Page 77 of Blood of the Fairest

I guess it makes sense that a huntsman can be freakishly quiet since he must spend a lot of time creeping up on prey—but holy shit, I got so absorbed in this new idea that I forgot he was observing nearby.

"You've met this picky weaver?" I check.

He nods, folding his arms over his chest. The motion makes me again notice all the blue runes circling his bulging muscles.

"You speak of Ida. That waspish old woman has not left her cottage at the brink of the Loomdark in many years."

"What are the odds that you and Ida are already BFFs and you can hook a sister up?"

Wulf glances at Eris for translation. Merrick frowns in confusion at the empty mirror to which he's turned.

"In bizarre otherworld terms, I think she's asking if you're friends with the old woman," Eris shrugs.

The Huntsman shakes his head. "I've merely crossed paths with her and know where she lives."

"Great!" I turn back to the efficient chamberlain and beam. "I'd bet both my pinky toes that I can shake things up so the council will be the ones trying to earn Anika's goodwill, instead. I may not have much experience in this world, but what I do have are a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over years of being hunched over a sewing machine, pricking my fingers all fucking day. After Anika and Ingrid get here, I'll take some measurements, and then we'll take a quick trip to see Ida."

Eris groans. "As if you're not in enough danger here, now you want to tempt the Loomdark."

Wulf grunts in agreement with the man in the mirror. "It is too dangerous for you. Send me alone."

"You're imposing and silent and carry a giant axe everywhere you go. I know how to be charming. If Ida is going to be besties with one of us, it's going to be me," I point out. "Okay, Merrick. There are a few things I'll need to get started."

I rattle off a long list of fabric colors, threads, needles, paper, pencils, and other things.

He inclines his head. "I'll have everything delivered to your chambers tomorrow."

After adding that he's off to conduct a much more thorough inspection of the castle's affairs, Merrick wishes me a good evening and excuses himself.

Just as he's sweeping out of the double doors of the candlelit throne room, a manservant enters. He seems nervous and accidentally looks at my unveiled face.

His gaze widens, drinking me in for a full five seconds before he bows nearly in half, holding up several envelopes and swallowing nervously.

"Y-Your Majesty, I've brought your latest correspondence. P-please forgive my staring, but your face and figure are just so striking that I could not help myself and⁠—"

The Huntsman strides across the throne room to snatch the letters away. The protective snarl in his tone makes me jolt.

"Get out."

The manservant flees immediately, the doors shutting with a dull bang behind him. Wulf returns to my side, gently lifting my bruised hand to place four envelopes in my palm.

The brush of his warm, calloused fingers against mine sends an unexpected shiver down my arm.

The faintest scent of blackberries and mint wafts from his rebandaged arm, and my mouth waters against my will. I can't stop my gaze from flicking back to the mark on his neck.

Wulf notices. Suddenly, I'm trapped in his arctic gaze—and either I'm losing my fucking mind, or he looks kind of…hopeful.

"Do you thirst again?" he murmurs.

Absolutely, I do.

In fact, I'm thirsty in more ways than one. My throat burns, and it takes effort to look away from his lips.

I swivel away quickly, feigning nonchalance—but really, I'm just trying to get away from the taunting scent of that bandage.

"Nope. Not at all. I'm peachy," I say brightly, breaking a dark green seal on one of the envelopes.

"Were you this much of a liar in your world? Or is that a new development to go with Reinhilde's voracious appetite?" Eris snarks as I walk toward him.