#Captain Westfall

[acourtofquestions]

The Assassin and The Captain

a Throne of Glass series deleted scene (later replaced by Chapter 2) of Crown of Midnight

by Sarah J. Maas

This story belongs to its writer Sarah J. Maas & said affiliates. I claim NO ownership of this story, and give full credit to said proper parties.

[acourtofquestions]

The Captain and The Prince:

A Throne of Glass Short story (bonus) from a Throne of Glass paperback book

Taking place pre-Throne of Glass: as Chaol (the Captain) and Dorian (the Prince) discuss the deadly competition upcoming in Throne of Glass, the Assassin to be Champion, and set their path to Endovier to find her in Chapter 1.

@guardian-angel12

THRONE OF GLASS EXTRA STORY

The Captain and The Prince

This story belongs to Sarah J Maas. I claim NO ownership of this. 

ISBN: 978-1-61963-034-5 (paperback) 978-1-59990-695-9 (hardback)

[rainingriversofyou]

Celaena & Chaol - Throne Of Glass

Artist: l.moon_art for warlock.and.co

[shadowqueenjude]

Was just rereading parts of Throne of Glass book 1 and it's amazing how...young Dorian, Celaena, and Chaol all seem compared to at the end of the series. The character arcs of those three characters were amazing, makes me wonder how SJM flopped so badly with ACOTAR?

[witchthewriter]

𝐘𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝑛𝑒́𝑒 𝑇𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠)

INFJ

Ravenclaw

Neutral Good

Virgo Sun, Cancer Moon, Aries Rising

A gifted healer from Fenharrow, Yrene is the descendant of a long line of healer women as they are blessed by the goddess of healing, Silba. When the Adarlan soldiers came to take both Yrene and her mother, the kind woman had killed a soldier and distracted the others so Yrene could escape. Yrene had watched her mother die and hated Adarlan and its soldiers from that day on.

One night as she was working in an Innish tavern, she met Celaena Sardothien, and the assassin taught her how to defend herself. As she left in the morning, the hidden princess left enough money for Yrene to go to the Torre Cesme and become a healer. Celaena left a note as well and Yrene kept that note until she was reunited with the assassin, now Queen, Aelin.

In her years at the Cesme, she became the Heir Apparent of the Healer on High. However, a wounded Chaol Westfall and Captain of the Guard, Nesryn Faliq, had arrived in Antica. Yrene was sent to work on Chaol, although she was adamant of her dislike towards Adarlan soldiers, their relationship went from enemies to lovers by the end of Chaol's stay.

With her ties to the royals and healers in Antica, Yrene and Chaol were able to sail back to the northern continent. The khaganate army (with the heir, Sartaq who had fallen in love with Nesryn) as well as an army of Ruk riders, followed as well, committing themselves to the aid of Queen Aelin.

During the war she was constantly using her powers to heal, treat, aid and improve. She was also using them to rid the 'valg' soldiers and change them into humans again. However, whenever she was drained, her husband - Chaol, was as well.

She had healed his back injury in Antica, but a secret plot by the Valg brought his injuries back to the same as before. Yrene was able to treat Chaol, but she had to entwine her life with his. When she is weak, so is Chaol.

When they arrived in the north, Yrene found out she was pregnant, and didn't tell anybody. But being around healers meant they noticed the changes in her and her body.

So when it came time to kill the very evil of this world, she did so, pregnant and exhausted, she obliterated Erawan.

[hatereadings]

Throne of Glass

So I first found out about this series because these ACoTaR recaps I was reading mentioned that Sarah J Maas had a previous fantasy series that came out, and the protagonist was an assassin who didn't even kill anyone in the first book. You can check out the recaps here, if you're interested in other people's hate-reads.

The author of those recaps was so appalled by ACoTaR that she's probably never going to read another SJM book, which means that the burden of recapping them has sadly fallen to... well, people who enjoyed the recaps in general, but I think I'm the only one actually willing to do this to myself.

So, here goes! I'm going to start with Throne of Glass, because it was published first, but actually mainly because it's the most readily available at my library (If I have to return it, I might switch to The Assassin's Blade for a bit).

The dedication page is

To all my readers from FictionPress--for being with me at the beginning and staying long after the end. Thank you for everything.

This honestly made me curious enough to look things up, and, whaddya know, this book was originally a story on FictionPress! In 2012, peak fandom, so... credit where it's due, clearly some of us who were on FictionPress back then felt catered to.

That reminds me - I know these books are intended for teenage girls, and I'm going to do my best to respect that and view them from that lens. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that audience or what they need or want to be reading at that time in their lives.

That said, even WITH that caveat, there's going to be a lot of shit to talk about, so buckle up.

Chapter 1

RIGHT AWAY, I have issues with the worldbuilding.

After a year of slavery in the Salt Mines of Endovier, Celaena Sardothien was accustomed to being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword-point. Most of the thousands of slaves in Endovier received similar treatment--though an extra half-dozen guards always walked Celaena to and from the mines.

How on EARTH is this economical?! If someone is genuinely SO DANGEROUS that they need SIX GUARDS to accompany them everywhere -- how does it make ANY sense to put them to work in a mine?!?!?!

I'm going to ignore the fact that a white author is writing about slavery, because... it was 2012; a lot of us are guilty of Spartacus fanfic. We know better now, is the important part.

That was to be expected by Adarlan's most notorious assassin.

Okay. Some people have pointed out in the past that it doesn't make sense for assassins to be famous. I think that's something that's safe to gloss over in this sort of YA, though. I mean, what teenage girl hasn't wanted to be some kind of universally feared physical badass, whether that's an assassin or a mercenary or a serial killer? It's fine.

Still, if she's really so dangerous and such a Big Deal, then... again, why is she in the mines??? Why isn't she in an impenetrable cell somewhere??? You're literally paying SIX EXTRA full-time workers just to stand around watching her when they could be used to do, idk, anything else? Guarding the royal family, guarding the treasury, going to war against your enemies? This is like... Kingsguard level of security. Not something you'd want to spend on a prisoner.

There's a "hooded man in black" walking next to her. Does this sound like an executioner, or is that just me?

Apparently they take an unnecessarily circuitous route, going around and around in circles because the guy in charge... idk, wants to disorient Celaena? Even though she's been living there for a year? I really hope the people guarding her are supposed to be idiots, so she can seem like a badass genius in comparison; if this is the level of intelligence we're working with throughout the book, I don't know what's going to sustain me through this read.

The guy in the hood apparently introduced himself as Chaol Westfall, Captain of the Royal Guard, and she overheard that when she first saw him. Which might've been nice to include when we, the readers, first see him, but whatever. Apparently he's hiding his face from her to try and intimidate her, which has "five-year-old-boy-tries-to-scare-you-by-donning-a-frankenstein-mask" energy.

Celaena doesn't know why he's come to get her. She notices that her clothes are nearly rags and that her skin is dirty, and reflects that she used to be beautiful. Again, this feels more like YA convention than an actual, realistic response someone would have to being forced to mine salt for a year. Like, I can get having that response to suddenly seeing a bunch of non-miners and feeling the contrast between their clean clothes and your filthy rags, but having that just pop up idly while you're walking around your prison? It's a very hamfisted way of trying to stick in a bit of physical description at the beginning. And we get a full physical description later on, so why even bother?

"You're a long way from Rifthold, Captain," she said, clearing her throat. "Did you come with the army I heard thumping around earlier?" She peered into the darkness beneath his hood but saw nothing. Still, she felt his eyes upon her face, judging, weighing, testing. She stared right back. The Captain of the Royal Guard would be an interesting opponent. Maybe even worthy of some effort on her part.

Personally I would have added a line break after that quote, but that might just be a stylistic choice. I don't really have any bones to pick with the writing here; it seems like this is serving the wish fulfillment that a lot of the target audience really wants - a protagonist so deadly that no one is any match for them. Maybe for a more jaded audience, they'd think, "Mary Sue," and toss the book aside, but we embrace earnest enthusiasm here.

Oh, it'd be nice to see his blood spill across the marble.

Please don't tease. I know there isn't going to be any murder in this book. I can't take the false hope.

She'd lost her temper once before--once, when her first overseer chose the wrong day to push her too hard. She still remembered the feeling of embedding the pickax into his gut, and the stickiness of his blood on her hands and face. She could disarm two of these guards in a heartbeat. Would the captain fare better than her late overseer? Contemplating the potential outcomes, she grinned at him again. "Don't you look at me like that," he warned, and his hand drifted back toward his sword.

Okay, offscreen kill, but maybe I should try to be content with these crumbs.

