Frustration heats Blaise’s cheeks, and I can’t help but wonder if the queen intentionally brought back the most physically expressive person in the entirety of Alondria just to torture me.
As if in answer, she makes a point of tossing her long hair over her shoulder, and the scent of jasmine and vanilla that wafts through the room has me digging my fingernails into my sides.
“What I meant is, Cinderella only comes out on the full moon. If the moon can provide her enough power to”—she swallows—“you know, turn me into a ruthless psychopath, then maybe we could use it to rip her slimy fingers out of my brain.”
Gunter and I exchange a look. His gaze dips down to my crossed arms, where he no doubt notices the way I’m physically holding myself back. His eyes narrow.
“I can’t imagine that the full moon would be a powerful enough celestial occurrence to sever a parasite from its host,” I say, more to Gunter than I do to Blaise. I can tell it riles her, because she hops onto her feet and stomps across the room toward us.
When she approaches, I tense, and her head jerks back in offense. “If you don’t like the way I smell, tell your precious queen to let me bathe.”
Shocked, I fumble for words, but I can’t seem to find any, not with the roar in my head that’s drowning out everything else now that she’s near.
Fates, this is going to be more of a problem than I accounted for.
Blaise scoots herself into the space between me and Gunter, brushing her hips up against my side in the process.
I should back away, give her some space, but I don’t.
At least, not until Gunter eyes me over the top of her head.
I take a step back.
Blaise shoots a glare at me, and I wonder if I’ve offended her again, but then she spreads the ancient text out onto the counter, smoothing down the weathered pages with her pale fingers.
I stifle a laugh when I notice the dog-eared corners of the parchment.
Now it’s Gunter’s turn to hold himself back from harming our prisoner.
“I figured it’s not powerful enough on its own. Even the comet wasn’t powerful enough, which is why they used the blood sacrifices,” she says, running her finger over the text to trace the words. My attention catches on the blue veins that snake across the backs of her hands, and I find my mind wandering, wondering how those veins would feel underneath my lips.
I can hardly hear her over the sound of her pulse, thrumming and excited as she explains her theory, but I force my thoughts into submission, mooring them to the sound of her voice.
“I thought that if they could use a blood sacrifice to enhance the power of the comet, maybe we could do the same thing, except with something more powerful than a blood sacrifice to make up for the lack of power from the moon.”
“Magic doesn’t work exactly like arithmetic,” I say, which she pretends not to hear as she looks to Gunter for a response.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I suppose it could work.”
“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.
