment, and now, was poised to make its first attack. It was a song about finding a line between wrath and mercy— a line that she always toed, but could not find herself anywhere near, not today. Not where Rowan was concerned.

So instead of her usual ritual, she had settled into what was undoubtedly the numbest and most chilling killing calm she had ever felt. Nothing could pierce the veil she had around her as she prepared to make her move. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart. All she could see was red.

Squatting on a rooftop, Aelin’s eyes narrowed on a window across the alley. Nox knelt beside her, flipping a knife between his fingers while they both mapped out what lay before them. With no one knowing that he was in close contact with Aelin, Nox was able to slither through the underground network of assassins and black market dealings to figure out who had Rowan and where he was being kept.

All roads lead to Arobynn Hammel— something that didn’t surprise Aelin in the slightest. He had killed Sam first and made a point to slaughter everyone she had ever loved. Now he was trying to take Rowan from her, too. He should have known better. If anyone knew about her deadly precision and taste for revenge, it was Arobynn. He knew she would come for him. He knew it would rain blood when she did.

Bright blue eyes scanned the building she watched, looking for any sign of anyone being near any of the windows. Nox pocketed his knife and rested his forearms against his knees. Like Aelin, he was poised on his toes with alert eyes roving over the streets below. Fortunately they were hidden well enough in the shadows as the sun sank below the horizon behind them.

“What’s your plan? Are you going to call your contacts?” Aelin turned his question over in her mind, knowing full well that she should call Fenrys and give them a full report of the situation. She knew they would come in and Rowan would be safe. Aelin would be free of any damning action that could potentially send her back to prison.

But if she did call, the scum that had taken Rowan from her were likely to live another day. Some of them would slither back into the underworld, some of them would end up in prison. The imprisoned ones might end up out on the streets again due to technicalities, or successful escapes, though that was a slim possibility. She needed to get inside that building before the FBI checked her anklet and found out she wasn’t at the apartment where she was supposed to be.

“No,” she finally said, tapping her thumb against her knee. No, she wouldn’t call. No, she wouldn’t leave this up to fate. Everyone in that building was going to pay for their crimes. Today, she was the judge, jury, and executioner. Aelin Galathynius was a vengeful god, one with fire flowing through her veins. She would not stop until everyone had paid for what they’d done.

The wind blew a loose strand of hair across her face as she stood, the bite of the breeze keeping her focused on the task at hand. She brought her foot up to rest on the ledge of the roof, eyes narrowing in on the four-paned window across the way. There was a shadow several paces deep, likely someone paroling the room— waiting on her. She couldn’t see through the rest of the windows well enough, but there was no movement detected. Aelin pursed her lips, gaze dropping down the side of the gray wall before she looked over at Nox.

“You should leave. You don’t need to be here when they come,” she told him absently, licking her lips as she stepped up onto the ledge.

“Celaena—” The look she gave him cut him off; whatever he saw in her face, her eyes had him nodding once. A cruel, twisted smile curled at her lips as the wind whipped at her face ferociously. Aelin stepped fully onto the ledge, giving the alley below a final once over before she tipped her head back and inhaled deeply.

And then she jumped.

~*~

It had been a long while since Aelin had performed a free-fall through a window. She had almost forgotten what rolling over shattered glass could do, bits stabbing through her arms and sides. The momentum had her slamming into a metal post that she had mistaken as a person. It knocked the wind completely out of her, and she had to take a few extra seconds to gasp down several lungfuls of air before she could roll to her feet.

But it was one hell of an entrance— one that would send a signal to everyone below that death was raining down upon them. The knowledge sent a shock of adrenaline through her body just as footsteps had begun to scuffle down the hall.

Two voices were speaking in hushed tones. By the time the heavy, metal door was pulled open with a discordant squeak that made her cringe, Aelin had effectively disappeared into the shadows. The whispers died off as their boots crunched over broken glass. One of the men swore, his voice entirely unfamiliar to Aelin. Peering through the shelving unit she hid behind, neither of them looked like anyone she’d ever come in contact with.

Good. It would make killing them easier.

From the little cave she had backed herself into, she watched them exchange uneasy glances. Their heads turned, trying to figure out where she’d disappeared to in the sixty-seconds it had taken them to respond to a silent alarm she’d likely sounded. The two men didn’t speak while they looked around the room, unable to see her where she’d crouched down. All she could see now was their feet shuffling across the floor, making their way back toward the exit.

This, she was sure, was supposed to be a trap. Something that was supposed to make her feel at ease that they didn’t believe she was here, that they’d found nothing but a broken window. They would pretend to leave, either one or both, and then they’d be waiting for her when she thought she had the freedom to slip from the room. Clearly, these two morons did not quite know the ocean of rage that she was drowning in. They were unaware of exactly who stalked her prey like a lioness hunting for dinner.

Aelin thought about waiting, thought about letting them think they were going to leave this room alive. But she remembered that Rowan was in here somewhere, likely incapacitated in some way, and she decided she didn’t care. What was the point in giving  them false hope when they’d taken every bit of hope she’d ever had? No. They didn’t deserve the hope of living another day. They deserved to die like the rest: eyes wide and gaping, piss staining their thighs, and blood pooling beneath them.

She struck so quickly, that one fell before the other could pull a weapon and turn it on her. It was so easy, too easy. It was almost disappointing, the way they hit the ground with heavy thuds. Blood bubbled from their necks while they choked, eyes wide and fingers clawing at their skin.

“Didn’t anyone ever warn you about the monsters that lurk in the dark?” She asked, kneeling beside them with her arms draped over her knees. She spoke to them the way a mother might comfort her children after they’d woken from a nightmare. Except this was the last nightmare they would ever have, and it was a vivid reality. Aelin’s lips curved into a wicked grin, the palm of her gloved hand patting the cheek of the man that laid nearest to her. The other merely got a nudge of her boot before she left the room, not bothering to shut the door behind her.

Aelin paused outside of the door, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of her cloak. To remain as silent as possible, she tossed it back into the room behind her. One man had stopped breathing, the other was still gasping and gurgling blood in the back of his throat. She didn’t care. She hoped he was still alive when his comrades found him, hoped he would try to gasp her name between breaths.

The only other thing Aelin wanted out of this mission, besides Rowan safe and in her arms, it was that they all knew who it was they’d chosen to fuck with. It was that they all paced with the anticipation of angering the most vindictive god they could imagine.

Her walk down the hallway was silent.  Arobynn had once told her that he only heard her coming when she wanted him to. Even now, there had been several moments in Rowan’s apartment where she’d snuck up on him accidentally, making him startle when she seemed to appear out of thin air. Her favorite pastime at the bureau was giving Lorcan a good shock to his system. It was better than her morning coffee.

It almost made her smile, but the doom and gloom of the day pulled her lips back down. She wasn’t so sure she would be able to walk out of this situation without her hands cuffed behind her back. It would be worth it, she knew. Getting carted off to prison again with Rowan safe and sound was better than the alternative. Any reality where he was safe and alive was better than one where he was cold and dead— even if it meant she spent the rest of her life behind bars. It was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make, one she was ready to take.

The building was old, and everything inside was damp and rusted. It was located where the Avery emptied into the Great Ocean, not too far from the import docks. When they’d been on the roof of the neighboring building, Aelin and Nox had been able to see large import ships unloading their freight with massive cranes. It was a relatively empty part of town, save for the people that worked on the ships. The block this building was on was particularly empty with no foot traffic on the sidewalks. There had been no prying eyes to think anything of the assassin and the thief perched on the rooftop.

The lower she crept into the building, toward the basement where she knew Arobynn liked to keep his prisoners, the air got thicker. Mustier. Harder to breathe. The heavy scent of mildew settled in her lungs, making her lip curl in disgust. It was getting darker, too, the light dim enough that had she not heard someone sneaking her way, she wouldn’t have seen them. Thankfully, there was a quiet squelching of boots at the far end of the hall that gave her enough of a heads up to keep her assailant from getting the drop on her.

So few opponents had ever been a true challenge. At her best, Ansel had been one of the few to really challenge her. Today, though, nobody would be able to go up against her and win. It was that simple. There was too much at stake. Losing a fight with Rowan Whitethorn’s life on the line was non-negotiable.

“I’m feeling generous,” she called out, leaning against the wall between two doors. Her tongue ran over her teeth as the footsteps faltered. The gait was heavy and unfamiliar, but she assumed it would be a male judging by the very faint outline of the body she could see. “If you tell me where Rowan Whitethorn is, I’ll consider letting you live.”

“Are you the witch Arobynn keeps ranting about?” Indeed, the voice had a low, scratchy timbre. Still unfamiliar, but he did confirm that Arobynn was at the head of this. What an idiot.

“Is that what he’s calling me now? A witch?”

“Maybe he said bitch,” the man replied, a chuckle rusty as the pipes in this building falling from his lips. “Either way, he said you didn’t like to get your hands dirty.”

“Must be someone else then.” Since when did she not like to get her hands dirty? It almost made her frown, the complete mischaracterization of her. “Where is he.”

“Arobynn?”

“Or the agent. I’ll find them both either way,” she drawled, flicking her wrist in a smooth motion that had a dagger sliding down into her palm. Aelin flipped the blade in her hand, catching it by the tip and readying herself to send it flying toward her target. By now, her eyes had adjusted to the dark. She could see the man about halfway down the hall, roughly six feet tall with a similar build to what Chaol had been. None of his features were decipherable, but it didn’t matter. In a few seconds time he would have a stunning new accessory through his chest.

“You’ll be dead before you do,” the man taunted, and a delighted, bright laugh exploded from her lips.

“Then you definitely don’t know who I am.” Her words took on a sickly sweet tone as she released the first dagger, sending it hurtling down the hall until it struck home. He was close enough by then that the sound of dagger piercing flesh was the sweet music she would have used during her pre-job ritual. Her latest victim staggered back as she threw a second dagger with her left hand, letting it nail him in his neck. A howl of pain, the climax in her impromptu concert, shook the building as he tripped over his own feet and hit the ground, the crack of his skull a final note to a very short symphony.

