“Could you sew a dagger into the hem of my cloak?” I ask him. “Easily,” he says. “Thank you,” I say to both of them before smoothing my hands over my skirt. “How do I look?” I ask Blaise. “Lower that neckline half an inch and he doesn’t stand a chance,” he tells me with a smirk. I give him an annoyed shove toward the door, but when he’s gone, I do it anyway.
