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She didn’t stop him, though it didn’t matter. He couldn’t decipher her secrets anyway.

“Why are we here, Shan?”

She smiled, leaning casually against the door as she slid the lock in. “It is the safest place in my entire home. Every Blood Worker guards their laboratory—and I worked hard to make this one mine.”

“It’s rather…” Samuel searched for a word, one that wasn’t intimidating or gruesome. He couldn’t find one that was also true.

“It’s a lot,” she admitted. “Especially if you haven’t studied Blood Working. But there is nothing here that you wouldn’t find in any classroom in the Academy. Or, I’m sure, in the Eternal King’s own sanctuary.”

He heard the unspoken question there, and he turned slowly, taking in all the details before he spoke again. “He has a sink in his.”

“Of course he does.” Shan shook her head. “I’d love to make that addition, but finances being what they are… Anyway, I know you’ve been having meetings with Sir de la Cruz about your magic. What has he had to say?”

“Keeping yourself informed, I see,” he muttered, his hand automatically going to the place where Isaac had drawn his blood just days ago. He swore he could still feel the echoes of his touch, and he wondered if he was going mad.

“It is my job,” Shan reminded him. “And I want to help you as well. I’m sure you realize the King has ulterior motives for your training.”

“I’m not an idiot.” Samuel pulled his hand through his hair, absolutely destroying the proper queue his valet had spent so long on. Oh well. “I know what he wants of me. It’s mostly been… practice.” He still couldn’t keep the distaste from his voice—yes, Isaac had been right. Control was getting easier.

But he still didn’t like using it.

Shan, though, was always so attentive. “Mostly? What else have they done?”

He turned away from her, not wanting to see the disappointment in her eyes when he told her. It was bad enough when he was breaking the rules left by his dead mother—he suspected that Shan would somehow be worse than her spectre. “Not them. It’s just been Isaac.”

“Just Isaac,” Shan repeated. “And what did just Isaac do?”

“He wanted some of my blood,” Samuel said. “For study.”

Shan exhaled sharply. “You did not.”

“I did.” He turned around before she could even begin. “Shan, he thinks he might be able to fix it.”

Her anger melted away, replaced by something softer and somehow harder to bear. “Oh, Samuel.”

“You don’t think it’s possible?”

She didn’t answer right away. “I… honestly don’t know. But if you like, perhaps we can try.”

He could barely breathe. “You’d do that?”

“Naturally. I’ve always been fascinated by the Aberforth Gift, and—” she hesitated, that pitying look back on her face “—it’s clear it makes you terribly unhappy. Besides, such a talent is just as much a liability as it is a boon.”

“A liability?” He was surprised. “I doubt the King would agree.”

“Trust is valuable in politics, Samuel,” Shan explained, “and if the truth about you ever got out that trust would be lost. Forever. So while it certainly has its uses for the life you want, you’d be better off without it.” She stepped over to a metal table, gesturing for him to follow. “Now, take off your clothes from the waist up.”

Samuel flushed, crossing his arms in front of himself. He must have misheard her. “Wait, what?”

“Your clothes,” Shan said again. “Off.”

So much for that. He had to clear his throat to get the next word out. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to get blood all over them,” Shan said, as if he were a complete simpleton. “Because then we’d have to burn them, like we do with all bloodied materials. And unless you’re hiding a second outfit somewhere, you’d have to head home half-naked.” She ran a hand down her dress—a simple dark cotton affair with no frills or baubles. “Why do you think I am wearing this?”

His cheeks were burning even more now, but he couldn’t stop himself from following the movement of her hand. Even in such a plain outfit, she was still a beautiful woman—and he knew that she knew it, too. The simple dress hugged her curves, drawing his attention to the fullness of her breasts, tapering down to a thin waist he ached to feel under his hands. She was beautiful in the most exquisite of dresses, she would be beautiful in rags, she would be beautiful in nothing at all.

Turning away, he stopped that line of thought cold as he shrugged his jacket off. “Isaac didn’t make me do this.”