~*~

Between four floors, Aelin killed eleven men. None of them were skilled enough with their weapons to be anything more than half rate mercenaries. If she had to guess, Arobynn wanted it to look like he had more bodies than he really did. All of his good assassins were dead, likely at his own hand in the rage of her capture.

Everyone she’d come in contact today suffered. None of them were getting off easy. Her suit was damp in several places, her skin sticky with their blood. Few of them gave her any real information. The last guy she killed had shakily exclaimed that Rowan was in the basement as he soiled himself, the stench of urine proof of his fear. And then she had sliced through his body so many times he’d passed out from the shock and pain before death had claimed him.

It almost scared her how little she felt while she dug her blades into his bones. There was nothing but the crystal clarity that she would walk backwards into hell and take the crown from Hellas himself before she let anyone take Rowan away from her. Her throne would be built of bones, rivers of blood would flow at her feet.

It should have at least startled her, the cold depravity. None of her jobs had ever held such cruel calculation, none of them had ever been more than a paycheck. But she supposed that as soon as Sam had been shot right in front of her, she’d fallen down a slippery slope into a dark and twisted wonderland that she would have never escaped, if it hadn’t been for Rowan. And maybe she wouldn’t come back from this, but at least Rowan would be safe.

The sentiment of his safety ricocheted in her skull as she yanked the last door between her and her love open. It didn’t matter that it squealed so loud it made her ears ache, that she may as well have set off a warning bell to alert Arobynn of her arrival.

The rusted iron door gave way to an unlit alcove with a set of metal stairs that looked precarious enough she was skeptical about them holding her weight. It had been dark everywhere else in shit hole she was carefully navigating, but down here it was even worse. The only light she could see seemed to be coming from somewhere far enough away that it barely illuminated the stairs. If the dark wasn’t perhaps her closest companion, if she was unaware of how to use all her senses to slip through the shadows, Aelin likely would have taken an untimely tumble all the way down to the floor.

Much to her surprise the room seemed mostly empty. There were several wooden crates stacked in the far corner where a green-ish light cast an eerie glow throughout the space. Somewhere, something was dripping from the walls or ceiling. Aelin headed for the crates after pausing to pull new daggers from her boots, her grip tightening around the handle at the prospect of not finding Rowan— or finding him beyond her help.

“I’ve been expecting you,” a voice said, echoing in the damp chamber. Her blood heated immediately, flame sparking in her veins at the sound of Arobynn Hammel’s voice. She squeezed the hilt of her dagger as she rounded the corner, eyes immediately going to the red-haired bastard.

“I’d say you weren’t fully prepared because you didn’t have nearly enough men to keep you safe, Arobynn,” she drawled, giving her knife a loose twirl between her fingers. It was interesting, the way he looked at her like he was seeing a ghost. While he gaped, Aelin shifted her gaze to the left, over to a corner where she finally found him.

Rowan. He was slumped forward in his chair, head hanging at such an odd angle she knew he was unconscious. Blood was dried beneath his nose and at his temple but that was all the visible blood she could see. His usually shiny shoes were scuffed and his jacket was pulling tight over his arms and shoulders. Blue nautical rope had him tightly bound to the arms  and legs of the chair, and even from where she stood she could tell his watch was cutting into his skin uncomfortably.

But his chest was still rising and falling while he breathed and, for the most part, he seemed unharmed. Still, she didn’t let the relief flood her body. She didn’t dare give herself an inch over to the other side of that line she toed. There would be no mercy from her today.

“Celaena? Are you ready to come home at last, or have you come to exact your revenge on Agent Whitethorn for locking you up?”

“I’m here to take back what is mine and ensure that you never slither out of your little hole to see the daylight ever again. You know why I’m here.”

“I thought you were in prison,” he rebutted, pushing out of his seat and daring to pace toward her. Aelin cocked her head, appraising the man that had raised her, trained her, made her into a weapon through pain and sorrow. She felt nothing but rage.

“That is bullshit, and you know it.”

“You are not the person I was expecting to see when I took Rowan Whitethorn this afternoon, I can assure you. Why are you here, Celaena? How did you get out?”

It was tricky, dealing with someone so slippery. Workingwith Arobynn always felt greasy, felt like trying to wrangle an eel out of the ocean. If you weren’t careful he would slip through your fingers and disappear into the cracks of the world. To the untrained ear, he sounded genuine. But Arobynn lied, and lied well. He clawed his way to the top of the black market empire, twisting words and half-truths, cunning and vicious. He would always take, and take, and take. While there were many faces he had worn around her, the face of truth was one that he seldom donned. Never did he give an inch. It was where Aelin herself had learned to be so ruthless.

“Why am I here? We can start with Sam, talk about Lysandra, Ansel, Wesley,” her blue eyes flashed up to his face where his stormy gray eyes stayed fixed on her. “We can end with Dorian, and Nehemia, and Chaol, and Aedion. And then I will kill you for trying to take Rowan from me, too.”

There were names she hadn’t listed that still mattered but not quite as much. Her voice had broken over Aedion and Rowan’s names, those thoughts still too fresh in her mind to hold at bay. She hated that she was showing so much emotion to him, yet it was fear that flickered in his gaze at the rage that seeped into every syllable.

“I will take responsibility for Sam. I will take responsibility for taking Agent Whitethorn.” Arobynn paused, his eyes tracing over her features like he was stripping her bare, seeing her heart on her sleeve. Something like amusement twisted his lips into a tight smirk as he looked over his shoulder where Rowan was still unconscious. “The others, I had nothing to do with. Actually, if I didn’t know you so well I would have assumed you broke out and had gone on a little spree of your own.”

“I didn’t touch them,” she hissed.

“I know. Everything about those killings was messy. You haven’t been messy since you were fifteen. Tell me, Celaena, what is it that you’re here to take revenge for?”

“I already told you—“

“Sam was killed because he was going to cross me. I wasn’t going to harm a hair on your head. As for Agent Whitethorn…” Arobynn laughed, dry and twisted as he raked his fingers through his hair. “How did you manage to form such an attachment to the man? Were you not stalking him through the city for months leading up to your arrest?”

“My arrest that you played a significant part in? It was a setup. You know it. I know it. You wanted me dead so that I wouldn’t be a problem after you put that hit out on Sam.”

“I beat them senseless for what they did to you that day,” Arobynn said, his voice like that of a lover as his fingers moved to caress her cheek. Aelin brought a dagger up to the inside of his wrist, positioned the other at the hollow of his throat before he could touch her skin. His hand dropped and slipped back into his pocket.

“I don’t believe you.” And she didn’t. It was a half-truth from him at best. Maybe he had punished them to some degree for trying to end her life that way if he didn’t tell them to do it directly, but she doubted it was any large effort. Or maybe that was why they’d wound up dead. Still, it didn’t matter. He’d taken enough from her.

“Why would I lie to you? What do I have to gain from it? I’ve openly admitted to killing Sam and taking your agent. If I was going to lie, wouldn’t I have started with Sam? I was not expecting you to walk down those stairs, Celaena.” Arobynn’s keys jingled in his pocket when he removed his hand to point toward the stairs. Aelin shook her head, licked her lips and tasted the metallic tang of blood. That didn’t make any sense.

“Stop talking.” It was too much. The sound of his voice, the almond scent that tickled her nose from his close proximity. Arobynn had ruined her life in a thousand ways, had spent the majority of her life manipulating her, and this was no different. Anything he said now were lies so potent she could almost taste them.

“I know you may think me to be your enemy, but I love you. I care for you. Surely you must know that.”

There was a single part of her emotions that she kept under lock and key. Inside that room in her head, there was some part of her that cared for him, too. When her parents were murdered and he’d taken her in, Arobynn had become the only parental figure she would ever truly know. Memories about her parents were few and far between, most of them hazy.

She didn’t remember what they looked like without looking at a photo. Their voices had been lost to time and her memory. There were plenty of interviews of them on the internet, but she refused to indulge herself. It was too haunting to think of them somehow knowing that she was who she was. That, maybe, if she watched those old videos, they would be able to see the blood covering her hands.

Arobynn, though, knew her. He had made her, forged her himself. Everything she knew, he had taught her. There had been moments throughout her life where she thought that, perhaps, he did care. Moments where she had looked up at him and wondered if this was what it was like to have a father. There were days before her training that he’d brushed her hair in front of the fire and read her stories. Some nights he had tucked her into bed and had servants wake her with breakfast.

Then there were the moments where he’d beaten her until she couldn’t push herself off the floor. Moments where he’d broken her hand, her fingers, so that she could use her left hand as well as her right. Moments where he’d seared her skin with a white-hot poker and told her that it would make her stronger to endure the pain. Those were the moments that played over in her mind now. All the pain and trauma he had inflicted upon her rising to the surface, her blood piping hot beneath her skin.

His lips were moving, mouthing that he loved her, that he wasn’t lying to her, but she couldn’t hear a thing. People that loved you didn’t intentionally hurt you. They didn’t beat you within an inch of your life and leave you to suffer through it. They didn’t kill the people you cared about. They didn’t go to such lengths to ensure that you were alone and isolated for the rest of your miserable existence.

“Celaena,” Arobynn said, his hand moving to rest on her shoulder. But the tether keeping her from flying into the void snapped, his use of that name the last nail in his coffin. There was hardly time for her to process the movements of her body, the muscle memory taking over as she drove the dagger between his fourth and fifth ribs.

Arobynn had the audacity to laugh, the sound of disbelief falling heavily from his lips as his hand curled around her shoulder. Aelin didn’t falter, only shoved harder as he staggered backward and collapsed on the floor. Still, he laughed, tears lining his silver eyes that silently began to stream down his temples.

“You have… always just been… a pawn.” Each word was more breathless than the last as they tumbled from his mouth. Despite the gloves she wore, her hands were warm. Blood was seeping through her suit, pulsing into the cracks where her skin was exposed. “It will not… end with… me.”