They passed a series of wooden doors that she'd seen a few minutes ago. If she wanted to escape, she simply had to turn left at the next hallway and take the stairs down three flights. The only thing all the intended disorientation had accomplished was to familiarize her with the building. Idiots.

Celaena gets annoyed when Chaol won't talk to her, which is... kind of dumb? I mean, did you expect him to? You guys are enemies. Just keep up a one-sided banter like a normal prisoner and stop complaining.

She contemplates escape some more, then decides that it'd be too much trouble, so she'll wait. It's very convenient that all the guards are idiots; they've been walking so long that Celaena has the opportunity to infodump some worldbuilding on us. We learn that the kingdom they're in is called Adarlan, and it sends poor people, criminals, and "latest conquests" into the salt mines of Endovier, which looks something like the jail in Les Mis, with misery and whips cracking and all the stereotypical nonsense. Again, this is from over a decade ago; this shit would not fly today. That's not how you handle a discussion of slavery in this country.

Adarlan has banned magic, and anyone accused of practicing gets sent to Endovier.

Eyllwe is apparently a country that's at war with Adarlan, still resisting its rule, and any captured Eyllwe folks also get sent to Endovier. Okay, so... I know Rome did this too, but this is sounding less like Rome and more like Nazi Germany, with the work camps for prisoners. Maas is apparently of Jewish descent, so I'm not going to weigh in on whether that's a problem.

Celaena mentions that she was "betrayed and captured" one night and sent to this place, and then pivots to thinking about whether she's finally going to be executed. I mean, it would make sense; those 6 guards' paychecks have probably cost the crown a tidy amount over the past year.

At last, they stopped before a set of red-and-gold glass doors so thick that she couldn't see through them.

That is a ridiculously fancy door for a mine. Why.

They try to pull Celaena through, she's convinced they're here to kill her and resists, but they pull her in anyway. Uhhhh... what happened to

She could disarm two of these guards in a heartbeat.

?

I remember the inconsistency in ACoTaR. Wasn't expecting it to show up so early here, though.

A glass chandelier shaped like a grapevine occupied most of the ceiling, spitting seeds of diamond fire onto the windows along the far side of the room.

Okay, that's actually a really pretty description. I'd go as far as to say that 'spitting seeds of diamond fire' is genuinely a good turn of phrase. That said...

WHY IS THIS IN A SALT MINE?!?!?!?!

Compared to the bleakness outside those windows, the opulence felt like a slap to the face. A reminder of how much they profited from her labor.

Ah. For symbolism.

In case you were wondering, no, that's not a good enough reason. It makes no sense with the worldbuilding. Why on earth would ANYONE choose to build something so fancy here. Nobody just spends their time thinking, "I'm feeling very evil today. What exceptionally evil project can I spend a great deal of money on to show off just how evil I am? I know! I'll build an opulent room next to a slave pit!"

Also? Nobody is profiting from your labor, Celaena. I don't know how much salt costs, but every day you work costs your overseers a day's wages for each of SIX GUARDS. I don't think there's much profit being turned here.

The captain shoves her in, there's more guards, and then

On an ornate redwood throne sat a handsome young man. Her heart stopped as everyone bowed.

Ah. The love interest.

She was standing in front of the Crown Prince of Adarlan.

And that's the chapter hook!

Two questions:

How did they get the throne in there? I can't tell if it's more ridiculous if they literally had to build a new fancy room with a throne when they heard the prince was coming, or if the prince's entourage carries a giant throne with him wherever he goes so he can sit in it, OR if every single building in Adarlan has to have a Throne Room of sufficient grandeur just in case the Crown Prince decides to stop by. There's just no good explanation for this. (Although from a different perspective, there are only good explanations for this)

We literally just heard an infodump about how Adarlan is a toxic power. Are they really trying to make it believable that one of the leaders of this country is a decent enough dude to be a love interest?

So far, this feels like even more of a mess than ACoTaR was. I'm curious to know if that gets any better over the course of this book, or if it's somehow all downhill from here.

(next chapter)

[leiawritesstories]

PART SEVEN: JULY

Word count: 8.4k

Warnings: swearing, so so much scheming, pissy Rowan, snarky Aelin, innuendo, references to sexy times, breaking and entering and other criminal behavior, Maeve, violence, and a splash of angst

enjoy...? @house-of-galathynius i did an oopsie 😈

Masterlist

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the absence of Captain Westfall, Lieutenant Whitethorn has been made temporary head of the investigation into the Orynth Assassinations. 

Rowan knew for a fact that multiple people in Orynth PD were fucking pissed about that memo, but it was jointly signed by the Chief of Police and Commander Gavriel Ashryver of the Terrasen Special Forces, so nobody could complain. Chaol’s murder had, apparently, been something of a kick in the ass to both the police and the TSF, and as a result, the special forces had openly partnered with PD in an effort to solve the case, arrest whoever was behind the murders, and put the Shadow Assassin behind bars. 

In the meantime, Rowan had an entire investigative team now turned to him for directions, and he didn’t fucking know where to start. 

The morgue was supposed to have the results of Chaol’s autopsy an hour ago, and he hadn’t heard a damn thing from them. He could allow a bit of extra time, but if he didn’t have autopsy results in his hand by the end of the day, he was going to be fucking angry. That autopsy was key to uncovering who had slaughtered Chaol, and once he had that information, Rowan could finally set into motion the part of his plans where he laid a trap for Celaena Sardothien. 

Right on cue, someone knocked on his door. 

“Come in,” he said brusquely. 

Borte stuck her head into his office. “Autopsy report for you, Lieutenant.” 

“About time.” He took the papers from her. “That’s all, Borte.” 

“Sure thing.” She turned to leave. “Coroner should have his report in a week or so.” 

“A week?” Rowan snapped. “What the hell?” 

Borte’s dark eyes narrowed. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the coroner’s office is a little fucking busy at the moment. A week is the fastest he said he could get this case done, and only because it’s Westfall.” She’d never been one to take anyone’s shit—years of working as the medical examiner for Orynth PD had thickened her skin. 

“Fucking hell.” Rowan ran a hand over his face. “Okay. Fine. A week it is.” He turned to the autopsy report in his hands, barely hearing the door click shut as Borte left. His eyes scanned the lines of text rapidly, noting the key observations from Borte’s examination. Some of it was expected—he’d found Chaol’d body, after all, so he knew the condition it had been in. Some things, though, made him stop for a moment and question his own thinking. 

He’d been expecting the M.O. to match up with the string of homicides for which he believed Celaena Sardothien to be responsible, but the M.O. of Chaol’s murder was completely different. 

Mentally, he slapped himself across the face. Get a fucking grip, Whitethorn! He should have known from the second he saw that note on Westfall’s forehead that it wasn’t Sardothien. She was brutal, but she never left a fucking calling card. Still, he couldn;t shake the part of himself that insisted there was some kind of connection between this Queen of the Night name and Celaena’s criminal outfit.

Maybe that was what she called herself to her crew.

Either way…if there was even a small possibility that Celaena was involved in the murder of Chaol Westfall, then Rowan needed to go meet with Aelin. Because there was a distinct possibility that with Chaol gone, the Shadow Assassin had decided there was no longer any reason to keep her cover, and that meant that Aelin could be in danger. 

And Rowan would die before he let the Shadow Assassin threaten the woman he loved. 

~

Near-invisible earpiece settled in her ear, Aelin paced across her office, gesticulating wildly as she yelled at Nox over the encrypted line. 

“The fuck do you mean, can’t do anything about it? Owens, this is bad fucking news!” 

“It’s too risky, Boss,” Nox retorted from the other end of the call. “He’s gonna be in the PD morgue by now, and we can’t take the risk of breaking into fucking PD.” 

“Like hell we can’t,” Aelin snapped. “Owens, you’re a smart man. You know at least some of why I’m losing my shit over Chaol Westfall’s death. Tell me why.” 

Nox paused for a short moment. “Well, I know he’s your inside man in PD. I know he’s been feeding you info on the investigation. And I know Maeve had him killed, because she left a goddamn note like she always does.”

“That bitch,” Aelin grumbled. “Keep going, Nox.”

“It sucks that he’s dead, but I don’t know what the big fucking deal is, Boss,” Nox admitted. “Maybe we don’t have an inside man anymore—so what? Maeve is the number one target now, yeah?” 

“Do you know how we were able to get an inside man in PD?” 

“I’m assuming you knew Westfall and…uh…convinced him?” 

