A/N: Thank you everybody who has followed, favourited, reviewed or simply enjoyed! In case it needs to be said, I do not own Throne of Glass in any way.

As it turns out, Wendlyn isn't actually to the south and the title has a rather serious flaw. I'm afraid it's a bit late now. The ship has sailed, one might say.

Those who have read the Alex Rider books, you might recognize a moment later on. Just my nod to an excellent series while keeping the story moving.

Lastly, my apologies for taking so long to update. I like to think the chapter lengths are some small compensation, but that doesn't exactly hold true for this chapter, which fell quite a bit short of the target. Thanks for reading, and please do leave feedback!

Chapter 2!

"No, you're not getting in to see her." Sam's voice was flat as he stood in the doorway, barring Galan from entering. She'd been avoiding the prince like the plague, but he was terribly insistent - and he had special influence with the captain.

She'd since found out he was on the ship to inspect conditions: to oversee the whole process of bringing refugees from Adarlan to Wendlyn, and try to pry out any corruption along the way. He'd been speaking to passengers, sending his man Yander out to socialize - well, he was making a damn good effort, and she could respect that.

She just wished he wasn't as set on speaking to her as he was on helping the refugees.

In front of their room, Galan frowned. "Who are you to stop me?"

Sam shrugged. "Try me and find out."

Celaena could not help but smile as she watched Galan. The Crown Prince was not stupid enough to take Sam on alone - not when he saw the easy way Sam fingered his dagger, and the scars that came from very sharp blades flecked all over his body.

Celaena watched with grim triumph as the prince backed down, but everything about him screamed that he wasn't done, not with her or her stupid royal name or her stupid royal legacy. He'd corner her, one day, and then all the secrets would spill out like pebbles from a hastily overturned basket.

She still hadn't told Sam. She wasn't ready. She didn't know if she ever would be.

xxx

Galan watched her, all the time. It was him, or Yander, or wide eyes shining in the shadows. At least those disappeared when she met them. She caught the flash of gold in the dark, hungry hands clamped around a coin, and at night she heard the pitter-patter of running words from Galan's room.

Gods, how she hated him. He'd shaken her in a way few had; she felt like her composure was failing, like her mask was cracking and her past was welling up like blood, impossible to ignore or wipe cleanly away.

xxx

It was the darkest of night, and the only sound she could hear was the gentle wash of waves against the ship's hull. Lying as she was against the top bunk, she could peer out of the porthole and watch the moonlight silver the tops of the waves.

Slowly she moved across her bed, taking care to avoid the creaky parts of the mattress. The bed groaned if she moved too quickly, something she and Sam had found out the first night.

She dangled her head over the side, twisting to look at Sam in his bunk and almost falling off her own bed when his brown eyes met hers steadily.

"Hello," he said.

Unsuccessfully she flailed for something to grab onto. "Gods, Sam, don't do that," she hissed, feeling her heart leap in her chest. His brown eyes sparkled with amusement.

Celaena looked at him, frowning, and made the logical decision to flip herself onto his bunk. It wasn't like she was going back to sleep, anyway, and if he was already awake…

She'd expected him to move, but somehow he'd figured out what she was going to do and moved precisely so that he could stretch out his arms and catch her.

She fell quite literally into his arms, and he set her legs down, holding her against his hard chest chest effortlessly with one arm. She felt their hearts beat against each other as he watched her, brown eyes glowing in his face. She could see something in his eyes, like he'd come to a decision.

Carefully, slowly, he leaned in, so that the stubble on his jawline touched her skin and his breath grazed her face. His eyes were close, so close, and filled with nothing but acceptance and determination.

"I don't know what this journey is going to bring," he breathed, and she found that she could not look away from him. "But whatever it is, whatever secrets you carry, whatever it brings, I want you to know that I'll always love you. I love you. I love you now and forever-"

She brought a finger to the corner of his lips but he would not be shushed-

"-and till the end of time. And no matter what gets between us, no matter if you hate me, I love you and I will always be there if you need me. And may the gods grant that you will never have cause to doubt my words."