Aelin’s brow furrowed, torn between wanting questions answered and the overcoming desire to twist the knife further to make him stop talking. It was all he ever did. Lie after lie building doubts in her mind until she questioned her sanity. It was what he was good at.

The knife won out. Her wrist twisted sharply, blade dragging over bone in a reverberation she felt down to her toes. Arobynn’s eyes widened in shock and she knew the pain was not a subtle feeling. Gray eyes scanned her face, a ghost of a smile that would haunt her nightmares pulling at his lips. Aelin gritted her teeth as he took a final, shuddering breath.

She wasn’t sure what she felt as the light faded from his eyes and they went completely glassy. All she knew was that it wasn’t quite relief.

[celaenas-wicked-grin]

“A court of gays and cliches. come on i’m doing better than Sarah already!”

- The Boyfriend, who is essentially a book snob and loves taking the piss out of my taste. He’s kinda hot tho so its fine. ish... ;)

[acourtofcouture]

An Insider’s Guide to Throne of Glass: Chaol’s Yulemas Gift to Celaena, 2/?

“So,” he said, flicking her nose, “how long have you wanted-”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Captain Westfall. And I won’t tell you until you tell me.”

He flicked her nose again, and she batted away his fingers. He caught her hand in his, holding it up so he could look at her amethyst ring- the ring she never took off, not even to bathe. “The Yulemas ball. Maybe earlier. Maybe even Samhuinn, when I brought you this ring. But Yulemas was the first time I realized I didn’t like the idea of you with- with someone else.” He kissed the tips of her fingers. “Your turn.”

“I’m not telling you,” she said. Because she had no idea; she was still figuring out when it had happened, exactly. It somehow felt as if it had always been Chaol, even from the very beginning, even before they’d ever met. He began to protest, but she pulled him back down on top of her. “And that’s enough talking. I might be tired, but there are still plenty of things to do instead of going for a run.”

The grin Chaol gave her was hungry and wicked enough that she shrieked when he yanked her under the blankets.

- Chapter 23, Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 4: Departure

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The princess turned swiftly around, her right hand already hidden within the folds of her heavy cloak, clutching the dagger concealed within. She was completely still as she evaluated him, her eyes wide with shock. Rowan almost grinned at the sight.

The princess had probably never seen a fully-fledged Fae before; it had been a decade since magic had been eradicated and the burnings began that had driven all the western Fae from sight of Adarlanian soldiers. The very few that survived lived far from civilization, or were trapped in animal form to roam in the wilderness. Regardless, there was no possible way that she had ever seen anyone like him before.

Rowan was the most powerful pure-blooded Fae male living. He did not revel in the fact, did not lord it over other Fae – but it was a reality of his existence, one that he had grappled with for most of his life. Still, he couldn’t help but enjoy the educational experience he was providing the princess.

The street had gone absolutely silent, the mad beggar woman now huddled in her alcove, pressed against a teetering pile of rubbish, whimpering in fear. The other street urchins shrank back, retreating into secluded doorways and fleeing into the sunny street beyond.

The scent of fear radiated from the princess in waves, but she didn’t let it control her the way so many did. The girl was obviously intimately familiar with the emotion, trained to disregard it and act rationally.

The princess’ eyes roved over him, passing by his silver hair and settling on his tattoo. Rowan ceased his advance, pausing in a dusty patch of sunlight while she studied the whorls of black ink. The markings stretched down the left side of his face and neck, continuing below the pale surcoat and cloak he wore, all the way down his left arm to his wrist. They were in the old language of the Fae – and from the uncomprehending look on the girl’s face, were unintelligible to her.

A small measure of relief stole through him at the realization. Rowan didn’t want her to know any more about him than she needed to.

As Rowan paused, he scanned the rest of the street carefully. It was now nearly empty – its shadowy occupants immediately dispersed by the power radiating from him. There were only a few in the world who would meet the challenge in Rowan’s eyes, and none of that small group were currently in the street before him.

The girl still hadn’t moved, had made no attempt to flee – either back up the drainpipe to the roof or down a side street. She appeared to be contemplating, calculating her next move.

She had skillfully appraised him, marking his weapons, both those hidden beneath his clothing and those that were exposed, including the sword strapped across his back and the vicious knives at his sides, as well as his other advantages, his elongated canines, height, broad shoulders, corded muscle, and overwhelming bulk.

But the girl evaluated him in a way Rowan was unfamiliar with. Normally, the aggression and cold hostility he emanated sent people to their knees, or had them running in the opposite direction. Sometimes, through the fear, Rowan could even scent varying shades of jealousy or desire. Without exception, people reacted to him with how they thought they could use him, could possess him and his power.

But this girl was blank, empty. The fear he had scented earlier had faded and was replaced with…nothing. She was cold, and hard. Emotionless.

But now that the fear was gone, Rowan could finally get an untarnished trace of her scent. It wafted over to him on a warm breeze, carrying much stronger hints of her power than earlier – her flames brought to the surface by stress.

Rowan nearly flinched.

She smelled horrific. Her scent was almost entirely obscured by the vile stench of an unwashed human body. Rowan could taste the layers of blood, sweat, and grime on her as if they were real, tangible things. He could almost see the musk wrapped around her, like a disgusting veil of fog.

But underneath that haze, Rowan could detect her true scent, the smell of her essence, her very identity.

It was bright and sharp, biting almost. It stuck in his throat uncomfortably. Within it, he could scent the faintest hint of a north wind, of evergreen and ice – of her homeland. That scent was baked into her blood, her very bones. It marked her as who and what she was – a princess of Terrasen.

There could be no doubt.

But that tiny hint of northern wind, of her lineage, was almost completely overshadowed by the roiling tempest that thundered through her veins. Now that he was so close, it was undeniable. The petulant child had been given the power of a god, and it writhed in her bones, unwillingly constrained by her small frame. The door between them was locked fast, and the wildfire wanted out. And yet she refused to use it, turned away from it.

Even now, with the cold arrogance in her eyes and the iron bars enclosing her magic, the princess’ scent spoke of heat and spark and burning embers. They whispered to him, nudging at his icy wind.

Discomfort and a blistering wrath pulsed through him.

He hated this girl, hated her more than he would have thought possible. She was wild and completely untamed – a force of nature. A storm to be weathered. No discipline, no control, and not a shred of compassion. A killer.

She shifted position slightly, erring to the defensive. Rowan almost chuckled again.

He wished the girl would strike out, attack him with all the force her human form could muster. It would give him something to do with the fury steadily slicing through his self-control. Give him an outlet for the aggression pumping its way through his blood. He would eviscerate her, and then he could move on – go back to Doranelle and his queen, and face whatever punishment she would have in store for him.

This girl was a killer, and Rowan was an executioner of killers.

But instead of striking, all the tension in the girl’s limbs suddenly leaked out, and was replaced by a sly grace as she sauntered towards him. “Well met my friend,” she purred. “Well met indeed.”

Rowan remained completely still, impassive. Though taken slightly aback by the quick shift from aggression to easy familiarity, he was unsurprised by her change in tactics. She was Celaena Sardothien, the princess turned assassin, and she knew that verbal thrusts were just as effective as physical ones.

So did Rowan. He had dwelt in the center of Maeve’s court for too long not to have become familiar with that kind of warfare. And he detested it. From the princess’ arrogant lips, it infuriated him even more.

The girl paused a few feet before him, staring directly into his eyes – hers swimming with a wicked delight. “What a lovely surprise.” Her voice lilted in all the right places. “I thought we were to meet at the city walls.”

Even if she didn’t know exactly who he was, she had at least deduced who had sent him, and why. She had to know that there was no escaping the coming encounter. Perhaps that was why she was so relaxed – Maeve had said that the girl wanted to meet with her. The princess wasn’t just playing along; she was getting exactly what she sought – an audience with the Queen of the Fae.

Although giving the girl what she wanted aggravated Rowan to no end, he looked directly back into her sneering face anyways, and said, “Let’s go,” infusing his voice with as much indifference as he could.

Before the princess could give him some irreverent retort, Rowan turned and stalked down the sunlit street, avoiding the eyes of the vagrants currently regarding him with intense levels of fear and wonder. He listened carefully for the sound of the princess’ booted feet on the path behind him, relaxing slightly when she began to follow – although a fleeting hint of disappointment passed through him at her easy acquiescence.

Rowan led her through the city, down wandering paths and alleyways, trying to keep as much out of sight as possible. To his relief, the girl never raised any objection, verbal or otherwise, and instead just closely followed him into the northwest section of the city, where Fenrys had promised to leave a pair of horses for him.

Rowan hated traveling in Fae form, and it looked like he had signed up for a good deal of it. People stared as he walked past, pausing their working and walking and shopping to investigate the massive Fae warrior in their midst. Occasionally, flashes of recognition would spread on the faces of the onlookers, and he knew that it would soon be no secret that Rowan Whitethorn was in Varese, leading a strange, filthy girl through the capital.

They entered a small square, the princess lagging behind even though Rowan had slowed his pace to a crawl to accommodate her mortal form. It was adjacent to the apartment, and now held two sorry mares tied before a trough, waiting for them.

Rowan sighed imperceptibly. Fenrys just had to get his retribution for being asked to run Rowan’s errands.

He mounted the larger of the two beasts, while the princess stuffed her small satchel in the saddlebags of the other mare. Rowan began to turn the horse to lead it out of the square when the princess spoke. “I’ve known a few brooding warrior-types in my day, but I think you might be the broodiest of them all.”

Rowan whipped his head to face her. The girl’s tone hadn’t lost any of that infuriating insolence, but it wasn’t really the insult he was reacting to. They were surrounded by a great many interested ears, and if the princess let anything slip of more importance…

She continued, drawling, “Oh, hello. I think you know who I am, so I won’t bother introducing myself. But before I’m carted off to gods-know-where, I’d like to know who you are.”

His lips thinned. How had this girl survived so long? Instead of using violence to let out his fury, like he wanted to, Rowan glared at the many eavesdroppers loitering at the edges of the square – daring any of them to challenge him. They quickly dispersed.