“Let me tell you something, Owens.” Aelin huffed out a tense breath. “Westfall isn’t actually Westfall. He’s Ren Allsbrook.” 

There was a long, incredulous silence. 

“What…the fuck?” Nox breathed. 

“Ren Allsbrook. Internationally infamous spy, probably one of the most wanted persons in the world. Remember how he escaped prison way back in January? Yeah. That was me. I had a job for him, and he does—he did—that job admirably fucking well.” 

“Bloody fucking hell. Westfall was your inside man.” 

“Yeah, pretty much.” Aelin twisted the ring around her right middle finger. “If and when PD finds out that Westfall wasn’t actually Westfall, they’re gonna start actually investigating shit.” 

“And we can’t have that happening,” Nox said, voicing the unspoken end of her sentence. 

“Definitely not.” She went quiet for a moment, thinking. “Owens?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What security system does Orynth PD use at their headquarters?” 

“Uh…” Keys clicked in the background on his end of the call. “It’s an Axis system, most recently updated last year, so probably a current model, which tracks to CCTV and phone networks. I’d bet that a number of higher-ups have phone access to the footage.”

“Axis…they’re not known for subtle devices, are they?” Aelin asked. 

“Nope, they’re more into wall-mounted stuff. Some of it is smaller-scale, but you can pretty much always visually locate it…wait a goddamn minute.” Nox’s tone slipped towards the accusatory. “Why am I telling you all this, Boss?” 

Aelin shrugged, though Nox couldn’t see it. “Just curious.” 

He scoffed. “And I’m the queen of Spain. Who the hell are you sending to PD?”

“Haven’t decided yet, but thanks for the info on the security system,” she said lightly. “Oh, and Owens?” 

“What?” 

Her voice was bloodied steel. “Question my thoughts again and I’ll hang you by your intestines.” 

“That’s pretty fucking gory,” he deadpanned. 

She sighed, knowing he only wanted to support her schemes. “I’m not squeamish, Owens.”

“Don’t I know it.” His keyboard resumed its clicking. “That all, Boss?” 

“That’s all.” She ended the call with a click. 

She took a deep, controlled breath, releasing it with a drawn out hiss of frustration tinged with fear. Fuck. For the first time in…possibly ever, she felt a surge of real terror knife through her blood. If Orynth PD discovered that the body in their morgue was clothed with a synthetic substance that absolutely nobody should know about, she would have real problems. 

Which meant that she needed to get the SecondSkin back before they found it. 

~

Three nights later, on silent feet, Aelin crept around the shadowed corner of the Orynth Police Department’s downtown headquarters, the brick exterior rough beneath her gloved hands. Reaching the edge of the bright floodlights that illuminated the property, she paused for a moment, reached into one of the pockets of her fitted charcoal-black cargo pants, and pressed a small button on a tiny remote. She waited for exactly fifty-two seconds, counting each one in her mind, and pressed the button again. 

The eyes of every single security camera perched on the Orynth PD building, light posts, fences, even the ones hidden in the trees, blinked twice and returned to normal. 

Aelin smothered a triumphant grin. Yes! The cameras would be on a loop of those fifty-two recorded seconds for the next hour, giving her exactly sixty minutes to slip into the building, find the morgue, locate Ren’s body, detach the SecondSkin, and return everything to its exact location before she left the building. Easy—right? 

Not giving herself time to wonder, she darted forwards, still clinging to the fraction of shadowed space directly against the walls, located the nearest basement-level door, found the ID reader mounted next to the door, slid a generic fake police ID out of her pocket, and pressed it against the reader. The tiny red light flashed green, and the door unlocked with a muted clicking noise. She pushed it open just far enough to slip inside the building and carefully closed the thick metal door behind herself. 

She was in. 

Luckily for her, Orynth PD had convenient signage posted around their building, so she easily located the morgue—on the basement level, as she’d suspected—and keyed in the combination that she may or may not have hacked into the PD database to find. The morgue door unlatched with a hiss. Again, she smothered her smirk and ducked through the doors, bracing herself against the sudden chill, then turned to the…task at hand. 

If her count was correct, she had forty-two minutes to extract the SecondSkin. 

Thankful for the black half-mask that both obscured her face and filtered out some of the smell, Aelin crossed the sterile, eerily silent room and located the row of stainless steel doors. She forced her emotions to the back burner, flicking that mental switch that turned her from CEO to heartless criminal, and scanned the row of doors. Westfall. There he was. 

She reached for the door’s handle and suddenly froze, overcome with the reality of what she was about to do, of who was inside that door, of how brutalized Ren Allsbrook’s body would probably be. 

All of a sudden, Celaena Sardothien felt a spear of terror, of weakness, of…humanity. 

Then she shoved it down, pulled open the door, and watched impassively as the high-tech cryo table slid out with a mechanical hiss and unfolded its legs from the bottom of the shelf. When the table was stable, she snapped a pair of sterile latex gloves on over her protective leather ones, exhaled a short sharp breath, and reached for Ren Allsbrook’s still, silent body. 

The SecondSkin peeled away surprisingly easily, and it only took her about twelve minutes to remove all the pieces. She tucked that little fact into the back of her mind—Nehemia would definitely want to know that body temperature had an effect on how easily one could apply and remove SecondSkin. The fact that Ren had only been wearing the synthetic substance on his hands, face, and feet probably made the process faster as well. When every bit of the SecondSkin had been removed, she checked his body once more, still impassive to the wounds that marred his pale, cold skin, and tucked the pieces of synthetic material into a plastic bag that she then hid in yet another pocket. 

Then, Aelin gently laid her gloved fingertips against Ren Allsbrook’s still, silent face and said a quiet goodbye. May we meet again in the next life. 

Steeling herself, she pushed the button on the side of the table, and it retracted its legs and slid back into its slot. In her mind, she made a final goodbye, the ancient words of farewell that were uttered at every funeral coming easily to her tongue. When the door concealing Ren’s body clicked shut, Aelin took a fortifying breath, turned, and walked back out of the morgue. 

She wove her way back through the halls of the building until she came to the same door she’d come in, and after checking to make sure there were no cops strolling down the halls, she tapped the fake ID to the reader, opened the door, and left Orynth PD headquarters. As she turned to make sure the door closed completely behind herself, she felt the slightly scooped neckline of her shirt dip, the back of the neckline dipping towards her shoulder blade. She ignored it, knowing she wasn’t on camera anyway and she could fix it when she was safely in the shadows. 

Barely sure if she was breathing, Aelin crept back around to the same shadowed corner where she had reset the security cameras, and just as she had done to loop the feeds, she reached into her pocket and tapped the tiny remote once. The cameras blinked back into their usual motion, back on their normal recording circuit. Aelin watched them for a full minute before she nodded, exhaled, and turned on her heel, melting into the darkness of the night as she headed back towards her shitty apartment in the industrial sector. 

She didn’t notice the tiny, near-invisible blue light blinking at her from a tree directly opposite the door that she had used. 

~

Back at the Gal Inc. labs the next day, Aelin carefully logged each piece of SecondSkin that she had retrieved, checking it three times against the records. She breathed a soul-deep sigh of relief when she finally confirmed that it was all there, that nothing had been left behind at the Orynth PD morgue. 

“Good news, Miss CEO?” Nehemia’s question broke into Aelin’s thoughts. 

“Yeah.” Aelin closed the concealed door of the secret locker that held the SecondSkin. “All of it is there, nothing missing.” 

“Well, that’s a good thing.” The engineer sat down on the stool opposite Aelin’s. “And you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Are you doing okay, Aelin?” 

Aelin tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m fine.” 

Nehemia gave her a flat look that screamed, bullshit. “I’ve known you for too damn long to accept that as an answer, boss lady.”

“Fine.” Aelin blew out a sigh. “I shut myself off last night, Nemi. It…it was like I turned off my humanity, for fuck’s sake. But I had to.”

“And you feel torn up about that, yeah?” Nehemia’s voice held no judgment, only sympathy. 

“Pretty much, yeah,” Aelin said. “Ren was…I’d known Ren since we were kids, Nemi. It doesn’t feel right that he’s gone.” 

“I know.” The chief engineer reached over and tucked her hand over Aelin’s. “I know.” 

Abruptly, Aelin stood up and fiercely hugged Nehemia. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. 

“Always,” Nehemia whispered back. She gave Aelin a small smile tinged with sorrow as they parted. “I’m here whenever, Ae.” 

“I know.” As she walked out of the labs, Aelin expelled a deep breath, winding her emotions back into control. She hadn’t been quite herself since last night, partly from what she had done and partly from the tiny, niggling feeling that she couldn’t quite shake. The odd sense that something was off about her break-in, that the whole thing had gone too smoothly. 

