Rodriguez tilted his head. “There’s already someone out there who’s willing to help you. The question is, will you let them?”

I knew immediately who he must mean. I scowled. “Blake Drakharrow?”

Rodriguez nodded. “I didn’t say it would be easy.”

He pushed back his chair. “This meeting is at an end. We’ll reschedule our thrallguard session. Be here tomorrow at the same time.” He smiled at me coldly, then pointed to the door.

Shaking my head, I marched out of the room, unsure if I should be feeling apologetic, ashamed, or furious. Maybe all three.

When I got back to my room the next evening after dinner in the refectory, a note had been slipped under my door. My heart sped up.

I picked it up, unfolded it, and read.

The handwriting was neat and slanted, written in black ink, and decidedly masculine.

“Midnight. The Dragon Court. Come alone if you want a weapon to wield against me.”

I stared at the words. There was no doubt in my mind the note was from Blake.

What the hell was this? Some kind of a trap?

Blake was dangerous. He was a killer. He was a highblood. I had no idea what kind of evil shit he was really involved in. The Adoration Rite had just been a taste of the corruption that ran through the veins of this dark and twisted kingdom–and through his own.

But Florence had told me how he’d brought me back the other night when I’d been sleepwalking.

I’d had restless nights of late and when I woke, I couldn’t even remember what I’d been dreaming about. I never used to sleepwalk. I supposed I should have been grateful it had been Blake who’d found me and not someone else.

Regan would probably have just shoved me over a cliff.

The promise of learning something about Blake that could tilt the balance of power between us in my favor was too tempting to ignore. And then there was the advice Professor Rodriguez had given me.

When midnight came around, I slipped out of the Common Room and navigated the winding corridors until I reached the open expanse of the Dragon Court.

The night was cool and crisp. A light snow was falling, coating the statues with white.

Blake stood in the middle of the court, his back to me. His tall frame was draped in his customary black coat, the fabric hugging his lean, muscular shoulders. He turned his head slightly and my heart caught in my throat, taking in his knifelike cheekbones, his angular nose. He was imperial, imposing, perfect in his imperfections.

He might have been mine. If I’d really wanted to claim him.

My heart skipped a beat as he noticed me and turned fully around, his gray eyes glimmering with a hint of latent danger.

In his own terrifying way, I knew Blake wanted me. In his own terrifying way, he might even believe he cared about me.

But I knew the truth. He wanted to own me, possess me, use me up.

What he felt was the same thing I did–desire merged with loathing.

If I let those dark impulses consume me, I knew it would be my undoing.

“So,” he said, his voice low. “You came.”

I crossed my arms over my chest as if I could protect myself from his presence. “I’m here. What do you want?”

He looked amused. “No, ‘thank you?’” He shrugged. “I suppose I should stop expecting to ever get one.”

“You’re right,” I snapped. “You should. Stop getting your hopes up.”

His lips curled. Then he gestured to a stone bench that lay over in the grove of trees behind the dragons. “You might want to sit down for this.”

“I prefer to stand,” I said coldly.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He walked over to the grove of trees. Reluctantly, I followed.

He sat down on the bench, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I want you to do something for me.”

I tensed up. “Of course you do. Of course there are strings attached. I should have known.” I turned to leave.

“I'm a highblood, Pendragon,” he called. “There are always strings attached.”

When I kept moving, he shot in front of me. “It’s about Aenia.”

There was a strange undercurrent to his voice.

“What about her?” I asked cautiously.

“If you want to know something that could hurt me, then you have to promise me something in return first,” Blake said.

I narrowed my eyes. “What exactly am I agreeing to?”

“I’ve learned the Consort Games will begin in less than two days,” he said, watching my stunned reaction. “Let me protect you so that you survive the Games.”

“Protect me?” I said scornfully. “You won’t even be there. I’ll be going in alone.” I pulled my cloak more tightly around me. “Besides, most of the consorts survive.”

After my alarming meeting with Rodriguez, I’d begged Florence to come to the library with me and together we’d read up on the murky history of the Consort Games. There wasn’t a lot to go on but ultimately, it was clear that the Games weren’t supposed to eliminate all of the consorts. They were supposed to be a test. Yes, consorts died sometimes but that wasn’t the point of the Games. These were noble highblood youths, after all. The kingdom needed to preserve them.

“Yes, but those are consorts who work together,” Blake pointed out, to my annoyance. “They aren’t alone.”

“Regan will be alone, too,” I said, tossing my head.

“No,” he said. “She won’t be. You’ll see. You really think you have a chance as a blightborn? If you think you can go in with no preparation and no advantages, you’re stupider than I thought, Pendragon.”

This was much too close to what Rodriguez had said for my liking.

“Fuck you, Blake,” I said. “I took on Visha Vaidya on my very first day, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember her winning and shoving your face into the dirt. And she’ll be there, you know. She’s a potential consort, too.”

That wasn’t the best news.

“She won because she cheated,” I snapped. “I won the first round, fair and square.”

“And what? You don’t think they’ll cheat in the Games?” He ran his hands over his face, as if he was actually worried about me.

“Are you making a similar offer to Regan?” I demanded.

He laughed but I sensed tension there. “Regan doesn’t need it.”

“I have rider blood,” I pointed out. “I might not be a highblood, but I’m not exactly a regular blightborn either.”

I also had one secret weapon I wasn’t about to tell him about.

“Yes, but what if it’s not enough?”

I shook my head. “This is just... bizarre. Stop pretending you care, Blake.”

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CHAPTER 48 - BLAKE

“I care because I want you and Regan to both make it out of this,” I lied. “Now do you want to know how I can help you or not?”

When she hesitated, I shrugged. “Fine. It’s been nice knowing you, Pendragon.”

I moved to go but she stepped in front of me.

I grinned.

“Get that self-satisfied look off your face,” she spat.

I held my hands up in mock surrender.

She wasn’t going to like this next part. I was bracing for her reaction.

“Fine,” she said, tapping her foot impatiently. “What’s the big tip? What do I have to do? Paint the refectory with blood? Sacrifice another blightborn virgin in the Sanctum?”

I flinched, and so did she as the cruel words left her mouth. She wasn’t hardened enough to make jokes about that yet. I wasn’t even sure if I was.

“If it involves you drinking me,” she hissed. “Then the answer is absolutely fucking not.”

I smirked. “It doesn’t. All you have to do is drink some of my blood. Think you can handle that?”

She took a step back. “You can’t be serious,” she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “No. Hell no.”

I sighed, resisting the urge to point out that any other girl at Bloodwing would have been flattered. I’d never even made the offer before. But Pendragon didn’t care about any of that. She didn’t care about our ways or traditions. She didn’t care about the power the blood of the four houses held.