“And what are you proposing we do to enhance the blood sacrifice?” I ask, ignoring how thrilled I am when my question returns her attention back to me.

“I’m not the magister, am I?” she says. “I was rather hoping you intelligent boys could tell me.”

Her brown eyes go sharp with determination—but that’s not all there is. I recognize the look, because it’s mirrored in me. The excitement of a potential discovery, the thrill of pieces clinking about in your mind, just to finally experience the cathartic satisfaction when they finally slide snugly together.

“We’d need something powerful,” I say.

“I’m pretty sure I already said that,” she says, bouncing to the balls of her feet in smug delight.

“It’s unlikely to be a pleasurable experience for you,” I warn.

Blaise just winks and says, “Maybe I’m a masochist.”

Fates smite me—my canines puncture my gums, but I hide them with a close-lipped smirk.

“We’re not likely to find something that powerful by the next full moon.”

She leans in closer, basically on her tiptoes now. “But the next?”

I let out a measured sigh and rub at my ever-aching temples, mostly to steel myself as she draws closer. It’s a good thing Gunter’s here. In fact, that’s probably intentional on his part.

It’s a reminder to take a swig from the canister strapped to my side. The coppery liquid stings on my tongue, but it curbs the cravings, at least.

“The next? Maybe,” I say.

If I can keep my teeth out of Blaise’s neck until then, that is.

Blaise’s scent follows me all the way back to my chambers.

So does Gunter.

I’ve hardly shut the door behind us when he starts with, “You’re attracted to the girl.”

I let out a startled huff and set about finding places for the empty, bloodstained goblets that litter the floor.

Servants don’t like to come pick up my soiled dishes once the news spreads that I’ve had an episode.

I can’t exactly blame them.

“Don’t feel the need to tidy on my account,” Gunter says, and there’s no amusement in his tone.

I give up and take a seat on the wooden trunk at the base of my disheveled bed, gesturing for Gunter to take the chair at my desk. He does, and when he sits, the legs of the chair groan in agony.

Gunter rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward, sighing as he massages the furrow between his brows. “I know I’ll never be much in the way of a father to you, Nox. Know you already have one of those, one who would’ve done a better job with you—”

“Gunter, you don’t have to—”

“No,” he says, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. I can’t help the tears that sting at my eyes. Most avoid me, at least since my Turning. The staff at the palace are cordial, but there was a time when they were warm. A time before they treated me like I might infect them. The days before they started skirting around the edges of my shadows, hoping I wouldn’t notice them in the hall if they just stepped ever so softly. “Just let me say what I have to say, then I’ll let you be.”

I nod, and he takes in a breath that sounds too much like a wheeze. Gunter’s fae, but he was born cursed by his father’s jealous mistress. It’s why his skin is uneven and he falls ill more readily than most fae.

It’s why he ages faster than a fae should.

I make a mental note to send him on walks about the castle so he can get some fresh air.

“I know I didn’t take to you when you first arrived. In fact, I’m ashamed now of how I treated you. But you changed me, Nox. You didn’t so much teach me as you reminded me of the goodness in the world. That there’s life outside these palace walls, and that it’s worth hoping for.”

The words in my throat run dry, and it takes several swallows to dislodge them. “My father would be proud if he knew what you’ve done for his son over the years.”

Gunter’s forehead wrinkles, but it quickly fades. “I wanted to tell you all that before I approach what I have to say next.”

I sit back and his hand falls from my shoulder as I brace myself. “I lost control the other night,” I start, unable to bear a rebuke—even from Gunter, who I know will be gentle. “It won’t happen again. I let myself get too hungry, went too long without feeding. It’s not an excuse for what I did, for who I—” I suck in a sharp breath, but I make myself say it all the same. “Who I hurt. Who I killed. A woman died because I slacked on my diligence, but it won’t happen again. It’s not an excuse, just a variable we can eliminate. And I will eliminate it. I won’t let myself go hungry again.”

Gunter sits back in the creaky wooden chair, eyeing me with an intensity that I would have balked at as a child.

“You scented her blood, didn’t you?”

It’s not worth denying. My Turning might have granted me the ability to lie, but Gunter’s gentle spirit, all he’s done for me, would never allow it. I couldn’t live with myself if I deceived the man who had taken me in as his own, the man who had raised me when my father could not.

“She cut her finger on the edge of a piece of parchment.”

“Mm,” he says, and I don’t like the sound of it.

“I won’t hurt her,” I say, and even I am somewhat shocked at the certainty in my voice that sharpens the words.

Gunter runs his hand down his face, allowing it to linger in front of his eyes. He’s the only one who does that, allows me out of his sight. Doesn’t expect I’ll be at his throat if he only affords me the slightest opportunity.

When he speaks, there’s no accusation in his tone. “You like the girl.”

I turn my attention to the hem of my sleeve, which is unraveling. “I don’t dislike her. Do you?”

Gunter sighs, and again I can’t help but notice how tired he sounds. “No. No, I don’t.”

For a moment, there’s a lapse in the conversation, and I think he might have dropped it, but my hopes are unfounded.

“We don’t yet know how this situation will affect your condition,” he says, and I frown.

“It’s nothing unfamiliar. I scented the captain of the guard’s blood when he returned injured last year, and I’ve yet to kill him.” I omit the fact that there are several women of the palace who’ve accidentally ended up in my presence when their monthly bleeding has come upon them, and I’ve yet to murder any of them, either.

“I don’t mean the blood,” Gunter says. “I mean we’ve yet to determine how your symptoms are affected by your emotions.”

I go still, stiller than even the fae. Gunter blinks, clearly unsettled.

“Blaise is the queen’s prisoner,” I say. “Not to mention she’s infested by what could be an ancient parasite.”

“Those are simply statements that describe her current state of being. Not how you feel toward her.”

“I would have thought the feelings would have been implied by the descriptions.”