She shook her head. Everything is fine, Galathynius. She’d been in the business for so long that she might be embarrassed if she couldn’t pull off a simple break-in. It was probably just the unsettling reality of what she had done—taking the SecondSkin off of Ren’s body. There was something so wrong about that situation, something so tragic about seeing an old friend dead. 

That lingering sliver of doubt was just her unsettled emotions. It had to be. 

Besides, it would no doubt go away when all hell broke loose at Orynth PD, and she couldn’t fucking wait for that to happen. 

~

When he had seen the notification from his security camera, Rowan had initially dismissed it as nothing important. The near-undetectable camera that he’d installed outside a back door of Orynth PD headquarters when he came onto the investigative team was just an extra measure for his own comfort; he was completely confident that the advanced CCTV system at the building was just fine. He simply liked to have a camera feed that went only to him. 

He didn’t think anything of the notification—the system sent him occasional notifications at random times, and they were typically nothing more than something blowing across the field of the camera’s vision—until a couple of days later, when he happened to open the app and notice the alert. 

Almost out of habit, he tapped on the notification and half-watched the footage, until a flicker of movement snapped his full attention to the video feed. He backtracked, slowed the playback speed, and watched the video like a fucking hawk, second by second, until that blurred flicker of movement came onto the screen again. 

It was a person. 

Fucking hell. 

Rowan paused on the single, half-second clip of the person, scrutinizing their form and stance and any detail he could pick out from that tiny glimpse his camera had caught. He could tell from the person’s figure that it was a woman, dressed in dark, fitted clothing, with a cap and mask obscuring her face. She was a bare flicker of movement before she disappeared into the shadows, and…wait a goddamn fucking minute. Disappeared. Into. The. Fucking. Shadows. 

He’d captured video footage—brief as it was—of Celaena Goddamn Sardothien. That had to be her—the clothes, the movements, the sheer speed with which she dodged the cameras’ range. He knew of absolutely no one else with that level of skill. 

Burning hell. That meant…Rowan reached for his radio. “Luca.” 

“Sir?” Luca answered instantly. 

“Get the CCTV footage from July 6th night onto the monitors. I’m going over it with the team.” 

“Give me two minutes.” As always, Luca was dependable and quick. 

Two and a half minutes later, Rowan stormed into the bullpen, his jaw locked in a rigid line. He glanced at the monitors, where Luca had indeed projected the footage from July 6th. He’d managed to pull all the footage, which was perfect, but Rowan was primarily concerned with the cameras that had been recording the back of the building. 

He cleared his throat. “On the sixth of this month, someone broke into this building.” 

Gasps of shock rippled around the room. 

“Luca, pull up just the cameras from the rear of the building.” Luca nodded and tapped rapidly on his keyboard, reducing the camera feeds down to six different angles. “Now, I have a suspicion of what we’re going to see, but I need all of you to watch. Hit play.” 

Luca started the recording. The entire investigative team watched in utter silence as the CCTV footage played seamlessly, a seemingly perfect recording of absolutely nothing but the exterior of Orynth PD headquarters at night. 

“What you don’t see is the criminal who waltzed right the fuck into our building and did gods know what before leaving without a trace.” Rowan’s jaw flickered as he gritted out the words. “I need analysis of the segment from 0330 to 0410 ASAP. Get it done.” 

“Yes, sir!” Three of the team members clustered around one monitor. 

Rowan turned and stalked out of the bullpen, heading back to his office to examine his camera’s footage, again, in the hopes that it would distract him from seething over the completely clean footage from the night of the break-in. He slowed the speed down even further, scrutinizing every tiny breath of time as the figure of Celaena Sardothien flickered across his screen. 

A knock on his door interrupted his analysis. “Sir?” 

“What.” 

Luca popped the door open and stuck his head in. “Results, sir.” 

Rowan went back to the bullpen. “Analysis? What’ve you got?” 

Rem, one of the few women on the team, fiddled with her badge. “Well, it’s not good, sir. We found nothing in the recording, not even with different rates of playback.” 

“Inconsistencies?” Rowan snapped. He didn’t give a shit about being rude—Rem had been trying to get her fake nails into his pants since the day he’d walked onto the investigation. 

“None.” Her face tightened in irritation. “We suspect a loop, but no timing matches an ordinary loop. It’s too natural—no cyclical marks, nothing that crosses the screen at exact intervals, nothing.” 

“Fucker,” Rowan grunted under his breath. “Did any of you even bother running a stopwatch to track if there’s any breaks in the footage?” 

Rem’s bright pink lips turned downwards into a scowl. “Sir, there aren’t—” 

“Fifty-two seconds, sir,” Luca interrupted. “Watch.” He slowed the camera footage to an excruciatingly slow pace and started a timer. At exactly the fifty-two-second mark, a near-seamless line blinked across the screen, almost completely undetectable unless the playback was slowed this far down. 

“Shit,” Rowan hissed. “Good work, Luca.” He turned on his heel and left the bullpen, thoughts and theories flying around his head at the speed of light. On his phone, the blurry image of Celaena Sardothien’s back glared up at him, taunting him, as if the goddamned Shadow Assassin was laughing at him from wherever the fuck she was. 

He glared at his phone, glared at the devious, black-hearted woman in the footage. It was so damn fitting that she’d choose to wear black clothing to match her heart. But that small sliver of skin revealed that she was human, no matter what the rumors said. 

Sliver of skin??? 

Rowan zoomed in as close as he could, scrutinizing the grainy, blurry image. He hadn’t been mistaken—in that frame, the back of Celaena’s shirt had dipped a tiny bit, exposing a sliver of her back. 

Exposing the licks of ink tattooed onto her spine. 

Rowan’s mind abruptly went dead fucking silent, the cacophony of his thoughts and the noise of the police building cut off into throbbing, terrifying, heart-stopping silence. 

Because those flicks of ink looked like fucking flames. And he knew exactly one person in the whole of Orynth—hell, in the whole of the fucking world—with tattooed flames licking up towards her hairline. He knew exactly one person with both the audacity and the personality to pull off a spine tattoo that boldly artistic. 

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. 

Aelin. 

His Aelin. 

What…the fuck?!

Rowan jerked himself out of his chair, shook his head sharply, let his gaze dart around the room, and couldn’t seem to see straight. Crack! The harsh slap of his palm against his own cheek yanked him back into something resembling sanity, and he shook his head again before turning back to that goddamn image frozen on his phone screen. 

Even paused—especially paused—the image was grainy and blurry, as if Sardothien had been moving so fast that the camera physically couldn’t keep up with her speed. Blinking, Rowan squinted harder at the blurry image, his mind churning through all the possibilities. First—and he could kick himself for jumping to conclusions so damn fast—how the fuck did he know the tattoo was flames? So many people had tattoos; clearly Sardothien was just one of many. Knowing what he did about the elusive criminal, it was probably some kind of fucked-up depiction of her torturing one of her victims or some depraved shit like that. He couldn’t see clear details from the grainy image, so he had absolutely no right whatsoever to jump to some half-crocked conclusion about Sardothien’s tattoo. 

Still, knowing that she had a tattoo on her back was crucial information; it was one more definite physical descriptor that could identify her if she was caught. When she was caught.

As his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, Rowan dropped back into his chair, tapped out of his security camera app, and went to log the new findings in his notes. With the knowledge that Sardothien had broken into the fucking building, this investigation had taken on a new, more urgent tone. Clearly, the Shadow Assassin had moved into a new phase of action, one that targeted the police, which made it all the more urgent to get her behind bars. 

If only the damn morgue would get back with Westfall’s scans and the coroner’s report, he would have a decent idea of where to go to hunt down Celaena Sardothien. 

~

“How,” Rowan seethed, “in the fucking FUCK?!” 

Every door in the hallway rattled on its hinges as he slammed open the meeting room’s door and stormed down the hall, a dangerously murderous gleam of rage lighting up his eyes. His hard, heavy steps burst into the bullpen, where every single person there snapped to attention as he slammed the coroner’s reports down on the table. 

“We have a fucking problem.” His voice was deadly calm, tight with barely-leashed fury. A muscle ticked rapidly in the corner of his jaw. 

The coroner’s report, its final version dated July 14th, contained extensive information on the postmortem state of Chaol Westfall, down to DNA analysis in case it was needed. Rowan typically found coroner’s reports to be incredibly helpful pieces of information, but this one…this one contained a little nugget of detail that had his head spinning in so many directions he didn’t know which way was up. 

