Page 157 of Blood of the Fairest

"I'm not in the habit of romping in the hay with anyone," I snort. Unable to resist, I reach out to twist a strand of her garnet-colored hair between my fingers, smiling at her. "And I'm only offering for you to bite me because you look like you just walked out of my filthiest dreams."

The corners of her mouth twitch. "Does that pickup line usually work on the ladies for you?"

"As I told you, I'm serious right now."

Is now the right time to tell her how literally I meant that? I've dreamed of this face before—this blue gaze, this ruby hair, the little spot above her lips that are still swollen from my attentions.

I could hardly believe my eyes when I spotted her through my helmet, after I burst into this stable earlier.

A sudden thought crosses my mind—a rumor drifting around Aurefeld that Isenmere's queen would bring the Isenmerian princess to the festival. That girl she was defending earlier matched the descriptions I've heard of Princess Snow White.

And since the ghost did say this confusing woman is Reinhilde…

"That girl, was she your…daughter?" I ask cautiously, since this woman seems only a few years older than me, but Snow White looked to be on the brink of womanhood.

She waves off the question. "She's more like my Padawan."

"Padawan?" I repeat the strange word at the same time as the ghost, who seems just as perplexed.

"Apprentice," Verena clarifies. Then she makes a face. "But also kind of my daughter by marriage, I guess. It's complicated."

Marriage.

That word chases all logical thoughts from my brain. I'm no longer wondering whether she's Verena or Reinhilde—I'm just gritting my teeth at the thought of this woman trapped in the kinds of marriages I've seen in this scandal-filled kingdom.

"Your husband is infuriatingly lucky," I mutter, my attention dropping again to the small wound on her bottom lip.

It looks like a bite mark.

Did her husband do that to her? Is that why she didn't answer me earlier?

Whoever she really is, I'm about to make her a widow.

"Oh. No, I'm not married. Anymore," she tacks on, like an afterthought. "He died."

Right. I remember now that I heard about the king of Isenmere passing. I was fourteen at the time and paid it little attention.

Yet now I examine the woman before me, trying to picture her cloaked in a veil for the rest of her life, as is their kingdom's tradition for widowed queens. It seems fucking unfair to rob the world of a face like hers.

"Thanks," Verena blurts. "For defending my friends, I mean."

"You already thanked me with a kiss. But I'll gladly accept another," I add with a smile.

I tap my lips as if I'm teasing, but I'm genuinely dying to feel her all over me once more.

"Well, aren't you greedier than Glinda?" she grins.

The armor ghost fights a laugh. "The Faerie of Greed is Gilda—but I admit, it's adorable that you're trying to use references from this world now."

As with every other time he speaks, I pretend I neither hear nor see him. I've had years of practice pretending not to hear things that don't speak to most people.

"Gilda," Verena amends.

Then she turns away from me, kicking straw aside and frowning at the stable floor. I spot what she must be looking for and retrieve it quickly, holding up the slipper.

"Yours?"

She yawns and nods, holding out her hand for it.