Every creature on earth would know who she was-what she was-even if they were blind and deaf. She didn’t bother with a crown, and Celaena supposed she didn’t need one.
The Queen of the Fae remained silent, her long fingers moon-white and folded in the lap of her violet gown, a white barn owl perched on the back of her chair. She wasn’t getting out until Maeve allowed her. Rowan stepped away from her with his powerful, predatory ease and leaned against the door. An impenetrable wall, as old as the ward-stones surrounding the fortress.
She was still pressed against Rowan as though he were a wall. The dark sister to the fair-haired Mab.Ĭelaena had been fooling herself into thinking this would be easy. Maeve was fearsome in her perfection, utterly still, eternal and calm and radiating ancient grace. And in some fortress that seemed far, far beneath the raven-haired beauty watching her with black, depthless eyes. She was to face the Queen of the Fae as Maeve wanted to be faced. She was not to have time to gather herself, to make up excuses and half truths, as she should have been doing these past few days instead of free-falling into silence and the misty cold.
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