Once he could no longer sense anyone within hearing range, he said evenly, “You’ve gathered enough about me at this point to have learned what you need to know.”

“Fair enough. But what am I to call you?” She gripped the saddle but didn’t mount it.

Rowan’s lips slipped into a frown. He supposed it wouldn’t do any harm to give the girl his name, though it pained him to give the arrogant brat any leverage over him. The less she knew about him, the less she could use against him.

“Rowan.”

She didn’t even blink. Either she had much more self-control than he suspected, which was highly doubtful, or she didn’t recognize the name.

“Well, Rowan – ” The princess’ tone was now bordering on open belligerence. Rowan felt his control beginning to slip as his eyes narrowed, warning of coming violence. She continued anyway. “Dare I ask where we’re going?”

The girl clearly had no regard for her own safety. Rowan had to actively suppress the fury coursing through him as he replied, “I’m taking you where you’ve been summoned.”

She kept silent this time, though he’d expected her to ask where the hell that was, instead mounting her mare and following him out of the square and onto the streets beyond. They slowly approached the entry gates, and the city guards merely waved them through, recognizing him as one of Maeve’s blood sworn and backing away in fear and respect.

Rowan grimaced. Why did it have to be this girl who challenged him, who met his hostility with an equal measure of her own?

Anger still pounded through him, undiminished by the heavy silence that now spread between them. The primal part of him ached to resolve the contest between them, to force the female to concede. It was strange to feel so when the pair of them were so outmatched. Rowan was unused to being challenged by other Fae, even his fellow blood-sworn had yielded to his power without much question. Except for Fenrys – that male constantly challenged him. But their contests lacked heat, Fenrys never actually expected to win.

But this female, this girl, had met the aggression in his eyes with her own arrogance, and had not backed down. She was so used to winning that the thought of losing never seemed to enter into her head.

Though she had lived as an assassin in the slums of Adarlan’s capital for most of her life, she was royalty – through and through.

Rowan let the cool, clean wind coming off the mountains breeze through his lungs, flushing out the last of the noxious city air and calming the pounding of his blood. They were several long days away from Mistward, and it seemed that Rowan would need every bit of his self-control to make it there without snapping.

···

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[sparkleywonderful]

The Prince of Ice: Ch.24.3

Part 24.3 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view.

The Prince of Ice Parts [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ] [ 11 ] [ 12 ] [ 13 ] [ 14 ] [ 14.5 ] [ 15 ] [ 16 ]  [ 17 ] [ 18 ] [ 19 ] [ 20 ] [ 21 ] [ 22 ] [ 23 ]  [ 24.1 ] [ 24.2 ] [ 24.3 ] [ 24.4 ] [ 24.5 ] [ 24.6 ] [ 24.7 ] [  AO3 ]

A/N: I have been dying to write this chapter, just dying. It was so much fun to write and I always felt that this exclusive belonged in the book. Although we all filled in the gaps, it is the first time you truly see the friendship that is growing between Rowan and Aelin. For tumblr, I will be braking this apart into seven sections for your viewing pleasure.

Gratitude goes to @bookofademigod and @themaasofwar for posting the target exclusive. Without this I would have never been able to write this very important POV.

- - - - - - -

Months before Aelin reclaimed her identity as the long-lost Queen of Terrasen, she still called herself Celaena Sardothien - and was trained to wield her rekindled magic by a Fae Prince in a mountain fortress of Wendlyn… Despite their rough beginning, Aelin and Rowan have finally formed a solid friendship, based on mutual respect, trust, and more than a bit of banter. But just when their bond begins to shift into something neither of them quite anticipates - something far deeper - the fortress of Mistward receives a visit from three Fae nobles. And one of them claims some very, very personal ties to Rowan himself. Read on for an exclusive deleted scene from Heir of Fire, in which Aelin gets her first glimpse of the Fae nobility of Doranelle, and a bit more of Rowan’s history is revealed to her … with fiery consequences.

- - - - - - -

He wanted a bath himself after showing the nobles to their rooms, instead he sat at his work table, sharpening his hunting knife for the bloodbath that was likely to occur during dinner.

“So, you and Remelle,” Aelin said from where she lounged on his bed, her head propped up by her scarred hand.

He should be changing into finer clothes, but the desire left as soon as they dropped off the nobles to their rooms. There was a time to use clothes as a weapon, to remind nobles of his bloodline and status and this was not one of those times. It was not one of the times that the princess should show her bloodline. Finer clothes might bring attention to her lineage. All three nobles were old enough to remember Evalin Ashryver. Essar’s house had the strongest ties to the Royal family of Wendlyn. That close tie was probably the reason she did not view demi-Fae the same as Benson or Remelle did.

They had an hour until dinner. They just needed to survive the dinner and send the nobles their merry way in the morning.

“Remelle was … a very, very big mistake,” not bothering to turn and face her, his focus on his hunting knife.

“Seems like she doesn’t think so.”

He could not help but to turn his head and glare over his shoulder. She was purposely being difficult. “It was a hundred years ago.”

“She acts like you cast her aside this winter.”

“Remelle just wants whatever she can’t have. A condition many immortals suffer from to stave off boredom.”

“She was practically clawing at you.”

“She can claw all she wants, but I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Sounds like you made that mistake a few times.”

Rowan leveled a vicious gaze at her. He hated his past mistakes. Only the touch of jealousy that he felt from the princess calmed his blood. “It was over the course of a season, and then I came to my senses.”

“Mmmm.”

He stabbed the knife into the table and stalked to the bed until he glowered over her. Aelin lay as she was, brows high and lips pressed together. Her shoulders gently shook as she fought back her laughter.

“One laugh,” he warned. “Just one laugh, and I’m going to dump you in the nearest pond.”

She shook harder with the effort to keep her howl inside.

“Don’t. You. Dare,” he growled, leaning low enough that his breath warmed her mouth. “If you—

The door opened, and he froze, a low snarl rumbling out of him, so violent that it would echo in everyone's bones. A clear warning. A threat that Remelle needed to understand. Remelle, stood frozen, blinked, and said, “Oh!”

He knew what their positioned looked like and in that moment he did not want to correct the assumption that Ramelle was making. Maeve did not order him not to have a physical relationship with the princess. It was still dangerous, he would need to tread lightly between warding off REmelle and triggering Maeve’s reaction.

‘What do you want?” straightening but not stepping away for Aelin.

He watched as Remelle surveyed the room, taking in the details that suggested it was not his space alone: the brush on the dresser, the undergarments left tossed over a chair as if taken off in a moment of pleasure, the ribbons she used to tie back her hair, the small boots beside his massive ones, and even the various personal items they kept on their own nightstands. It was clear that they had been sharing a living space.

“I wanted to catch up,” Remelle said, looking everywhere but at Aelin, “but it seems you are … occupied.”

If only Remelle knew who Aelin was.

“We’ll talk at dinner.”

He had to fight back a snarl as Aelin popped up from the bed. “I have to go help Emrys with the meal, actually.” She barely managed to hide her wicked grin. “Why don’t you stay, Remelle?”

If he had been blessed with fire, he may have melted her bones. That wicked grin told him that she enjoyed this piece of hell she was subjecting him too.

He was going to kill her, she won this round but as soon as they resumed training, he was going to murder her. And then murder her again.

Remelle was still in the doorway, frowning in the direction Aelin had gone. When she turned, a serpentine smile danced on her red lips. “Is this part of her training, too?“

“Get out,” was all he said, all he could say.

Remelle clicked her tongue. “Is that how you speak to me these days?”

Gods above, for the last century, yes! She did not love him as Essar loved Lorcan. Remelle was in love with his title and position. Second most powerful Fae male and that was even debatable. They had never faced off, and honestly he would not fight against Loracan with all his being. That was until recently, at one time he would have welcomed the death, now he wondered. Had he healed enough to fight, to dream again.

"I don’t know why you bothered to stop here, or what you expect of me—”

“I heard you were here, and thought I’d say hello and spare you the tedious company of half-breeds. I didn’t realise you’d taken to them so much.”

He knew exactly what it had looked like when she burst in here. Denying it would only lead to a headache, but letting Remelle assume he was sharing a bed with Aelin he decided was equally unacceptable. He couldn’t decide how Maeve would interpret it. But she had not ordered him not to. Unless—

“And who was it that told you I’m here?”

“Maeve, of course. I complained to her that I missed you.”

The question was whether or not Remelle was a willing or unknowing spy. Or if Maeve had sent Remelle to see just what manner of relationship he had developed with the princess.

“As your friend, Rowan, l have to say … the girl’s rather beneath you.”

He held in his laugh. Apparently, Maeve hadn’t informed her who, exactly, he was training. Remelle had been relentless in her pursuit of him a century ago, winning him over with her charm and smiles, but—he didn’t really care to think back to that time. He wondered what Maeve’s game was, something to ponder later.

“One,” he said, “you’re not my friend. Two, it’s none of your business.”

Her eyes narrowed in a way that made him realise Remelle would make every minute until she left a living hell for the princess—not knowing what manner of predator she was provoking.

So rather than see Remelle’s blood splattered on the walls before dawn, he said, “There is a shortage of bedrooms here, and we’ve had to share quarters as a result.” Not quite a lie, but not the entire truth.

Remelle’s brows remained high on her moon-white skin. “Well, I suppose that’s good news for Benson.”

What in the hell did Benson have to do with Aelin, “What?”

“He has needs that must be attended to, and finds her attractive enough. Maeve said it was more than fine if she—”

His blood boiled, “If Benson lays one finger on her, he’s going to find himself without his insides.” He glanced over to the hunting knife embedded into his work table. Yes, that would gut the Fae male efficiently. Maybe too efficiently.

Maeve—Maeve had suggested that she was available for—

He clamped down on the blinding rage as Remelle blinked. “Honestly, Rowan, what do you think most of the half-breeds wind up doing in Doranelle?”

He had no answer—no words at all—as soon as she said that.

She shrugged. “Benson will be gentle with—”

“Benson looks twice at her, and he dies. He looks twice at any of the females in this fortress and he dies.”