She was speechless, filled to the brim with emotions that felt like they would explode out of her skin with their strength. She lunged up, pressing her lips to Sam's, and letting him feel without words how much she loved him.

When she broke away, they were both gasping.

"I love you too, Sam Cortland," she breathed, and then they were together again, his arms locked tightly around her body, as she lost herself in him and cast aside all thoughts of tomorrow.

xxx

Weeks passed, and they drew ever closer to Wendlyn. She could almost taste Galan's frustration in the air. But it seemed he dared not touch her, not on the ship carrying so many refugees - not with so many innocent lives in his hands.

They were a week from Wendlyn when he finally cornered her in the hallway, on the way back from the bathroom. Hands still wet from washing, she found herself abruptly slammed against the rough wooden wall, her arms twisted behind her back.

"Tell me who you are," Galan growled. His voice came from the other side of the hallway, behind her and to the side, and she let out a breathless laugh.

"Too cowardly to do your own dirty work, Prince? Can't stand the thought of pushing a girl?" She shoved back from the wall as forcefully as she was could, but was promptly pinned again, this time with the added security of an arm braced against her back.

"Tell me who you are," Galan snarled, and whoever was holding her hoisted her higher so that her feet dangled.

"Don't you know already, Prince? You seemed to figure it out well enough last time we spoke," she mocked. She twisted, her neck protesting, to get a glimpse of the Crown Prince.

Galan's eyes were hard and cold. "Don't play games with me," he warned. "You know what I want to know."

"You ask for my name, what I went as all these years. But I promise, you don't want to know my name," she purred. "It'll give you nightmares."

"I highly doubt that," he snapped. "What are your plans in Wendlyn?"

"Oh, just the usual. Settle down, have a quiet life. Why don't you ask one of your precious refugees? They'll tell you the same, I'm sure."

Galan motioned to the man holding her, and Celaena choked down a scream as her arm was wrenched upwards at an absurd angle. "Why are you doing this?" she gasped, hating how helpless she sounded, hating that she'd let down her guard enough to be ambushed like this.

"I'm here to protect my country," Galan told her, his low voice a growl. He strode closer, close enough that his eyes burned into Celaena's. She could not look away - they were icy stars, full of cold passion, filled with closely contained rage and steely determination.

"I will do anything for them. Do you understand? I will kill for them, I will lie for them, I will throw away my honour in an instant to keep them safe. This is why I will not leave you alone; this is why I have you watched. Because I do not know who you are and what you want and I will not let you bring war to my shores. I know what war has done to Erilea and I will not let it happen in Wendlyn."

Something had a hold of her heart - there was a merciless hand squeezing and squeezing until she could not breathe. This is what a prince should be, a traitorous voice whispered. He should love his people, above all - he should be ready to die for them. This is what your father was, what your uncle was - what you should have been-

Celaena slammed iron walls down in her mind, cutting off the voice, choking off all thought and leaving empty space where it had been. Her heart felt hollow in her chest, like the blood inside had rushed out, like all there was now was a shell where her heart had been, the place it had crawled out of. Fragile, crumbling, breaking - that was her heart.

"Protect them, then. Kill me." His eyes widened in surprise, those burning stars of his face, but she went on, "Is it so horrible that I seek happiness? That I am seventeen, and my greatest wish is to be free of the stain of blood? I have lived years under a master who has never known what love is, never cared for anything but my beautiful face, my slender body, my swift hands to slide a blade through skin and muscle and bone. I am seventeen," she repeated, her voice soft but the space in her heart screaming, "and all I want is to be happy."

His mouth moved, he shaped words, but she did not hear them. She wrenched to the side, her shoulders howling in pain, feeling something stretch and pop in her arm. Her chin connected with the top of a head, her elbow flying a moment later at the man's temple.

She knew this man, Galan's bodyguard, the soldier named Yander, but at that moment she did not care. Her foot came up between them and she lashed out at his ribs, sending him stumbling backwards to fall heavily onto the wall, unconscious.

