Page 85 of Blood of the Fairest

Still, there's no missing the way the Huntsman's gaze follows each move Verena makes.

He's captivated by the otherworldly woman, and terrible at concealing it.

That makes two of us.

At least this lucky rogue can gently wake her from her nightmares when she weeps in the night. Meanwhile, all I can do is curse the glass that holds me prisoner, impatiently counting down until the full moon.

Less than three weeks remain.

"Maybe the only thing you have to tempt her with in return is your blood," I can't resist nettling Wulf. "You ought to flaunt it more, just to see where that gets you."

I can't see his face from this angle, but his voice is firm. "I will not use Verena's thirst to torment her."

"Why not?"

I would, if I were him.

The idea of her thirsting for me in any way makes me glower again at the window-spackled darkness of the prison surrounding me.

Whatever I am, I'm not certain I even have blood—let alone a flavor of it that Verena can't seem to get enough of, like Wulf's.

"I will never torment her again. If she decides to feed, my blood is hers. If she prefers to ignore me, so be it. And if she ever desires more than just my blood…" He mutters something in Hjemic that I don't know before sighing. "Alas, it would be more than I deserve to enjoy."

"So noble and self-punishing."

"Afflictions you clearly lack, to observe Verena bathe as brazenly as you do," he snarks.

It's a fair shot.

Still, it's not my fault she apparently has no qualms with being nude in my presence.

While Wulf continues toward the castle dungeon, I leave this window of light and make my way back to Verena through countless others in the silent darkness of the mirror realm.

Under Reinhilde's negligent rule, Isenmere was eternally stale. Its castle was full of lazy, self-serving people who spent their time luxuriating in their status or lining their own pockets.

Almost overnight, Isenmere has transformed. Now it's budding, just like the slowly warming springtime outside.

Verena wasted no time in changing many things with Merrick's efficient help—taxation cuts and adjustments, hiring earnest workers, redirecting funds to needy villages throughout the kingdom, and approving northerners' long-ignored requests to settle within Isenmere's borders.

She's begun earning the begrudging respect of everyone in the castle, though they still fear her.

But as happy as most people are with all the changes, there are also many whispers.

Whispers about the queen's sudden, drastic change of heart. Whispers speculating about what could have possibly caused it. Recountings of the legendary northern warrior who has become a constant shadow at her side.

"He must be the first of a new set of Favored," someone is whispering near a reflection I pass on the way to Verena. "Haven't you seen the way he looks at her?"

"I certainly have," a man replies. "She'll earn Ayna's wrath if she doesn't tire of that northerner soon. Come to think of it, if she's desperate enough to fuck one of that ilk, maybe she'll take me as a Favored, too. Maybe I ought to break into her chambers tonight and lounge naked in her bed."

Fury stops me in my tracks at the idea of anyone even joking about violating Verena's safe space. Whether she will speak of it or not, it's obvious she is already haunted by something like that happening to her long ago.

I wheel around to glare out that reflection, but the idiots' laughter is already disappearing out of view.

Damn. If I'd gotten a glimpse of them, I would have sent Wulf to snap their necks, too.

Finally, I reach my mirror in Verena's room. The instant I lay eyes on her, tension leaves my shoulders.

Her dark red hair is messy. Bits of it fall from the bun on her head as she pins a piece of fabric in place on a makeshift mannequin. I can tell she's been using charcoal to draw again, as some of it is smudged on the plain dress she's wearing.