The words were laced with a growl so fierce that they were barely understandable. But Remelle understood. Did Lorcan know? He was a demi-Fae himself, had proven himself half a millennium ago. Was he aware what went on in their city? It was disgusting—worse than disgusting. The Fae were better than than. But Maeve—

“I’ll make sure the warning is conveyed,” Remelle purred.

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 42 - 43

I AM ACTUALLY SPEECHLESS HOLY FUCKING SHIT

Manon Blackbeak cracked open eyelids that were too heavy, too burning, and squinted against the flickering lantern light that swayed upon the wood panels of the room in which she lay.

HHHH I’VE BEEN DREADING THIS. Please kiss the Manon we know goodbye, because we’re likely gonna never see her again after this chapter.

[Manon] bolted upright. Abraxos. Where was Abraxos—

Unghhh their relationship is too pure and wholesome for this shitty novel. I seriously want Manon to leave this series and go to HTTYD, it’s what she deserves.

(...) the chains now around Manon’s wrists, around her ankles—anchored into the walls with what appeared to be freshly drilled holes.

FRESHLY DRILLED HOLES. What did they use to drill those holes? Don’t tell me they popped down to Home Depot and picked up a brand new screw gun I am l aughing

Alien is there and already I’m seeing red please SJM i am begging u keep Alien’s crusty ass 100000 miles away from Manon

[Aelin] jerked her chin toward the floor. A pitcher and cup lay there. “Water’s next to the bed. If you can reach it.”

YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE YOU’RE GOING TO LET MANON DIE OF HYDRATION IF SHE CAN’T REACH THE WATER?? FUCK YOU, ALIEN, YOU MASSIVE PIECE OF SHIT.

And as it turns out, Manon can’t reach the water and passes out soon afterwards. Fuck Alien I can’t think of one character I hate more than her fucking selfish ass.

Even unconscious, Manon’s every breath, every twitch, was a reminder that she was a born predator, her agonizingly beautiful face a careful mask to lure the unwary to their doom.

idk this seems weird... Manon is passed out from pain but they’re all splooging over how hot and dangerous she is... idk...

They were nearing Banjali now—and Dorian had tried and failed not to think of his dead friend with every league closer to the lovely city. Tried and failed not to consider if Nehemia would have been with them on this very ship had things not gone so terribly wrong.

*sobs* I miss Nehemia.... she deserved so much better....

“Hello, witchling,” [Dorian] said. [Manon’s] full, sensuous mouth tightened slightly, either in a repressed grimace or smile, he couldn’t tell.

What the fuck is up with SJM making all her men horny for the women’s lips during situations that are in no way sexual?? Like Manon is a prisoner tied up and dying of hydration, why is Dorian thinking about her mouth this is so fucking weird

Dorian didn’t feel like mentioning that he’d been the one who’d jumped into the water [to save Manon]. He’d just … acted, as Manon had acted when she’d saved him in his tower. He owed her nothing less.

Ungh SJM is totally gonna make this a thing ain’t she. Like Dorian is just repaying her here but you know, you just know SJM is gonna use this for them to hook up.

Manon asks Dorian about Elide and the Thirteen and Dorian is like “who the hell are those guys” and Manon gets all sad and I’m :(((((

Whatever had happened, whatever [Manon] had endured … Dorian draped an arm along the back of his chair. “It’s coming in a few minutes. I’d hate for you to waste away into nothing. It’d be a shame to lose the most beautiful woman in the world so soon into her immortal, wicked life.”

Heh, that’s typical Dorian for you. Hey, maybe this ship won’t be so bad! Maybe they’ll become really good supportive friends who bond over all the trauma they went through and-

“I am not a woman,” was all [Manon] said. But hot temper laced those molten gold eyes. [Dorian] gave her an indolent shrug, perhaps only because she was indeed in chains, perhaps because, even though the death she radiated thrilled him, it did not strike a chord of fear. “Witch, woman … as long as the parts that matter are there, what difference does it make?”

WHAT

THE

ACTUAL

FUCK

SJM. ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING KIDDING ME. DO YOU KNOW TRANSGENDER PEOPLE EXIST?? THAT NOT ALL WOMEN HAVE VAGINAS??? ARE YOU FUCKING SAYING TRANS WOMEN ARE LESS OF WOMEN IF THEY DON’T HAVE BREASTS AND VAGINAS??? BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT IT FUCKING LOOKS LIKE TO ME.

I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE THIS IS IN AN EPIC FANTASY SERIES. SJM WROTE THIS, EDITORS EDITED IT, AND THEN IT WAS PUBLISHED, AND NOBODY THOUGHT “oh hey, the implications of this are reaaaally bad, let’s cut it”

DJFHSJDFHAFJ THIS IS SO BAD THIS IS REALLY REALLY BAD HOLY SHIT I THOUGHT THIS WAS JUST A BOOK WITH SHITTY PLOT AND WRITING AND CHARACTERS BUT NOW WE CAN ADD TRANSPHOBIA TO THE LIST THATS JUST GREAT.

Sorry about that little tangent but my jaw actually hung wide open when I read that line. Holy fucking shit this novel is going to put me in the ground six feet under.

Dorian offered a lazy grin in return. “Believe it or not, this ship has an unnatural number of attractive men and women on board. You’ll fit right in. And fit in with the cranky immortals, I suppose.”

I’m so heartbroken but... I have to disown my baby boy. Dorian was once one of my few favorite characters but SJM has killed him and replaced him with a transphobic asshole. I’m so sorry my baby boy, you flew too close to the sun. You are hereby demoted to Dorito.

Assdion rears his ugly ass head to be rude to Manon and kiss Alien’s ass before leaving. Bye bitch, hope you fall off the ship and drown.

“Then I suppose you and I are both heirs without crowns.”

Remember last time Alien said this and I defended Dorito, saying he deserved his crown? Oh, how I took those earlier chapters for granted......

The rest of the chapter is Manon angsting about all the shit she’s been through lately. Since I like Manon and she has reason to be upset, I don’t have anything to make snarks about so next chapter.

Lorcan was still wondering what the hell he was doing three days later

Oh fucking great, I just witnessed the murder of my son Dorian and now I gotta read in Lorcan’s POV? Just keep kicking me while I’m down why don’t you, SJM.

“It’s going to rain.” [Elide] slid a flat glance at him. “I do know what thunder means.”

Just fucking stop. This isn’t entertaining at all to watch two people bicker and made snarky remarks 100% of the time to one another and yet we’re supposed to believe they’re bonding I want to d ie

“Drink,” Elide commanded him. Lorcan debated telling her not to give him orders, but … he liked seeing this small, fine-boned creature in action.

What the fuck does that mean?? Fine boned?? Is that really a way people describe others???? What the fuck am I reading???

So Lorcan drank and watched [Elide] while she watched others. So many calculating thoughts beneath that pale face, so many lies ready to spill from those rosebud lips.

I’m so tired like. You guys have done nothing but argue and avoid each other and now Lorass is getting horny at the sight of Elide’s lips I’m so tired.

[Elide] was going to leave. Tomorrow, whenever the carnival rolled out. She’d likely hire one of these boats to take her northward, and [Lorcan] … he would go south. To Morath.

:(( the girl I emotionally abuse is going to leave after we both lied to one another :((( this is so sad can we get 100 likes

Elide talks to some people inside a tavern about Alien.

“Seems like the queen has a habit of showing up where she’s least expected, unleashing chaos, and vanishing again.

FINISH HER

Elide walked out of the third tavern, Lorcan on her heels. They hadn’t spoken once since she’d gone into that first inn. He’d been too lost in contemplating what it would be like to suddenly travel on his own again. To leave her … and never see her again.

I am utterly baffled you two have been nothing but assholes to each other!!! Like seriously you haven’t done anything nice for each other!!! Like wtf SJM is trying make us all :’((( about them splitting up but I can’t wait until this stupid subplot ends!

Elide reveals she can’t read to Lorass and he tries to compliment her, but...?

He wondered if he would have ever noticed if she hadn’t told him. “You seem to have survived rather impressively without it.”

I mean, good on him for not judging her, but like, she was locked up in a tower doing maid work? Reading skills really wouldn’t have made much of a difference there.

Turns out their carnival co workers ratted them out and sent guards after them. Lorass hauls Elide over his shoulder and makes a run for it.

“The gates at the city entrance,” [Elide] gasped as muscle and bone pummeled into her gut. “They’ll be there, too.”

Holy shit that sounds painful. She’s not a sack of potatoes Lorass, try some gentleness.

Lorcan pocketed the axe he’d thumbed free

You literally just took out your axe like two paragraphs ago on the same page. What was the point of this?

They find some rando and force him to get them the hell out of dodge on his boat. Elide hears a splash but doesn’t think anything of it until she sees Lorass again.

[Elide] glanced at the hatchet at [Lorcan’s] side as he strode out of the cabin. “You killed him, didn’t you?” That was what the splash had been. A body being dumped over the side.

So, just to recap, according to Lorass.... killing an innocent man who helped you escape the guards; completely justifiable. Stealing something you suspect is bad from a woman you don’t even like; evil, unacceptable, crossing a line. 

“He might have had a family depending on him.” [Elide]’d seen no wedding ring, but it didn’t mean anything.

I was about to get tilted but SJM corrected herself. I hate the mentality that if you don’t have a spouse, you clearly can’t have a family who depends on you. Kids from previous relationships, parents, grandparents, siblings, they’re family too y’know.

Lorass finds out the Wyrdkey he carried is a fake and loses his shit.

Then Lorcan flung open the door, so violently it nearly ripped off its hinges, and hurled what looked to be the shards of a broken amulet into the river. Or he tried to. Lorcan threw it hard enough that it cleared the river entirely and slammed into a tree, gouging out a chunk of wood.

I enjoy his misery tbh. Lorass is so pissy he reveals to Elide that Alien was Celaena, or as I like to call her Celery, at one point.

“You knew, and you didn’t tell me. Why?” “You still haven’t told me your secrets. I don’t see why I should tell all of mine, either.”

