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“In that case, how can I refuse?” His foul mood has passed like a summer breeze, or perhaps he was only testy with Samuel himself, and he started gathering the fabrics.

Shan watched them go with a slight smile. “Good, that’s done.”

Samuel waited till they were out of earshot, then, “I thought we were playing this close to the chest?”

“Laurens can be trusted, as can everyone in my employ,” Shan said simply, as if it were a given, like the sun rising in the morning and setting again in the evening. “Now for the difficult part. Wine?”

Samuel blinked at her. Was that fitting supposed to be easy? “No thank you. I don’t drink.”

Shan studied him over the rim of her wine glass, her expression unreadable. “That makes sense. Can I get you something else? Tea? Juice? Water?”

“Tea would be lovely,” he said, and she rang a bell, summoning a serving girl for a pot of tea and refreshments. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” she said, settling into a chair and gesturing for him to do the same. “We have to work out how to handle this, though. There aren’t many teetotalers amongst the Blood Workers, as we’re not known for our restraint.”

“Is that really so—” he trailed off at the glare Shan shot him. “Right. Appearances.” He ran his hand over his face. “Are you giving me a new identity, then?”

“Not a new identity precisely. Just refining the one you have.” Shan fell silent as the serving girl returned, setting out the teapot, cups and the plate of desserts. It only took a couple of moments, but they both let the silence stretch out.

Only when the girl was gone did Shan speak again. “You have a unique opportunity, Samuel. You didn’t grow up with other Blood Workers; you have a clean slate. You can be whoever and whatever you want to be.”

“And what if I just want to be me?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Then I’d tell you that’s a very poor decision,” Shan replied. “No matter how much they like you, they’ll still tear you apart. It’s how they test you. So only give them the smallest bits of truth and protect everything about you that’s real.”

Samuel couldn’t help it: the question slipped from his lips. “Is that what you do?”

Her smile was sad, but she didn’t look away. “Of course. You have to, if you’re going to survive here.”

Samuel heard the hint of pain there. “And you don’t want me to mess things up for you.”

“Well, naturally,” Shan said, sipping her wine. “But I also don’t want my friends to get hurt any more than necessary.”

“I thought we weren’t friends.”

Shan looked chagrined. “My brother can be… difficult at times. Perhaps he is right, that it is too early for friendship. But hopefully one day, no? I can see us working very well together.”

Samuel wasn’t a fool. He knew that everything about her, from the face she showed the world to the pain she whispered in his ear, was a careful choice. But yet, there was something about it that felt real, a hint of true vulnerability slipping through.

He shouldn’t trust her—he shouldn’t trust any Blood Worker. It would be too easy to give in to her charms, to let her sink her claws into him. But he couldn’t help it.

Perhaps he was a fool after all.

“So let’s figure out who Samuel Aberforth is,” he said.

Chapter Nine

Samuel

Two days later, Samuel had settled into the LeClaire townhouse, shuffled off into one of the guest suites to wait for his audience with the King, which had finally come. Laurens had sent the first of his outfits along and it hung in the wardrobe, waiting for him.

Samuel didn’t need to see the receipt to know that this dress suit was the most expensive thing he had ever touched, a silken masterpiece that felt so delicate under his touch. It was a forest green, only a few shades deeper than his eyes. The materials alone cost more than he wanted to think of, and every bit of the outfit had been tailored to him. Laurens had even sent along new underthings, as if she didn’t trust what he had to be worthy of this outfit.

And, honestly, she hadn’t been wrong.

In the end, he had needed some help. Shan had trimmed his hair for him, just evening out the ends after he refused to let her take off any length. She provided him with a razor sharper than any he had ever had and used Blood Working to heal the nicks his unsteady hands had left behind, licking the blood from his fingers as she commanded the skin to knit and mend, like he had never bled at all.

After he poured himself into the pants that felt too tight, and the shirt and jacket that hung snug across his shoulders, Shan tied his cravat for him, her fingers swift and soft against his throat. She was so close to him that he could breathe deep of the floral scent in her hair, a faint perfume warmed by her skin. His heart beat an unsteady rhythm in his chest, so loud he swore she could hear it, but if she did, Shan didn’t show it.