Hello friends! This is my second attempt at posting this; if you have tried before to read this then hopefully it works for you this time. Sorry about how short this is; I might add more, but writers block has been ruthlessly attacking me lately...

Disclaimer: I do not own Throne of Glass or the characters mentioned. I am not (Queen) Sarah J Maas

Without further ado...


The young man stared at her with unblinking eyes as she gently examined his shirt-less chest for 'pulls in the muscles'. She was... well, he didn't really know. She wasn't beautiful in the way of the courtesans constantly dancing around him, nor was she ugly, like the street urchins running wild in the streets. She was just... her.

And he, Dorian Havillard, Crown Prince of Adarlan, loved her.


The healer's hands flitted across the man's bare chest, under the pretence of examining his chest for pulls in the muscles. Key word, muscles. Despite the fact that she did her best to keep her eyes averted, the man smirked t her with a knowing expression. Finally giving up, Sorscha looked into those eyes... those eyes... and the Prince stared right back. No. He was the Prince.


He was out of bounds.


He had a notorious history when to women.


He was the Prince, for the Wyrd's sake.

The Prince.



... and so two bedchambers became one.


In his head, he screamed. Again, and again, and again. IN his head, she fell, again, and again, and again. In his head he saw her body fall, and felt only an agony that was not his, not truly.

In a small, true part of his mind, perhaps the only part that was entirely his, he know that she was gone. Sorscha was gone.

Sorscha was dead.

So why did he still love her?