She spun and raced towards Galan, her left arm flopping at her side. Dislocated, she thought, wincing inwardly, but the pain was covered over and muffled by what Arobynn called the 'killing calm' - the deep, cold part of her that sat aloof and drew out of the depths whenever she had to fight. Logic suppressed emotion; steely intellect quashed instinct.

Galan drew his knife, forgoing his sword in the close quarters, and she noted that the prince had not a trace of fear in his eyes.

He stayed crouched in the corridor, knife out before him, but this was nothing to Celaena Sardothien. Years and years she'd trained with the most ruthless masters the world had to offer; she'd taken on men twice her size and chopped them into unrecognizable pieces.

Closer and closer! She feinted right but spun left, sliding against the wall to pop up behind the prince. Galan's knife drove deep into the wood and caught, holding a split second before it ripped out in a shower of splinters. But that was more than enough. A vicious grin had light skittering off her teeth as she beat him back and back, striking mercilessly at his face.

The prince stumbled a step back, swearing, his arms flailing wide. In that instant, she seized his wrist, twisting until the knife slipped, and swiftly snatched up the falling blade. She drew her arm back and threw.

The knife soared through the air, whistling, and drew a razor-thin line down the side of Galan's neck, thudding dully into the wall behind him. Blood began to well in the curved cut, shallow as it was, drawing the line again in brilliant crimson against his olive skin.

Galan swore again and slapped a hand to his neck. He stared at her, furious, his breath coming in pants.

"I don't miss," she said simply, and took a step closer.

"Assassin," the Crown Prince said, as if that were a reply. He straightened, his hand falling to his side. "Have you come to kill me?"

A laugh burst out of her, short and ugly, the sound bouncing up and down in the corridor. "If I'd wanted to kill you, you wouldn't have known until you'd reached the Dark God's realm. No, Prince, I'm not here to kill you."

"What you said just now, about starting a new life. Is that true?"

Celaena studied the youth in front of her. Something in his eyes had fallen, a wall or a pretense or just some of the hardness in that face, and it let her see how young he really was. Galan wasn't a man yet, not nearly, just a boy who grew up too fast, who hardened his heart and worked every day to be a prince his nation could be proud of.

She didn't answer his question. "How old are you?"

He blinked, but answered. "Almost nineteen."

Nineteen! Gods, she'd never have guessed that from his eyes. She left the silence too long, because Galan frowned, the flame in his eyes roaring up again.

"It's true," she said belatedly. "It's true. I'm going to start a new life. One without killing. One far from my old master. Yes, it's true."

And without her knowing, a smile spread across her face.

xxx

She meant it, he could tell. It was in the way the cold, cruel face opened into something softer, younger. In the way she spoke, the earnestness he doubted many people heard from this girl of lies and quick, cutting strokes of both words and blade. It was the smile that had appeared of its own accord, the way relief had lit her eyes when she spoke. And somewhere along the way, she'd stopped speaking for him and begun speaking to the world, for herself.

Yes, she would carve her way out of this assassin's skin yet.

He considered the girl standing before him. An Ashryver, but no queen - not yet, not until she chose. His parents would be most interested in this discovery. Yet despite himself, something softened in him. It was hard to look at her and think of political plans, of setting her on a throne, when she was so obviously still a girl, and one who was achieving a hard-won dream.

She broke into his thoughts.

"Prince."

Their eyes met, unflinching. That was something they shared, it seemed; an iron will, steel in their blood; the resolve to carry out their duty.

"You can have my name." She was perfectly still; serious; there was the beginning of a frown, a tiny wrinkle in her forehead. "People shouldn't have to live in fear of me anymore."

"My name," said she, like a secret taking wing, uncurled, from the warm space in one's chest, "is Celaena Sardothien, once known as Adarlan's Assassin. And now I'm just one of your refugees."

She smiled, a small, sad smile, and turned away. Galan watched, silent, the blood dripping down his neck forgotten.