Luca broke the tense, shivering silence. “Sir? You received the report before any of us.” 

Rowan flicked a bladed glare at the papers sitting on the table. “Look at the top one.” 

“Of course.” Luca picked up the sheet, looked it over, and dropped it, his jaw falling open as if it had been unscrewed. “Holy fuck.”

“That’s about right,” Rowan grunted. “Like I said, we’ve got a fucking problem.” 

The team clustered around the table, passing around the paper. Whispers, gasps, and murmured theories and ideas rippled throughout the room as more people discovered the new information that had turned Rowan’s brain into a goddamn washing machine on a spin cycle. The thoughts he’d been toying with—the ideas about Sardothien’s tattoo—flew out his mental window, lost in the maelstrom of finding out that Chaol Westfall was not Chaol Westfall. 

Under the heading “DNA Analysis,” the coroner’s report had listed the DNA identification of Chaol Westfall’s body. But the name and identity given was not Chaol Westfall. 

“DNA analysis finds identity of the subject to be Ren Allsbrook, 31M. Height 183cm, weight 81.6kg. Dominant hand: Left. Eyes: hazel. Hair color: brown.” 

Ren Allsbrook. 

All hell broke loose.

“He’s been in maximum-security federal prison for the last twenty-two months!” hissed one of the officers, his brows furrowing in utter confusion. 

Luca snorted. “Did you forget the headline from January, dumbass? Allsbrook broke out.” 

“And broke right the fuck in to Orynth PD,” Rowan muttered under his breath. He refused to acknowledge the part of his brain that was astonished at the sheer ingenuity and capability of Ren Allsbrook—the man’s reputation as the best spy in the world was clearly deserved. Fuck, the man had been waltzing around in plain sight as Police Captain Chaol Westfall since January, and every single member of the highly trained, highly skilled investigative team had even once questioned Westfall’s alibi. 

“God-damn,” Rem whistled, sneaking what she thought was a sly look over to Rowan. “That’s six whole months with a fake Westfall here. I wonder why?” 

“You don’t get paid to fucking wonder,” Rowan snapped. 

Rem flushed with embarrassment, her icy blue gaze turning pouty. “That’s literally my job, I’m a detective.” 

“That’s—” 

“Connect the obvious fucking dots, Remy,” Luca interjected, cutting Rowan off before he could say something truly awful. “Allsbrook was a spy, the best one in the world if we believe his reputation. He’s been posing as Captain Westfall since January, which was when Lieutenant Whitethorn joined this investigation. That was also when we went public about the investigation.” 

“So he was working for the special forces?” Rem frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense, because why would the TSF want to hire a spy if they already publicly gave us one of their men?” 

“Wrong track,” Luca said. His dark eyes were alight with a look that Rowan recognized as frantic joy, a look that meant he’d formed a new hypothesis that he couldn’t wait to share. “What else happened in January? Hamel’s murder, among other murders. The Wilkins lot explosion, at which we found a mysterious scrap of fabric that lab analysis told us was completely foreign. Followed by more murders, more known criminals turning up brutally murdered or disappearing entirely, and a whole fucking lot of our trails going cold.” He paused for breath and raked his fingers through his frizzy curls. “We eventually identified a suspect in the homicide investigations, but that didn’t happen for months. Why? Because that suspect was the person who hired Allsbrook. That person was making sure we didn’t find her. Can’t you see?’ He spread his arms wide. “The Shadow Assassin hired Ren Allsbrook! He was her spy in the police department, making sure we stayed off her trail for as long as possible. He was Celaena Sardothien’s inside man.” 

Even Rowan stared, slack-jawed, as Luca concluded his half-wild rant and caught his heaving breath. The younger man looked over to Rowan, hopefulness muted beneath his eager gaze. “What do you think, sir?” 

“I think,” Rowan said slowly, “that you’re a goddamn genius, Luca.” 

Luca beamed. “Really?” 

“Absolutely.” Rowan nodded, latching onto Luca’s theory and immediately seeing how all the pieces fit into place. “We’d been locating the bodies too soon after Sardothien made her murders, and she needed a way to keep us delayed so that she could kill more and more people. The homicides did trail off; we haven’t had one in a few months. However, that does not mean she’s done killing. If anything, she was just using the time to get us all caught up in the murder scene analysis, probably working with Allsbrook to make sure we didn’t see any new developments until too late.” 

“But…but what about Allsbrook’s murder?” Luca asked. “I can’t figure out why he’s dead, if he was working so closely with our suspect.” 

“Because our suspect has an antagonist.” Rowan paused, waiting for that to sink in. “The note on Allsbrook’s forehead, nailed there after he was murdered, was stamped with the insignia of a criminal known as the Queen of the Night.” 

Luca gasped. “She left a sign-off? She hasn’t done that in over a year; we all thought she’d fully shifted to the drugs and arms trafficking part of her, uh, business.” 

“Well, she clearly decided to get back into this side.” Rowan’s tone was grim. “I think she’s working against the Shadow Assassin, but I can’t be sure. For all I know, they’ve joined fucking forces.” 

And gods help them all if that was the case. 

~

Maeve Ond, Queen of the Night, had always been drawn to the darkness. The lack of light spoke to some ancient part of her soul, calming her when she grew angry. The darkness had been her solace when she was young, and the darkness had quieted her rage when Celaena Sardothien killed her lover, Arobynn, and threw the world into loud, messy chaos. 

Darkness was her shield, and as she sat in her darkened office, the deep purple floor lights casting eerie shadows behind her, and waited for her newest soldier to come in, Maeve felt calmness wash over her mind after the last few hectic hours. 

With a discreet knock on the door, Fenrys entered the office, pausing briefly to let his eyes adjust to the dark. 

Maeve smiled as the blonde man approached her. “Hello, Fenrys.” 

“Ma’am.” He dipped his head to her. “How can I be of service?” 

She tapped her violet acrylic nails on the edge of her desk. “I was impressed with how quickly you executed Farran, Fenrys. Even more so when you took care of that smug little police captain.” 

Fenrys’s lips twitched towards that charmingly ruthless smile of his. “I pride myself on swiftness as well as skill.” 

“I liked the touch with the note nailed to his forehead,” she said. “Creative. I admire creativity.” 

“I was hoping you’d like it.” 

She smiled. “And I did. I liked it so much that I want you to do it again.” 

He blinked. “I…I can’t exactly kill a man twice, ma’am.” 

“Of course not.” Maeve steepled her fingers, drawing out the pause before she hit Fenrys with his newest target. “I need you to kill Celaena Sardothien.” 

His jaw slackened. “With all due respect, ma’am, I think she’d kill me before I got close.” 

“I don’t.” Maeve had learned long ago that the best way to encourage men to do her bidding was to stroke their egos. “That snarky bitch might think she knows everything, but she isn’t invincible. You’re going to prove that to her.” 

“Hmm.” Fenrys hummed, ideas glimmering behind that handsome, scheming face. “I may not be able to do that as quickly as I got to the police.” 

“Most likely not,” Maeve agreed. “So, in the meantime, I have a smaller mission for you. Are you familiar with Galathynius, Inc.?” 

“Of course.” Fen chuckled. “Who doesn’t know of that company?” 

“Good.” She let her smile bloom, delighting in the way Fenrys recoiled just a bit at the threat of violence in her crimson smirk. “Their laboratory complex has a protected room that contains a secure locker. In that locker is something that Galathynius, Inc. is developing. I need that substance.” 

“And you need me to get it for you?” 

“Indeed.” She handed him a small flash drive. “Here are the blueprints of the lab complex.” 

Fenrys gasped. “How the hell did you get these?” 

“Arobynn,” Maeve replied simply. “They are complete, current, and contain all the details you need to get into the lab complex. I need results by the end of the month.”

He whistled softly. “I’ll do my best. What if I can’t get in by the end of the month?” 

She shrugged. “With Connall’s assistance, I am sure you can.” She let him form the beginnings of a hopeful conclusion, then continued. “Connall stays with me, as I’ve grown appreciative of his skills.” 

Fenrys’s face shuttered, going completely blank. “Of course, ma’am.” 

Ah, the look of pure submission. She did love it when men looked at her like that. “End of the month, Fenrys. Dismissed.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded deferentially and left her office. 

Maeve leaned back in her chair, let the dark silence of her office wash over her, and smiled. Her plans were coming together so beautifully now. Soon—so soon—she would avenge her lover. 

~

Fenrys’s heartbeat was thundering. 

