Page 8 of The Faceless Queen

The nobleman’s green eyes were hooded as he looked me up and down. Quietly, my cuts began to stitch back together, the blood vanishing as I smoothed my hair over the worst of it. But the energy it had taken to do so left me weakened and desperate to recover its loss. The skin on my shoulders was smooth, but the wounds still burned. And deep inside me, the Azete stirred. Hungry, watchful, waiting.

“It seems,” the nobleman said, “that I did need a drink first. Beauty and talent such as yours required some courage from a man like me. But I think I have found it. Or, at least, I have tried. So you will speak to me, Samara? In private?”

Beautiful. Gods. She’s so beautiful.

His thoughts came to me at once, sweet and honeyed just like Jaron’s had been.

By Batrir. Geoffrey was right. He wanted me. Badly. And I hated him for it.

I took the nobleman’s hand, feeling a surge of energy enter my body. The pain in my shoulders began to dull, and the reserves of energy I’d lost healing myself had been restored. Even the fresh frizz in my hair had smoothed out. The curls were now tight and bouncy.

“I would love to speak with you,” I breathed.

The nobleman smiled, his fingers warm as they entwined with my own. “Lead the way, Samara.”

And so I did, walking away from Geoffrey, to the stairs that led to my bedroom.

CHAPTER THREE

My heart raced, each beat bursting against my chest like a fist. Every step I took up the stairs felt more exhausting than the last, as if my shoes had turned to lead. I couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t escape. Not without risking everything.

The nobleman’s hand remained wrapped firmly around my own, our fingers entwined, something that I’d grown accustomed to doing with the men I brought up here. But with him, it was different. His touch felt strangely natural. More so than any touch had in years.

It made looking at his features and hearing his voice, both of which were so similar to Jaron’s, so jarring it hurt.

Stop fighting.

There was no amount of comfort, or sense of familiarity that could outweigh the truth. He was a member of the House Lafir. And it was time for me to do what I should have done years ago.

My eyes met the nobleman’s as we reached the landing, and for once, my stomach didn’t turn. My heart no longer raced but seemed to flutter. With possibility.

One look, one touch, and he’d already offered enough to cover the energy that would be required to heal Geoffrey’s cuts and bruises. The energy that was flowing into me wasn’t strong, but it was steady like a stream. And a stream could grow. A dam could burst. For years now, every dance I did, every touch I gave, every hand I held, back I rubbed, and kiss I’d stolen, had been just enough to maintain the mask I wore. To keep the Azete at bay. But I could see it now. I could have more.

I could have the nobleman tonight. Take his power, his strength. I could do it. Not the Azete. Me. I could push my feelings aside ‘til dawn. Forget his bloodline and family. Forget everything. Then I could drain him dry. Do to him what every member of House Lafir deserved. What the tyrant king most certainly did, and what his son was owed.

Maybe the nobleman was good, maybe he was innocent. But I was running out of options.

Tonight, I would not just take enough to survive.

I would take everything.

Take the power I’d been afraid of, that I’d been avoiding since my mother. Since Jaron. It was time to leave.

Geoffrey’s reminder that he knew what I was, knew my true name, hadn’t been a warning, but a declaration of war. I could see that clearly. The moment the money was right, the second the deal had been negotiated to his liking, it was over. And he wouldn’t just throw me out. He would turn me in.

To King Tirian. Or the Witch Queen.

I didn’t know which one was worse.

I only knew I had to escape both fates to survive. And then find a way to help my friends. Finlay had to get out of there, too, and so did Thomas. All of the musicians, the servers, the cooks, whom I’d grown fond of over the years. And, most importantly, the dancers.

Especially Cecelia. Because the night I fought back against Jaron, the moment he realized my strength and resilience, he’d retreated. And when he returned, he went after her. Hurting her, scarring her.

And Geoffrey had let him. It was only a matter of time before he’d do it again. Do whatever he had to to keep his wealth.

I glanced down at the nobleman’s hip, spying his purse, hearing the faint sound of the coins within. My expression hardened.

I supposed Geoffrey had been right about one thing. Someone was definitely getting fucked tonight. Only it wouldn’t be me.