Page 57 of Blood of the Fairest

"The horses are fine," I promise her.

"No, they're not. They know I'm a monster. They'll have nightmares about it, and so will I. I was just going to have a tiny taste, and then—" She cuts off with a gag. "And what the hell is up with the queen's canines turning into fangs when she feeds? What kind of fucked-up party trick is that? I thought my teeth seemed weird the first time I fed—but this time I felt them and barely stopped myself from screaming and scaring the manure out of those poor horses."

Again, with the horses?

When Verena realizes I'm fighting laughter, she sits up to glare at me through the shoemaker's eyes.

"Being pretty doesn't excuse you for being a sadist, Beetlejuice."

I've never seen what I look like, but the real Reinhilde's many objectifying comments made it evident that I'm desirable in some way. Her salacious gaze and repeated suggestions that I undress for her made my skin crawl. I longed to disappear every moment she was awake.

But when Verena calls me pretty, or handsome, or anything else…

I don't mind.

Actually, I wouldn't mind quite a lot more of it.

"I've another request for you," I tell her, toying with the ties at the neckline of my shirt. I hoped her gaze might follow the motion, but she's still glowering about my laugh. "You should carry a small mirror everywhere you go so I don't have to go through that brand of torture ever again. That way, I can see whatever poor horses you may terrify in the future."

She makes a motion at me that I don't understand, her middle finger raised. But she puts it down quickly when one of the tavern maids steps up to the table.

"My uncle said he would love to speak with you," she says, eyeing Verena with the slightest hint of suspicion. "He asked for complete privacy. Just go upstairs and turn right. Also…thanks for trying to help earlier."

"Trying being the key word, because clearly you had it handled," Verena grins with the shoemaker's face. "You're a lot handier with that knife than I am with my fists."

The tavern maid laughs. "Just remember that you're the one who said it, not me."

She steps away to talk to other tavern customers. Verena grabs the spoon and stands. This window turns and flips, showing chaotic blips of the tavern, but at least I can still hear her as she moves toward the stairs.

"She would have her choice of modeling agencies to pick from, in my world," the shoemaker sighs. "Too bad I'll be leaving soon, because I would love to design something for her."

Ah, yes. Verena did mention being a seamstress of some kind. Perhaps that's why she was staring at that shop earlier.

I suppose her determination to return to her world is only natural, but…I dislike it.

Already, I can't imagine not having her sharp wit as company. And, if she replaced Reinhilde, what if returning to her world sends the true evil queen back to Eidengrau?

Perhaps there's a way to keep Verena here.

Or preferably, a way to make her want to stay here.

I ponder this deeply as Verena walks past several tables. Bits of their conversation crowd the tavern.

"Plague? In Hamelnmark?"

"Indeed. Let's hope it stays there and keeps out of Isenmere."

She skirts around another table, where they're also talking about that distant kingdom.

"Maybe their king will find a way to end the sickness. Don't give me that look—haven't you heard? He's awakened from that sleeping curse at last. A lot of people wonder if that means everyone in Rosenwald will wake up, too. Some say it's been almost a hundred years, after all."

"Crones! What terrible things faerie curses are."

Finally, Verena hurries up the stairs, away from the chatter and clinking of utensils. She enters a quiet room with a decorative hand-painted mirror mounted on one wall.

I move to it quickly, abandoning the topsy-turvy view of the spoon in her hand. I watch as she closes the door and sits across from an older man at a table.

Merrick, I take it.