The moment he was out of the Night Owl, he hopped onto his motorcycle and sped off towards a safe part of the city, down to the banks of the river, and he parked his bike and headed off down an old, half hidden, familiar path. He reached the edge of the river and dropped onto the grass. 

Fucking hell. 

First Chaol Westfall. Now…Celaena Sardothien. The very woman for whom he was already working. The very woman on whom he was supposed to be reporting to Lieutenant Whitethorn. 

And if he couldn’t do what Maeve demanded of him, his brother was in danger. 

Fucking hell. 

On impulse, he reached for his burner phone and dialed Rowan’s contact. His head was spinning with everything that had just happened, and he needed to get at least one piece of information out before he went goddamn insane. 

Rowan picked up after six rings—an uncharacteristically long time. “What.” 

“Well hello to you too. I thought you were going to let me go to voicemail.” 

“Don’t be a jackass,” Rowan grunted. God, it was too easy to push his buttons. “Info?” 

“She’s going to make a move on the Galathynius labs.” Fenrys deliberately kept his words vague enough that Rowan could form his own conclusions about which “she” he was referring to. 

Rowan swore. “When?” 

“By the end of the month.” 

“That’s in ten fucking days, Moonbeam.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Fenrys snapped. “She just told me.” 

On the other end of the call, Rowan exhaled a tightly controlled breath that meant he was on the verge of his temper snapping. “All right. Anything else?” 

“She mentioned something about a room with a hidden locker in it.” Fen had known Rowan for long enough not to be confused by his rapid subject changes. “It wasn’t that clear to me.” 

“Room with a hidden locker,” Rowan echoed, probably writing that detail down. “Fine. Keep me posted.”

Fenrys rolled his eyes. “Of course, Lieutenant,” he simpered. 

“In any other context, I’d beat your ass for that,” Rowan said, completely serious. “But you’ve given me a hell of a—” 

“God above, do not finish that sentence!” Fen all but shrieked. “I’m not your damn girlfriend!” 

“Jackass.” Rowan snickered. “You got me a new lead, Fen. Good work.” He hung up. 

Fenrys sighed as he tucked the phone back into his jacket. He strolled casually down the street, taking a meandering path through the neighborhood before he headed back to his dingy little apartment down by the shipping district. With any luck, he’d be able to hear Sardothien’s conversation through the floor—if she was home. He could have sworn that she wasn’t home too often, but that made sense. She had a criminal empire to run. 

And he had a criminal to catch. 

~

“There’s so many more new leads unfolding that I don’t know which direction to go.” Rowan flopped onto his back with a deep sigh. 

“I’m so sorry, love. That must be infuriating.” Aelin rolled onto her side, facing Rowan, tugging the rumpled sheets with her so the soft cotton laid against her bare skin. 

He huffed in agreement, pushing himself up so he sat back against the pillows. “I still feel like my head’s about to explode every time I walk into work.” 

A wry grin tugged at the corners of her lips. “We should swap offices for a day; you can have all of my employees drive you up the damn wall and I can try to deal with your cop squad.” 

“Sounds bloody brilliant.” Rowan tugged Aelin into his lap, sliding his arms around her middle beneath the sheets. “If only that was allowed.” 

She tucked her head comfortably into the crook of his shoulder. “Seems like we both need a day off. Maybe I should have Ells ‘clear my schedule,’ yeah?” 

“I wish,” he mumbled, absentmindedly tracing his fingers up and down her spine, following the intricate paths of ink that made up her dragon tattoo. “For now, are we still on for Saturday?” 

“Absolutely.” She kissed the spirals inked just below the corner of his jaw. “Don’t you even think about rushing off to another crime scene.” 

He chuckled deep in his chest. “Love, you know I don’t control that.” 

“Yes you do, you’re the head of the investigation.” 

“It doesn’t exactly work like that.” 

She grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Ruin your girlfriend’s dreams, why don’t you?” 

“I’d rather ruin something else.” His smirk turned devious, and he turned her around so she was sitting in his lap, her back flush with his chest. The sheets tumbled away from her body, and he murmured in admiration, tilting her head forward to kiss the inked flames that licked towards her neck. “Yes?” 

“Yes,” she moaned, deliberately exaggerating the sound because of how feral it made him. 

As if on cue, his dick stiffened beneath her. “You drive me fucking crazy, Fireheart,” he groaned. One hand brushed her loose, messy hair away from her back, allowing him to drink in the full, unfettered sight of the fire-breathing dragon screaming up the length of her spine. “Funny—you once told me this tattoo makes a lovely contrast with your sheets, and I’ve never seen that contrast.” 

In response, she shifted to face him and caught his lips with an eager, heated kiss, giving his lower lip a little nip just the way he liked. “That’s because you’re always too fast to notice.” 

His eyes darkened. “Are you sure about that, love?” He wrapped his free hand around her jaw, angling her head so he could take possession of the kiss. “What was that you were screaming just a little while ago, hmm?” The hot, heavy words brushed against her swollen lips. 

“More,” she said. She pulled away and splayed herself on her stomach, arms folded beneath her chin, legs bent up at the knees with her ankles delicately crossed. With her hair scattered across the pillows and her wicked grin painted across her face, she looked to Rowan, waiting for his control to snap. 

Jaw dropping, he stared at her, his burning pine gaze nothing short of possessive. “You…Aelin, love, you are fucking stunning.” 

A soft pink flush brushed her cheeks. 

Rowan traced the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone and down to her lips. “Now be a good girl and stay still for me.” 

~

Covered head to toe in SecondSkin, the material of her suit snug against her limbs, Aelin slipped into one of the bland security rooms at the Gal Inc. labs, sat down at a computer, and keyed in an access code. She’d deliberately chosen a room where no one else was on duty, but she worked quickly anyway. It was her company’s lab, but for all anyone knew, she was a feared criminal, not an honest CEO. 

The security system’s menus unfolded across the screen, and she scrolled through the lists of files and titles and drop-down boxes, clicking and tapping her way through the maze of code until she came to the little black box that held the system shut-down function. It was only accessible by admin privileges, so she keyed in her admin password and waited for the system to boot up. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually, one single line of green text popped onto the screen. 

Temporarily Disable System?

She pressed enter.

The screen blinked off and back on, and Aelin smiled. Until she turned the system back on, the safety measures that protected her lab complex would be disabled. The security cameras would still be on, of course, but the numerous hidden traps—hallways that turned around, dummy doors, even a handful of booby traps near the room where the SecondSkin was kept—would be inactive until she turned them back on. It was nothing short of an invitation to anyone willing to brave the maze. 

And she knew—because Fenrys had told her—that Maeve was sending someone into that maze by the end of the month. And it was July 31. It had to be today. 

Aelin quickly navigated back out of the menus, unmasked the server IP address, shut off the computer, and slipped out of the room. She checked the hallway, making sure it was empty, then darted a few feet down the hall, pushed aside the grate covering the nearest airshaft, and climbed into the smooth metal shaft. She replaced the grate, checked to make sure no one else was taking the sneaky route down to the SecondSkin room, and then she started crawling. 

When she reached the air vents above the SecondSkin room, she turned her wrist over and tapped the inside of her forearm twice. A small, darkened screen strapped to her arm illuminated, bringing up a feed from the security cameras outside and inside the room. When she was satisfied that it was clear, she crept over to a vent, pushed aside the grate, and swung herself out of the airshaft and into the steel rafters that crisscrossed the ceiling of the simple, sterile lab room. 

Aelin crept through the rafters until she came to a spot where three beams crossed, forming a kind of makeshift seat that was far enough away from the door to obscure her in shadows but central enough to give her a decent view of the room. She crouched down into a seated position, tapped her forearm screen on, and waited. 

Sure enough, she’d been watching and waiting for less than an hour when the door cracked open and a dark-clad, masked, hooded figure ducked into the room. For a moment, her mind flashed back to a near-replica of this exact scene, almost eight months earlier. 

~

She knew they would try to come for her tech. 

The moment she had reached a stable, functional form of SecondSkin, Aelin knew that the rest of the criminal world would want to get their grubby little hands on her tech. She suspected that the first person to make a move would be Arobynn Hamel, leader of the Assassins, supposedly the most ruthless,  dangerous, heartless killer in the known world. It would be on brand—Arobynn had never been able to stomach the idea that anyone could outsmart him. 

So, Aelin rigged a deceptively simple trap. 

She armed the locker where she kept the SecondSkin with tranquilizer darts that would go off the moment someone opened the door, unless the combination that only she knew was keyed in. There were a few other combinations that opened the lock, but only she had the one that disarmed the trap. She drew up vague, enticing plans to that room, making only a few broad notes that she knew would have the entire criminal world foaming at the mouth when they discovered what she was working on. 

