Page 32 of The Blood Queen

My father arches a perfectly sculpted brow. The absolute arsehole is easily several inches taller than me, with long, dark hair and piercing eyes that have never, not once, been bereft of judgment. “I was told you needed to speak to me urgently.”

“Privacy!” I say with enough force that his other eyebrow goes up.

“Such matters need not be private.” He waves his hand.

Samson makes a noise in the back of his throat that might have been a word or just the sound of his soul leaving his body.

“They are to me,” I snarl and point to the door. “If I can wait a whole night for you to get bored of the Wild Hunt, you can give me ten minutes before I inform you about the dire threat of the High Blade.”

Father finally shows some shock. He opens his mouth to speak, but I point to the door.

“Ten. Minutes.”

Rolling his eyes, he finally goes.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Samson whips his head toward me. “Your father?” he asks in a strangled voice.

“It’s incredibly annoying, but yes.” I slip out of the bed and head to the wash closet. Damn that man’s timing. If he’d only arrived fifteen minutes earlier. Heat flares over my whole body. At least he didn’t arrive fifteen minutes later.

Of course, the tattered gown I’d been wearing and Samson’s muddied, grimy clothing are simply gone. In their places are several different options. I select the plainest outfit of the three intended for me, a dark blouse and skirt paired with a black leather belt. Samson emerges from the wash closet.

“Nice,” I tell him.

“Feels…informal?” he says, tugging at the hem of the tunic. He’s wearing his long hair down, the ends brushing the tops of his shoulders. The tunic is made of brown wool and trimmed in a vine embroidery that looks golden in certain light, cut to highlight Samson’s broad chest, the perfect fit, and it looks…

Nice. It all looks very nice and absolutely not like something I want to rip off his body right this moment.

“I picked the wrong thing, didn’t I?” Samson asks, worried. “There was something else on the peg that I could wear, but I’m not sure about a cape…”

I shake my head. “You’ll blend in with this. Doublets are a bit too…”

“English?” Samson offers with a smirk.

“A bit too much for the fae realm,” I say, grinning.

Samson rakes his eyes over me. “That doesn’t look very different from what you normally wear.”

He’s not wrong. The material is more finely woven than anything the queen herself could have bought from the finest clothiers in Paris, but the dress itself isn’t very exciting.

“You’re a princess, Alyth,” Samson says. “Shouldn’t you…”

I give him a flat look. Fae hierarchy doesn’t work like the neatly drawn lines of the human royal family tree. Being the daughter of a fae prince means very little in the long run, especially seeing as I’m half human.

But Samson doesn’t care about that. He looks behind me and sees a long plaid that looks as if it’s made with threads of silver shooting through the pale material. It’s gorgeous but huge.

“What is this, a blanket?” he asks, clearly confused as to why it was hanging up beside a gown.

“An arisaid,” I say. I take the cloth from him and fold it in half. I undo the leather belt around my waist, and Samson’s eyes go straight there. I shoot him a look—Really?—and slide the belt through the material, draping it like a double-layered skirt. After cinching my belt again, I pull up half the material around my shoulders, securing it with a circular brooch etched with an enormous tree design, stylized with an inlay of gold braiding. The plain rectangular cloth now appears to be an overskirt with a draping hood attached.

Samson tilts his head. “I suppose that’ll do if I cannot talk you into a crown.”

I shake my head at him, biting back a smile.

Once we’re presentable, I toss open the door to see my father waiting in the hall. A smirk twists my lips. He hates waiting.

Good.

Before either of us can speak, Kirk appears. He glances at Father but then turns to me. Father’s eyes widen, unused to a brownie ignoring him. “Lady Alyth,” Kirk announces. “I have been in touch with the brownie named Kitty. She says she is well and sharpening all the knives for attack.”