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“You think practicing will only make it stronger,” Isaac said.

“Yes.” Samuel hung his head. “And as it gets stronger, I’ll get weaker.”

“That’s not true. You’ll get stronger with it—it won’t be able to fight you anymore.”

He could feel his hands trembling. “But what if we’re wrong? The King said it’s getting stronger with each generation. Even if my father could control it—and from what rumors held he didn’t really bother to try—that doesn’t mean that I will.”

And there it was. The fear that had haunted him his whole life. It was easy to write off one or two mistakes. But it was never just that. He had spent his whole life trying to pull himself away, to limit the damage he could do to others, but it still kept happening.

It would keep happening, until the man was gone and all that was left was a monster.

Isaac looked away. “That’s why I took some of your blood, isn’t it? If this fails, we’ll have another option.”

“You said it wasn’t a guarantee.”

“Nothing is guaranteed,” Isaac admitted. “Except if you don’t try, you will fail.”

He pulled away, and this time Isaac let him go. He wanted to flee—to find some space from the truth that Isaac was speaking. He was right, after all. Ignoring it had never been an effective tactic, and even if it was, the Eternal King wouldn’t allow him to let such a talent lie fallow.

“Why are you risking so much for me?”

“You keep asking me that,” Isaac replied. “And… I can’t give you an answer.”

“Can’t?” Samuel whirled to face him. “Or won’t?”

“Heh, you’re learning.” He shrugged. “Both? I’m the Royal Blood Worker, Samuel. I’ve aided the Eternal King in matters that leave me damned. But if I can do even just a little good in this life, then I will. So, what do you say? Are you ready to begin your practice?”

Samuel looked pointedly around the room. “There is no one here to practice on.”

Isaac smiled, slowly and sadly. “Yes, there is.”

“Hells.”

“Hells indeed,” Isaac echoed. “But it’s all right. I know what I signed up for. Besides, I know you won’t make me do anything too bad. Perhaps pat my head and rub my stomach at the same time? Hop on one foot? Quack like a duck?”

Samuel couldn’t help it—he laughed, and Isaac laughed with him. It was just such a ridiculous idea. Sir Isaac de la Cruz, the Royal Blood Worker.

Quacking like a duck.

“I told you it wouldn’t be so bad.” Isaac shook out his shoulders—loosening himself up as if for a fight. “But, sadly, this isn’t a childish game. Let’s just keep it simple and straightforward, yes?” When he met Samuel’s eyes, there was no hesitation there. “I trust you.”

For a moment Samuel considered his options, just having him hop on one foot or some other innocent thing. But, no, he was right. If he was to master this power—if he was to please the Eternal King—he needed to take this seriously. He looked at Isaac and said the first thing that came to mind.

The thing he had been aching for, but was too cowardly to admit. But they had shared something here, something soft and vulnerable, and Samuel ached to know what it would be like if he could just reach out a little bit more.

“Kneel.”

Isaac went ramrod-straight, his ease vanishing as his eyes went wide with surprise. For a second, just a second, he resisted, his body trembling as he fought with every ounce of his will. Then Isaac sank in front of him, struggling the whole way, but he still managed to land on his knees with grace. It was only in the tension in his neck as he bowed his head that Samuel could see the fight—the way that Isaac needed to cling to control, to his image, to his pride—and he wondered what this moment must have cost him.

Samuel forced himself to watch, unable to turn away. He told himself it would be dishonorable, but in truth, there was a part of him—deep and shameless—that stirred with a dark kind of thrill. The pleasure curled through him, low in his stomach and intoxicating, knowing that he was the reason Isaac was now on his knees. That he had taken this proud, stubborn, brilliant man and brought him low with a single word.

That no matter who or what he would face, he’d always have this power.

And then it was over. Isaac scrambled back to his feet, his breath coming hard and fast while his cheeks colored. The slip in his control lasted only a moment, then he was grinning up at Samuel like they had just played the most marvelous game. “You cheeky bastard.”

“What was it like?” Samuel asked. “Please—I’ve never known.”

Isaac paled slightly, but he faced Samuel unflinchingly. “It was like… being trapped in my own body. I knew what I was doing, I knew I was supposed to fight it and I tried. But I knelt anyway. I couldn’t do anything else until I was done.”