She “accidentally” leaked those plans in the bowels of the dark web. A few hours later, she took down the plans, but they had been up just long enough for Arobynn to get his filthy hands on them. 

Not even two weeks later, he made his move. 

The plans that she had “leaked” were confidential, but the blueprint of her lab complex was public domain, since she had filed the permits with the city like any normal businesswoman would do. Naturally, Arobynn had gone and checked the plans and used them to carefully plot his path to her supposedly secret room. What he didn’t know was that she had planted a lot more hidden traps along that path, but just for him, the traps were disabled. Arobynn strolled into the SecondSkin room bold as brass, thinking that he’d finally get to pull one over on Celaena Sardothien, the youngest crime boss of Orynth, the woman who had humiliated him in front of his close circle of assassins and crime lord buddies the last time they had crossed paths. 

And the instant he opened the locker, the tranquilizers skewered his neck. 

The last thing Arobynn Hamel ever saw was his dream of victory slipping right through his greedy, slimy little fingers. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true—the last thing he had actually seen was the inside of Aelin’s river warehouse, where she’d kept him for two and a half weeks, letting her men work on him, before she treated him to a full day with just her and her weapons for company. At the end of that day, he was dead. 

After Arobynn had been…dispatched, Aelin made some changes to the trap on the SecondSkin locker. The first thing she did was re-rig the tranquilizer darts, but this time with poison, since they had worked so well before. She reorganized the traps leading up to that room, even spread some of them down other halls to deceive anyone else who thought they could get smart and try to break into her lab. 

The other change she made was a small addition to the trap on the SecondSkin locker. She emptied the locker, moving the SecondSkin to a different one in the same room, and replaced the canister with an identical one, except that the new canister contained a precisely measured dose of modified hellfire suspended beneath a trigger chemical. The instant that locker door opened, the trigger would drop, and the hellfire would explode, ripping through whichever scum tried to steal Aelin’s tech.

SecondSkin would never get into the hands of anyone who would abuse it. Not on her watch. 

~

From her perch in the rafters, Aelin tracked the movements of the man who had entered the SecondSkin room. As expected, he glanced around the room and crossed over to what he thought was the locker containing the SecondSkin. His gloved fingers danced along the edge of the panel until he found the tiny, hidden spring, and he pressed it down and slid aside the masking panel. He glanced at the back of his hand briefly, then pressed a series of keys on the electronic combination lock that secured the locker. On her screen, Aelin zoomed in on the combination, smirking when she saw the same sequence of numbers that Arobynn had used. 

Maeve thought she was better than her former lover, but her man had taken the same route.

The lock blinked green, and the man paused for a moment, then gingerly reached out and took the handle. He was a little smarter than Arobynn; he at least anticipated some kind of trap. Aelin smothered her anticipation—she knew something that the man didn’t know. She knew that no matter how slowly or carefully that door was opened, the hellfire would be triggered. It didn’t matter if this man opened the locker by micrometers. The explosion was inevitable. 

With a short, sharp breath, the man pushed open the locker door. 

BOOM. 

Aelin didn’t need camera footage to see the blindingly bright burst of blue-white flame blast out of the locker, crashing right into the man’s upper chest, throat, and head, obliterating his clothes and probably melting his skin. He barely had a millisecond to scream before the poisoned darts embedded themselves in his throat, and his body dropped to the floor with a thump. 

Aelin counted to twenty, and right on time, the powerful fire extinguisher system flicked on and doused the body and the ruined locker with white foam. A blast of water followed, rinsing away the foam, and she tapped her screen back on so she could see the intruder’s corpse in more detail. She zoomed in on the body, her gaze skipping over the charred remnants of his chest, and scanned his mangled masked face. The mask had melted into his skin with the force of the explosion, and his features were partially destroyed but still somewhat distinguishable, and she saw the faint lines of twin scars…

Twin scars slashed down his ruined cheeks. 

Aelin’s blood turned to ice. 

“F-Fen?” she breathed, one gloved hand shakily floating up to cover her mouth. “It—no—it can’t—Moon Moon?” 

She stared at the footage, frozen numb with shock and horror. “M-M-Moon Moon? Fenrys!” 