I mean, yeah, hate to agree with Lorass but fair enough. You’ve both done nothing but lie to each other’s faces, why would he tell you that? I want to like Elide but all this shitty drama and bickering is making my affection for her wear thin.

Then - holy fucking shit, there’s like a bunch of huuuuuuge paragraphs of Lorass and Elide bickering and they’re so fucking big. This hurts my eyes to look at. I’m gonna screencap one of them, just to show you how fucking huge they are.

HOLY SHIT SJM BREAK UP YOUR BIG ASS BRICKS OF TEXT PLEASE. My eyes started to cross trying to read this, it took me like three tries.

tl;dr because of some bullshit Lorass is staying with Elide because they both have business with Alien. Fuckin’ great, I love everyone’s agendas revolving around the main special snowflake, just fuckin’ great.

There’d been nothing inside the amulet but one of those rings—an utterly useless Wyrdstone ring, wrapped in a bit of parchment. And on it was written in a feminine scrawl: Here’s hoping you discover more creative terms than “bitch” to call me when you find this. With all my love, A.A.G.

Maybe I’d find this amusing if Alien wasn’t a walking shitstain, but... I’m tired. I’m so goddamn tired.

[Lorcan]’d kill [Aelin]. Slowly. Creatively.

Damn wish you would fam, but Alien’s got plot armor bigger than her fuckin’ ego. Lorass ends the chapter by saying he’ll kill Alien, which we all know won’t happen. I’m betting money that there’ll probably be a Lorass/Rowboat/Alien love triangle once Lorass sees what an ~uhmazing~ queen Alien is. Don’t give me that look, you know SJM would.

[comingoutofthecauldron]

If Sam Didn’t Die That Night

suggested by @_fadingsunlight (insta)

Sam Cortland had one more job before he could taste freedom, with the girl he loved at his side. Or so he thought.

Because that job hadn’t gone well for Sam. He had played with a psychopath, and now the psychopath wanted to play with him.

For hours, he had lain on a table, trapped in the dark basement of the owners of The Pits, because he was a fool. A stupid, lovesick fool, blinded by hope and preoccupied by bliss. For hours, he had been cut and brutalised and tortured, enduring pain so agonizing he forgot his own name. But never hers. It was his constant, his last tether to reality.

Celaena.

A knife cut across his collarbone, blood seeping out in its wake, following like acolyte follows their master. His screams echoed, calling out for a girl who wasn’t there.

Celaena.

He held on, wouldn’t let himself black out. He didn't dare stare at the face above his, bloodstained and grinning like a child with a new plaything. 

Celaena.

But then the pain stopped. It left, the sound of receding footsteps reverberating around the empty basement. He heard stairs creak, and then nothing.

He knew, then and there, who it was.

Celaena.

She was here. No, no, no.

Everything hurt. Everything bled. But he forced himself to move, forced his muscles to comply. Slowly, ever so slowly, he shifted himself to the right, closer to the edge of the table. A groan, more pain, and again he moved.

It was progress, but it was slow. Too slow. He had to save her, had to get to her. Finally, he reached the edge. He used every muscle, every part of his protesting body to push himself up. He managed to lean on his elbows, a start, when something began to fill the air. A strange smell. Sam realised too late what it was.

Gloriella.

He collapsed, the poison taking over, as he fell off the table onto the floor. He didn't register the pain, even as he felt someone throw him over a shoulder. Their face must've been masked, protecting them against the gloriella. 

He wanted to fight, to struggle, but his body was no longer his. The poison was in full effect. They carried him into some sort of meeting room, where in the corner of his eye he spotted the dead body of Ioan Jayne. 

What was going on? What was happening? Where was she?

The masked figure dropped him, rather ungracefully, on the floor, his head at eye level with someone’s feet. No, not someone’s feet. Her feet.

Celaena. 

Oh, Gods, tell me she isn’t dead.

Unfortunately, the gods answered his prayer. Sam was helpless as he watched Rourke Farran crouch beside Celaena, running a finger over her face as he said something Sam couldn’t hear. Celaena lay unmoving, a victim to the gloriella, but Sam knew, in his heart, she wasn’t dead.

He wanted to scream, to roar. But most of all, he wanted to save her. He wanted not only to save Adarlan’s Assassin, but the girl he loved. Beautiful, confident, passionate Celaena. What he wouldn’t give to hear her laugh again, to see her smile.  

He lay on the floor as they carried her to gods knew where, watching her expressionless face as her head rested at an uncomfortable angle, lying over whoever’s arm it was carrying her. A single tear slipped from one of her eyes as she saw him, and Sam had a horrible realisation.

She couldn’t see his face.

She didn’t know he was alive.

*****

Sam Cortland escaped that building. The gloriella began to lose its effect, and it seemed as though they’d forgotten about him. He clawed his way out, tumbling onto the street, only to have someone catch him, swearing colourfully.

They carried him down the street, but he passed out before he could see where they were going. 

For days, he drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of the two people nursing him back to some sort of health.

It was a week after Sam had seen Celaena’s limp body carried out of the house when he finally regained full consciousness. Every part of him screamed in agony, but he bit down on his pain. He opened his eyes to see a figure with dark hair, pale skin and a brutal scar running down his face.

The figure grinned.

“Well, stranger, glad to see you’re awake. And healing. Although you’ll probably have some wicked scars, not that I’m one to judge.”

“W-Who are you?” Sam croaked.

“Really, that’s the thanks I get? Honestly, if I hadn’t seen how much shit you must've been put through already, I’d punch you for that.”

Sam just stared at the scarred man as he sighed. Neither of them spoke, just stared at each other.

“Do you know anything about Celaena Sardothien?” Sam finally asked, his voice hoarse. 

“The assassin? Of course. She’s got a nasty future ahead of her now, that’s for sure.”

“What? What happened? She’s alive?”

The man just stared at Sam for a few moments, frowning. Slowly, he began to speak, “Everyone’s been talking about it, actually. She’s been sentenced to Endovier. If you’re waiting for a job or something, you’re gonna be waiting for a while.”

Sam’s world stopped. Endovier. Endovier. The most brutal slave camp there was. Celaena, his Celaena, in Endovier. 

“Why do you want to know?” the man asked.

A beat of silence, then, “Because I love her.” 

The man’s eyes widened. He seemed to be thinking, concentrating, when eventually he just shook his head and said, “Well I’ll be. You’re an assassin, aren’t you?”

Sam nodded, only just taking in his words.

“Well then, little assassin, do you want revenge?”

Sam just looked at him. Grief was pouring over him, overwhelming him.

“I want her.”

“Same thing. Tell me, how much are you willing to do to get her? Would you, perhaps, join a rebellion?”

“Anything. I’ll join whatever you want me to if you can free her from that place.”

“Wonderful. Our interests align, you see. To achieve my goal, I must destroy an empire. Your assassin is an added bonus,” the man grinned.

Sam could only stare, and then nod. He didn't care if empires fell, or if kingdoms burned. He just needed Celaena.

“Let’s get acquainted. I’m Ren. Ren Allsbrook.”

*****

Sam joined that rebellion. He fought tooth and nail for it. He devoted his life, his everything, to the cause. He heard about Celaena Sardothien’s participation in the king’s contest. He organised meetings with Princess Nehemia Ytger. He heard about her becoming the King’s champion, but no one ever let him near her. It would ruin their plans, they told him. Wait, they said.

And wait he did. Even when Celaena started to communicate with Archer Finn, he waited. And then, in a scuffle on a street near the Assassin’s Keep with some city guards, one of them—a young woman seemingly from the Southern Continent—trying to keep the peace, Sam Cortland was stabbed.

His fellow rebels fled the street, leaving him to bleed out alone, thinking only of his assassin, his Celaena, whom he would never lay eyes on again. 

[aingealbites]

Because I have so many of these saved, imma just do a quote dump!

"Well, who wants to be hated? Though I'd rather be hated than invisible. But it makes no difference."

- Celaena Sardothien, Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 146

"Not that the thought of something wicked dwelling in the castle SCARED her or anything. No. It wasn't that at all. Celaena huffed. She'd focus on becoming King's Champion. And then, if she won, she'd go about finding this evil. Maybe."

- Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 194

"When she wasn't cursing or sputtering, they spoke of the books they'd both read, and as she jabbered on and on, he felt as if she hadn't spoken a word in years and was afraid she'd suddenly go mute again."

- Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 214

He grinned. "I meed a moment to think of a good one." She rolled her eyes, but sat down. After a few seconds, he asked, "Why do you like music so much?"

She made a face. "You said nothing sensitive!"

"Is it THAT prying? How different is that from asking why you like to read?"

"No, no. That question is fine." She let out long breath through her nose and stared at the table. "I like music," she said slowly, "because when I hear it, I... I lose myself within myself, if that makes sense. I become empty and full all at once, and I can feel the whole earth roiling around me. When I play, I'm not... for once, I'm not destroying. I'm creating." She chewed on her lip. "I used to want to be a healer. Back when I was... Back before this became my profession, when I was almost too young to remember, I wanted to be a healer." She shrugged. "Music reminds me of that feeling." She laughed under her breath. "I've never told anyone that," she admitted, then saw his smile.

"Don't mock me."

He shook his head, wiping the smile from his lips. "I'm not mocking you-I'm just..."

"Unused to hearing people speak from the heart?"

"Well, yes."

- Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 230

"What's the point in having a mind if you don't use it to make judgements?"

"What's the point in having a heart if you don't use it to spare others of the harsh judgements of your mind?"

- Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 231

"It was a holiday to feast on the fruits of the harvest and those of the flesh."

- Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 259

"I understand why you have such ease when killing my kind. And I don't blame you for it."

- Dorian Havilliard, Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 260

Chaol watched Dorian dip Celaena, watched the way her lips widened in a smile and her eyes burst with light as the Crown Prince said something. Even with the mask on, Chaol could see the happiness written across her face. "Is HE with her?" Ortho asked.

"The Lady Lillian belongs to herself, and no one else."

"So she's not with him?"

"No."

Ortho shrugged. "That's strange."

"Why?" Chaol had the sudden urge to strangle him.

"Because it looks like he's in love with her," he said, and walked away.

- Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 297

"He had lept from the cliff. He could only wait for the net."

- Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 301

"In the garden, the Captain of the Guard stared up at the young woman's balcony, watching as she waltzed alone, lost in her dreams. But he knew that her thoughts weren't of him. She stopped and stared upward. Even from a distance, he could see the blush upon her cheeks. She seemed young-no, new. It made his chest ache. Still, he watched, watched until she sighed and went inside. She never bothered to look below."

- Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 301

"We all bear scars, Dorian. Mine just happen to be more visible than most..."

- Celaena Sardothien, Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 305

"With eager faces, they waited for blood."

- Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 343

"My name is Celaena Sardothien, but it makes no difference if my name's Celaena or Lillian or Bitch, because I'd still beat you, no matter what you call me."

- Celaena Sardothien, Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 352

"You could rattle the stars. You could do anything, if only you dared..."

- Elena, Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, page 399

"The best lies were always mixed with truth."

- Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas, page 14

"Forgotten. The same way legend had reduced the fierce warrior princess to nothing more than a damsel in a tower, whom Gavin had rescued."

- Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas, page 51

"It is YOUR fate, and YOUR responsibility."

"There is no such thing as fate," Celaena hissed.

"Says the girl who was saved from the ridderak because SOME force compelled her down here on Samhuinn, to see Damaris and learn it was here."

Celaena took a step closer to the door. "Says the girl who spent a year in Endovier. Says the girl who knows that the gods care no more for our lives than we care for an insect beneath our feet." She glared into Mort's gleaming face. "Come to think of it, I can't quite recall WHY I should bother helping Erilea, when the gods so clearly don't bother to help us, either."

- Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas, page 52

"Don't you understand? It's already too late. It's been too late for YEARS now. Where was Elena ten years ago, when there was a whole host of heroes that she could have had her pick of? Where were she and her ridiculous quests when the world truly needed them - when Terrasen's heroes were cut down or hunted and executed by Adarlan's armies? Where was she when the kingdoms fell, one by one, to the king? The world is already in ruin, and I won't be sent on some fool's errand."

- Celaena Sardothien, Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas, page 53

"Wyrd damn me, I might be a whore, but I'm not a TRAITOR."

- Archer Finn, Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas, page 84

Hours later, the King of Adarlan stood at the back of the dungeon chamber as his secret guards dragged Rena Goldsmith forward. The butcher's block at the center of the room was already soaked with blood. Her companion's headless corpse lay a few feet away, his blood trickling toward the drain in the floor.

Perrington and Roland stood silent beside the king, watching, waiting.

The guards shoved the singer to her knees before the stained stone. One of them grabbed a fistful of her red-gold hair and yanked, forcing her to look at the king as he stepped forward.

"It's punishable by death to speak of or to encourage magic. It is an affront to the gods, and an affront to me that you sang such a song in my hall."

Rena Goldsmith just stared at him, her eyes bright. She hadn't struggled when his men grabbed her after the performance or even screamed when they'd beheaded her companion. As if she'd been expecting this.

"Any last words?"

A queer, calm rage settled over her lined face, and she lifted her chin. "I have worked for ten years to become famous enough to gain an invitation to this castle. Ten years, so I could come here to sing the songs of magic that you tried to wipe out. So I could sing those songs, and YOU would know that we are still here--that you may outlaw magic, that you may slaughter thousands, but we who keep the old ways still remember."

Behind him, Roland snorted.

"Enough," the king said, and snapped his fingers.

The guards shoved her head down on the block.

"My daughter was sixteen," she went on. Tears ran over the bridge of her nose and onto the block, but her voice remained strong and loud. "Sixteen, when you burned her. Her name was Kaleen, and she had eyes like thunderclouds. I still hear her voice in my dreams."

The King jerked his chin to the executioner, who stepped forward.

"My sister was thirty-six. Her name was Liessa, and she had two boys who were her joy."

The executioner raised his ax.

"My neighbour and his wife were seventy. Their names were Jon and Estrel. They were killed because they daredvtry to protect my daughter when your men came for her.

Rena Gildsmith was still reciting her list of the dead when the ax fell.

- Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas, page 119

"If they wanted Adarlan's Assassin, they'd get her. And wyrd help them when she arrived."

- Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas, page 215

"Enough! We have enough enemies as it is! There are worse things out there to face!"

Celaena slowly turned to him, her face splattered with blood and eyes blazing bright. "No, there aren't," she said. "Because I'm here now."

- Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas, page 223

[highqueenofelfhame]

I aways imagined what would happened if Aedion had gone to endovier while Aelin/Celaena was arrested there and recognized her. I just love your writing and I would LOVE you making a one shot about it 😘

Everything was covered in layers of dirt and mud and grime. The axes that the slaves used to heave at the mineral deposits were dirty, the majority of them broken and cracked from being overworked as much as the slaves. It only made it harder for the people doing the mining, the points of the pickaxes dull and rounded and barely doing anything to get the job done.

As he walked through the filthy mines, Aedion’s blood boiled at the conditions the slaves were being forced to live in. Each of them was frail and underfed. Their faces and skin were caked with dirt and mud, hair dull and limp. Every single one of them had such a dead look in their eyes that Aedion was beginning to wonder if they were thinking about underperforming to lose their lives and be at peace at long last.

He had always known that the mines were hardly about mining salt. In truth, he was pretty sure that not much of the mined salt was even used and sold. If he remembered correctly, most of the salt that was used in Adarlan was imported from other nations along with the rest of their spices. The king was all about quality, and he had never been satisfied with what was found in his own lands. It was why he kept conquering all the other nations in Erilea.

No — the mines were about breaking people. And each and every one of these people were completely and utterly broken. Not just in physical appearance, not just with broken bones and broken hearts. But with broken souls and shattered hope that chipped away even more with every blow of their pickaxe.

Aedion hated that he appeared to be one of them. One of the people that slaughtered hopes and dreams, that ripped people from their families because of their heritage or petty crimes that they had committed. From what he understood, not many people here had actually done any major law breaking. Most of the men and women here were of Fae descent, simply being murdered in an act of genocide because the king was scared of what they were capable of. Scared of the magic that coursed through their veins. How Aedion wasn’t one of those locked away for his heritage — especially considering that he was a prince of Terrasen and Wendlyn — he didn’t know.

One of the only high security slaves was Adarlan’s Assassin and Aedion had yet to have a run in with the girl. From what he understood, she was a sixteen year old spitfire that constantly gave the guards and overseers hell. It gave Aedion some sense of hope that one day she might help lead a revolution within the mines to overpower the guards and free all the slaves that inhabited here. Maybe he would even be able to help her from the outside.

Seeing the conditions of this place made Aedion desperate. He wanted nothing more than to free these people right now but he would lose his life and that would do no good for the revolution he was helping organize with the rebels in the north. He had been able to free thousands of slaves and other people hiding in the Stags under the guise that he was really slaughtering all of them. The Bane would answer to no one but Aedion Ashryver, and their loyalty showed true considering that no one had yet turned him over to the king as a traitor.

Off to his right from somewhere deeper in the mines, he began to pick up a commotion that made his stomach drop. Those Fae senses of his were prickling, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck raising to attention as he recognized the sound of metal piercing flesh. The groans that the men being attacked made as their bodies crumpled to the floor were awful sounds that he had heard one too many times. Aedion’s stomach flipped as he took off running toward the raucous, eyes darting frantically for their source.

And then he saw her, golden blonde hair matted and covered in dirt swinging wildly in a messy braid as she swung. Her pickaxe nailed another guard in the stomach, and then she was spinning on her heel and it was bursting clean through another’s head. It was like watching a dance the way she moved, her too-thin limbs still strong enough to butcher men at will. This was her. This was Celaena Sardothien.

Guards were shouting at one another as they ran toward her, most of them meeting a gruesome and bloody fate that ended with them slumped on the ground with their intestines hanging from their bodies. Celaena was like wildfire, destroying everything in her path as she cut down guard after guard. With one particular overseer, he watched as a slow and wicked grin spread across her face as she gutted him. He was a little in awe at watching the way she seemed to find nothing but pure joy in killing the man. Aedion wondered what he’d done to deserve it.

Before too long, there were hardly any guards left between him and the young girl. Guards that she killed easily and quickly. Up close, he could see that her green eyes were glazed over as she worked toward the wall. Up close, her face made something in the back of his mind flicker with hope.

When her axe swung down on him and clashed against the metal of his sword, he realized that her eyes weren’t green at all. They were turquoise, surrounded by the brightest gold that appeared to be living flame. All of the blood drained from Aedion’s face and his mouth went dry as he looked at… his queen.

“Aelin?”

@musicmaam @starseternalnighttriumphant @tinywolfofeyllwe @empire-of-wildfire @totalcompletebookworm @the-regal-warrior @schmlip-scribble @nalgenewhore @rhysands-highlady @lorcansalvaterree @tangledraysofsunshine @westofmoon

[celaenas-wicked-grin]

Toodles

It has been drawn to my attention that I need a calendar.

Secondly, Tower of Dawn is out and basically I’ll be gone for the forseeable future because I have £8.75 to my name and that is not enough to buy a book, nor groceries.

My birthday is in a month or so.

Toodles loves.

[fae-fucker]

Crown of Midnight: Chapter 1-2

Fuck you.

Fuck me.

Fuck this.

Let’s do this.

Chapter 1

We open on Sardines being all assassin-y (took you long enough, you silly blond bitch) and sneaking into some nobleman’s house.

Concealed beneath a black mask and hood, she willed herself to melt into the shadows, to become nothing more than a slip of darkness.

*deep sigh*

I can’t believe I’m doing this shit again. Why do I hate myself this much?

The [servant] hadn’t noticed the wet footprints on the floorboards.

How convenient. 

Lord Nirall was no older than thirty-five, and his wife, dark haired and beautiful, slept soundly in his arms.