What had she done?

~~~

TAGS: please lmk if you'd like to be added/removed!

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[checkoutmybookshelf]

You Have My Attention: Throne of Glass First Lines

As THE tentpole faerie smut author, Sarah J. Maas needs no introduction. Her debut series, Throne of Glass, however, had to catch its readers and build an audience long before A Court of Thorns and Roses exploded onto the scene. So how does SJM introduce her readers to Celaena Sardothien, Adarlan's Assassin, and the rest of her cast of characters?

After a year of slavery in the Salt Mines of Endovier, Celaena Sardothien was accustomed to being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword-point. Most of the thousand slaves in Endovier received similar treatment--although an extra half-dozen guards always walked Celaena to and from the mines. That was expected by Adarlan's most notorious assassin.

-- Throne of Glass

The shutters swinging in the storm winds were the only sign of her entry. No one had noticed her scaling the garden wall of the darkened manor house, and with the thunder and the gusting wind off the nearby sea, no one heard her as she shimmied up the drainpipe, swung onto the windowsill, and slithered into the second-floor hallway.

-- Crown of Midnight

Gods, it was boiling in this useless excuse for a kingdom. Or maybe it felt that way because Celaena Sardothien had been lounging on the lip of the terra-cotta roof since midmorning, and arm flung over her eyes, slowly baking in the sun like the loaves of flatbread the city's poorest citizens left on their windowsills because they couldn't afford brick ovens.

-- Heir of Fire

There was a thing waiting in the darkness. It was ancient, and cruel, and paced in the shadows leashing his mind. It was not of this world, and had been brought here to fill him with this primordial cold. Some invisible barrier still separated them, but the wall crumbled a little more every time the thing stalked along its length, testing its strength.

-- Queen of Shadows

The bone drums had been pounding across the jagged slopes of the Black Mountains since sundown. From the rocky outcropping on which her warn tent groaned against the dry wind, Princess Elena Galathynius had monitored the dreadlord's army all afternoon as it washed across those mountains in ebony waves. And now that the sun had long since vanished, the enemy campfires flickered across the mountains and valley below like a blanket of stars.

-- Empire of Storms

Chaol Westfall, former Captain of the Royal Guard and now Hand to the newly crowned King of Adarlan, had discovered that he hated one sound above all others. Wheels. Specifically their clattering along the planks of the ship on which he'd spent the past three weeks sailing through storm-tossed waters. And now their rattle and thunk over the shining green marble floors and intricate mosaics throughout the Khagan of the Southern Continent's shining palace in Antica.

-- Tower of Dawn

He had been hunting for her since the moment she was taken from him. His mate. He barely remembered his own name. And only recalled it because his three companions spoke it while they searched for her across violent and dark seas, through ancient and slumbering forests, over storm-swept mountains already buried in snow.

-- Kingdom of Ash

[cloverboyblue]

writing about a knight captain in my own work is reminding me about how chaol westfall, captain of the royal guard, had never killed a man before the end of throne of glass. genuinely ms maas did you think about that one for even ONE second

[therealmissmagoo2]

The Sims 4 Lookbook - Chaol Westfall (8.11.24 edit)

Throne of Glass series by Sarah J. Maas Titles: Lord of Anielle, Captain of the Royal Guard, & Hand of the King Age: 24 Species: Human Abilities: Swordsmanship, Strength & Endurance, Horse Riding

Tray

CC List - Patreon

Chaol x Yrene 💙

Chaol (wheelchair) x Yrene

[imanerumpet]

You’re telling me that Chaol Westfall, who is (according to Yrene) shredded, who personally trained Celaena, who was Captain of the Royal Guard, did not know about ice for strained muscles and instead took a hot bath?

The math is not mathing.

[acourtofquestions]

"A coward? Or a pragmatist?" — "How about a damned fool?" Chaol said. "I don't think you realize who you're dealing with."

The man clicked his tongue. "If you were that good, you would be more than the Captain of the Guard."

Chaol let out a low, breathy laugh. "I wasn't talking about me."

"She's just one girl."

Though his guts were twisting at the thought of her in this place, with these people, though he was considering every possible way to get himself and Celaena out of here alive, he gave the man a grin. "Then you're really in for a surprise."

Chaol “THAT’S MY WIFE” Westfall

[peachykeenpolkadotts]

Before starting TOG: *heard something about a guy named Rowan being endgame for Aelin*

Reading TOG: Thinking Celaena could be Aelin bc of something Elena said BUT loving Chaol Westfall and shipping Celaena x Chaol so hard

Reading COM: 😍😍Chaol😍😍 but confirmation that Celaena = Aelin

Reading HOF: Still 😍😍 for Chaol but as soon as Rowan is introduced = ……. 👀

I’m sure SJM will make me love Rowan as she always does but UGH, my captain of the guard loving heart 😭🤧

[lucien-calore]

reasons why i know think chaol westfall is autistic, by an autistic person

he likes routine and sticks to what he knows, what he's familiar with, i.e. going on morning runs with celaena at the same time every day and still believing magic is bad because he was told that his whole life and he never had any reason to doubt that. which is why he acts the way he does with aelin once she comes back. he had known celaena, he was familiar with her and she comes back as a completely different person and he's rightfully confused as to why she's acting so differently.

he has intense respect for authority and never questions it, which is a very common trait in autistic people. which is why he never questioned the king.

he has trouble reading social cues and understanding his own feelings (lack of self awareness)

he finds it very hard to make friends and interact with people he doesn't know well

he can appear cold and distant and has a rbf (but he actually doesn't make facial expressions because he's autistic)

he sees the world as very black and white and he doesn't really think of all the different shades of grey because to him either something is good, or it isn't and he doesn't understand nuances which can make him appear close minded

he's very observant and detail oriented but he can't understand and interpret what he observes, which can make him seem oblivious at times

he has a hyperfixation on celaena at first but then it becomes dorian, which can make him seem too intense

he also has a hyperfixation on his role as captain of the guard, he learns everything he can and dedicates all his time to it

he has a hard time regulating his emotions, which makes it seem like he has an attitude problem

anyways, that's all

i hope you enjoyed and if you wanna talk more about this, please don't hesitate to send me a dm 🫶🫶

[vulpes-fennec]

Happy Day 5 (Feelings Realization) of @sjmromanceweek!!!

Pairing’s mentioned: Itharion, Chaorian, Jassa

I couldn’t resist making a couch ad since SJM seems to love using chairs as a vehicle for love 😈

Dearest reader, this author has been fondly keeping up with the latest season of Fangs and Bangs. Especially now that Ithan Holstrom, famed Lunathion sunball player, has made his acting debut as a charming guitarist starring opposite a seductive singer, played by the handsome Tharion Ketos. 

The chemistry between the wolf shifter and mer was off the charts during the first three episodes. Indeed, the two sparked dating rumors after being spotted strolling along the Istros riverwalk (well, Tharion was swimming, his coppery tail illustriously flashing in the sun) and eating lunch in the Moonwood district the last few weeks. 

Such rumors were confirmed last night at the White Raven, where Ithan (drunkenly) shouted, "if my boyfriend wins this dance battle, next round of drinks are on me!" With the mer being known for their flexibility, it is no surprise that Ithan left the club with Tharion hand-in-hand and a sky high credit card charge. 

One might argue that "Itharion" is a fake dating situation used to generate press for the new season. Others, like this author, firmly believe that the feelings developed as a result of long hours on set were simply realized after spending time together off camera. 

With Fangs and Bangs being shot and aired on a weekly basis, the finale is not set in stone. But it has come to my attention that producers are planning a romance arc between Tharion and Miss Natalia Paloma, who plays a vampyr songwriter in the show. With Natalia and the general public being staunch Itharion fans, this author hopes the writers may be persuaded to change the season's course before it is too late.

King Dorian Havilliard and Lord Chaol Westfall have been two peas in a pod since the tender ages of 8 and 12—historians will call them close friends. But the chasm that often separates platonic and romantic love can thin to a fine line, and this author has become privy to information that implies such line has been finally crossed. 

Gentle reader, you may recall how the flirtatious prince attended his fair share of courtly revels with the young Captain of the Guard in tow. Perhaps watching Dorian seduce all sorts of ladies had Chaol broodily wishing Dorian was flirting with him instead. Well, last month, the Hand of the King was in for a treat when he offered to organize his King's old paperwork, finding "Dorian Westfall" scribbled across several margins of palace tutoring notes. These precious records were dated to a decade prior, when Dorian was but 15 years old. 

This author surmises that the court ladies were not the only ones ogling at a shirtless 18-year old Chaol Westfall as he trained with Theodus Brullo, Adarlan's Weapons Master. But whatever the cause for Dorian's affections, one cannot deny the prince has continuously prioritized Lord Westfall above himself over the years. Whether it be backing off Aelin Galathynius (nee Celaena Sardothien) or repeatedly saving his friend's life using magic, Dorian's love for Chaol is steadfastly unquestionable. 

There is only one thing that comes to mind when mutual feelings are realized: "Now what?" The sensation is akin to reaching the crest of a hill, stomach tight with nerves and anticipation. It has come to my attention that the two will announce their engagement tomorrow at noon. King Dorian has been reviewing potential candidates to succeed Chaol in his role as the King's Hand, and Chaol has been busy settling into the royal chambers. Take that, historians! 

Adarlan is not the only kingdom with citizens eager to see their ruler wed. This author does not consider itself impatient, but it certainly has had enough of Queen Vassa and General Jurian beating around the bush. I am sure their bickering is equally grating on their foxy roommate's poor nerves. My condolences to him, but what does one expect by throwing a mad general into the cauldron and adding a firebird queen to the mix? Passion, dear readers, passion. Well-mannered folk may believe the best relationships are maintained with agreeable manners, but this pair will have them considering otherwise. After all, we need partners who can keep our egos in check! 

It is well known that the young queen has rejected multiple proposals from fair noblemen across the lands. After all, why settle for a pasty duke when you have a seasoned general always at your side? Before you accuse this author of being a hopeless romantic, consider: what is affection, if it is not scouring the markets for the queen's favorite birdseed and scratching all the hard-to-reach itches while she is stuck in her bird form (even if it is all done under a guise of teasing)? What is desire, if it is not peeping at the bathing general while perched on a tree branch, or nesting in his clothes (and thusly rolling around in his scent)?

Stubborn hearts may deny their feelings all they want, but this author wagers that forcing Queen Vassa and General Jurian in even closer proximity (a locked bedroom, perhaps?) will have them at each other's throats in a more sensual manner.

Dear Suriel, it has been centuries since the Valkyries have passed, so of course I had to drop in on the Valkyrie revival in my own court. My good friends roped me into the training session by pairing me with an Illyrian Valkyrie for a round of sparring. With her earthy brown eyes assessing me, her glossy hair fluttering in the wind, her full lips set with curiosity and determination...my heart was positively pounding! You can imagine that I tried to prolong the sparring session to the best of my ability.

To my surprise, the fierce Valkyrie became a blushing lady once we started conversing normally! I'll admit I was flustered, too. After learning how she enjoys drinking tea and reading smutty books, I plan to "drop in" again next week with a special edition novel. And maybe an invitation to high tea the following week, if all goes well. Oh, did you know that she also runs her own business? And it's a clothing store?!? Can this female get any more perfect? I think her wings are the loveliest out of all Illyrians. Actually, I think I may be in love. Help! All my love, Wine o'Clock

Dear Wine o'Clock, this is an advice column, not your personal diary! Help? It seems you are doing fine, when it comes to your courtship plan. But if you are in a tizzy over your newfound feelings...alas, there is no remedy to love sickness! But I am certain a delightful future is in store for both of you, if you catch my meaning. Cauldron bless you both, Suriel

Nolan’s Furnishings: couch BLOWOUT sale! Blow your back out on the hottest deals in Prythian! Pink couches, golden couches, red velvet fainting couches…you name it, we have it! Hear what our customers have to say about our couches: “plush enough for hours of lounging,” “sturdy enough to withstand sexual activities”

[acourtofquestions]

Tower of Dawn (sneak-peek) ✨bonus from Empire of Storms (special editions):

Taking place in a tandem-friendly-(easier) timeline

“Chaol and Nesryn's journey across the sea—the beginnings of an adventure that may doom or save those they love most. . .”

— “Let’s have an adventure, Nesryn Faliq!” —

Thanks so much @bookofademigod (& @paperbackphoenix) for all these great chapters!

That’s it for hopefully helpful reblogs (though I’ve got a few more posts to come :-) @guardian-angel12

MASTER POST OF THE EoS WHSMITH EDITION SHORT STORY

First i need to say thank you @paperbackphoenix for sending me these you are a goddess and i love you. 

I’m going to tag everyone who wanted to be tagged for the other stories on this one as well. Cheers!

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