Gotta make sure the wife is beautiful!! What else are women good for, right?

Feminism!

Sardines wonders what this man did to offend the king so. But then she doesn’t?

It wasn’t her place to ask questions. Her job was to obey. Her freedom depended on it.

If you wanted freedom so bad, why didn’t you just escape as soon as you found the secret escape route, you dumb bitch?

Her sword slid out of its sheath with barely a whine. She took a shuddering breath, bracing herself for what would come next.

I can’t believe it’s only chapter one and I already have to bust this one out, but damn:

Some assassin.

Chapter 2

Sardines is back in the castle delivering “Lord Nirall’s” severed head and some other goodies.

No one spoke as it bounced, a vulgar thudding of stiff and rotting flesh on marble. It rolled to a stop at the foot of the dais, milky eyes turned toward the ornate glass chandelier overhead.

Mmm, yes, Sarah! Sarah, I just LOOOOVE it when you get so edgy! Look how dark and mature your books are, Sarah! 

The king notes that he can barely recognize him because of all the cuts and slashes on his face. I’m assuming since Jammo can’t actually write a morally grey protagonist, it’s not actually Lord Nirall and Sardines has just been finding coprses that look like her victims or some shit.

Celaena gave him a crooked smile, though her throat tightened.

Yep, ok, that’s exactly what it is. 

Supposedly Sardines is supposed to be this brilliant social strategist, but as soon as somebody even slightly doubts her lies, she just flips her shit and starts getting nervous. 

Some MASTER MANIPULATOR. 

She extended the hand to Chaol, whose bronze eyes were distant as he took it from her and offered it to the king. The king’s lip curled, but he pried the ring off the stiff finger.

Why didn’t you just ... bring the ring. Without any hands.

Is it just to make it more gruesome, Jammo? Is that what it is? You realize it just makes it dumber, yes? 

And why aren’t these chunks of rotting flesh filled with maggots? Would that just be too icky, Jammo? You can only handle Hollywood edginess? PG-13 edginess?

“What of his wife?” the king demanded, turning the ring over in his fingers again and again.

“Chained to what’s left of her husband at the bottom of the sea,” Celaena replied with a wicked grin, and removed the slender, pale hand from her sack.

Why did the king even have to ask this? Didn’t he give the order? Did he just say “uuuhhh kill the guy” and Sardines didn’t even ask what to do with the wife? 

God, these people are so dumb.

The king mentions that there’s a rebellion brewing in Rifthold but he only has one name so far.

On [the paper] was a single name: Archer Finn. 

It took every ounce of will and sense of self-preservation to keep her shock from showing.

1) Someone teach this bitch how to pokerface. 

2) There’s just one name on the piece of paper that Chaol hands to her on the king’s order. Why couldn’t he just SAY THE GODDAMN NAME? With his mouth hole?

Whatever. Sardines recognizes Archer and mentions that he’s hot and she used to have a crush on him, so he’s probably mildly important or his death will be super tragic.

He’d been several years older, already a highly sought-after courtesan … who was in need of some training on how to protect himself from his rather jealous clients. And their husbands.

Uuh ... bonus points for male courtesans, I guess? 

He’d been handsome and kind and jovial, not a traitor to the crown so dangerous that the king would want him dead. 

It was absurd. Whoever was giving the king his information was a damned idiot.

Sardines, the smartest being in this world: UUUUHHH THIS DOESN’T MATCH THE THINGS I KNOW!!! EVERYBODY ELSE IS WRONG!!!

Though that’s probably true, since we all know Smaas could never handle Sardines being anything but absolute perfection. 

“You know Archer? I’m not surprised.” A taunt—a challenge. 

She just stared ahead, willing herself to calm, to breathe. “I used to. He’s an extraordinarily wellguarded man. I’ll need time to get past his defenses.” So carefully said, so casually phrased.

If you say so, curiously crusted book page. I mean it’s an obvious and rather clichéd attempt at making more time for herself, but I guess the king is a dumbass and SJM can’t actually write for shit, so this passes for cleverness. 

It works, too. The king, who’s supposedly a shitty dictator who’s afraid of this rebellion killing him, still gives her an entire month. Yeah, that makes sense. Gotta love it when you have to nerf your villains because your hero is a fucking imbecile. 

Honey, king-boy, the correct response here is: “BITCH, MY ACTUAL LIFE IS ON THE LINE, YOU HAVE TWO DAYS, GET!! ON!! IT!!”

It’s especially stupid when this is happening IN THE TOWN THEY LIVE IN. So the fact that this dumbass lie works is just pathetic, honestly.

“Then you have one month,” the king said. “And if he’s not buried by then, perhaps I shall reconsider your position, girl.”

Wow. Damn. SJM, be nicer to your heroes. We’re on the edge of our seats here. How will they possibly defeat this very intimidating villain.

“Be discreet. Your payment for Nirall is already in your chambers.”

1) Do you really have to tell your stealthy assassin to be discreet? Well, I guess since it’s Sardines, you kinda do. What a nice self-roast there, book.

2) Do you also have to tell her that her payment’s in the chambers? Hasn’t she done this a couple of times already? Shouldn’t she know this?

Smaas, why.

We switch POV to Doriass, who angsts about how edgy and evil Sardines is now and how she maybe doesn’t actually love him and manipulated him to love her!

Yeah, she’s not that smart, Doriass.

Actually, for the two months since she’d been named the King’s Champion, she’d been like this. Her lovely dresses and ornate clothes were gone, replaced by an unforgiving, close-cut black tunic and pants, her hair pulled back in a long braid that fell into the folds of that dark cloak she was always wearing. She was a beautiful wraith—and when she looked at him, it was like she didn’t even know who he was.

1) UNFORGIVING TUNIC.

2) This is the second time she’s described as a wraith in the first two chapters. Who edited this? 

A gibbon.

But he couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever meant anything to Celaena at all.

Cry me a river with your manpain, Doriass.

We switch POV back to Sardines. (Well, that was utterly pointless.) She angsts bout how Chaol hasn’t been looking at her the same way ever since she started with the murder and stuff, and she meets with him in the secret passages of the castle or what-the-fuck-ever-who-gives-a-damn.

“Are you still acting like the King’s Champion, or are you back to being Celaena?” In the torchlight, his bronze eyes glittered.

This is the second time his eyes are described as bronze in this chapter. 

I have a feeling that this book was created and “perfected” by a bunch of horny drunk women throwing their own shit at the walls. 

We get more of Sarah’s trademark tepid banter that the fangirls probably think is super hilarious and SASSILY FEMINIST. 

Chaol tells her that he’s been worried and thought she’d been murdered, so they hug it out.

He hadn’t held her since the day she’d learned she had officially won the competition, though the memory of that embrace often drifted into her thoughts. And as she held him now, the craving for it never to stop roared through her.

ROARED.

He tells her that she smells bad.

She hissed and shoved him, her face burning in earnest now. “Carrying around dead body parts for weeks isn’t exactly conducive to smelling nice! And maybe if I’d been given time for a bath instead of being ordered to report immediately to the king, I might have—” She stopped herself at the sight of his grin and smacked his shoulder. “Idiot.”

This is, like, AT LEAST 10 feminisms.

We get another scene change.

After a joyous Fleetfoot calmed down enough for Celaena to speak without being licked [...]

I’m gonna eat that fucking dog.

Sardines angst some more about Elena and about how ...

Fucking called it.

She’d given Lord Nirall the same choice she’d given Sir Carlin: die right then, or fake his own death and flee—flee far, and never use his given name again. So far, of the four men she’d been assigned to dispatch, all had chosen escape.

Apparently, this LE EPIC ASSASSIN saw that Sir Carlin was a cool dude and just couldn’t put a knife in his throat. She only killed BAD PEOPLE, remember? Which makes no sense, considering how shitty evil her mentor was. Why would he even allow that? Whatever.

God forbid we have an actual female anti-hero, right Smaas? You wouldn’t wanna imply your bitchy little twat princess is anything but a perfect beacon of morality.

Curiously, we don’t find out whether she saw the other men acting as kind and cutesy perfect as Sir Carlin. What if they were assholes? I wouldn’t enjoy Sardines playing god, but the fact that she did it before and doesn’t do it now makes no sense either. 

We find out that she’s been finding corpses from sick-houses to replace the dudes for the crime scenes. 

But with magic gone and those wise healers hanged or burned, people were dying in droves. Dying from stupid, once-curable illnesses.

Alright, here cometh an epic rant:

1) I can maybe buy that the king doesn’t know all of the nobles who live far away, at least not enough to recognize them by appearance. What I can’t buy is the servants not recognizing their masters. That’s just plain dumb. Even if she fucked up their faces or cut their heads off, they’r still recognize the bodies as not theirs. 

2) So, do they not have non-magical healers? Did the king know that the world needed magic to survive and that they had no non-magical medicine and still went “nah, just kill them all”. We never really find out if the king truly killed magic of if it went away, so like ??? What’s the truth here?

3) If they have no non-magical healthcare, WHY THE FUCK DOES THE KING LET HER JUST BRING DEAD THINGS INTO HIS THRONE ROOM AND WHY DOES HE TOUCH THOSE DEAD THINGS. WHAT THE FUCK!!!

4) If Sardines has been stealing corpses and not actually killed any of the dudes, then her little angsty thoughts about how bad she feels about killing this man and how it’s not her job to question but to obey are nothing but misleading bullshit. It doesn’t make any sense for her to be thinking that! WHY DID SHE EVEN UNSHEATHE HER SWORD IF SHE KNEW SHE WASN’T GOING TO KILL HIM?! HE’S MENTIONED TO OPEN HIS EYES SO HE’D JUST SCREAM AND FREAK OUT AND CALL ATTENTION TO HER!!

SJM why. 

Celaena fought a shudder. She was playing a very, very lethal game. And now that her targets were people in Rifthold—now that it was Archer … She’d have to find a way to play it better. Because if the king ever learned the truth, if he found out what she was doing … 

He’d destroy her.

God, I fucking hope.

It’s only been two chapters and I’m already tired.