I pluck what I need and head back outside, ignoring the cold looks of the Fae. Magic of any kind, Bloodbane or not, is frowned upon here. I imagine it was different before the Bloodbane grew so powerful and cursed Altair. But I ignore their stares as I kneel beside the cauldron. Discouraged or not, I need to do all I can to save Altair.
I light a fire beneath the cauldron, grimacing as the flames burn the nearby grass. I pour water into the cauldron and wait patiently for it to boil. In an iron pot above a fire, it takes longer than it would at home. I sigh, staring into the cauldron. I can feel Altair’s eyes on me. I glance up and see him perched on the gabled rooftop. I stick my tongue out at him and turn back to my cauldron; it’s boiling.
Quickly I measure out a bit of titan arum powder, a red substance, and pour it into the boiling water. A puff of red smoke erupts from the pot, I wave it away, coughing. As the powder dissolves in the hot water, I grind the baneberry into mush. It can only be done immediately before I put them in the potion, or they lose their potency. Or so the text says.
The mush of the berries plops into the red potion and it turns a royal purple. Satisfied with my progress so far, I grin. Who would have thought that a librarian from New York City would be brewing potions outside a Fae king’s castle? After letting it stew for a few minutes, I add the last ingredient.
The potion bubbles and a sickly-sweet smell floats upwards. My grin falls away as the overly sweet scent chokes my lungs. The sun is setting as I pull the cauldron from the flames and pour its contents into a glass bottle. I cap it and put it carefully in my pocket. The potion is still hot, warm enough that I can feel it against my leg. I pour the rest of the water onto the dwindling fire.
The grass beneath the charred wood is black, and likely dead. I grimace apologetically at the Fae nearby. Hoisting the warm cauldron into my arms, I struggle to carry it back into the castle. Suddenly, Altair appears by my side. He slips the cauldron from my arms without a word and falls into step beside me. I eye him, taking in his strong figure, dressed in simple black clothes. The vest he wears over his tunic is tailored to him well, showing the leanness of his strong frame.
I bite my bottom lip, hiding the tendril of excitement I feel when he’s beside me. Altair’s arm grazes against me heat blossoms through me. “What potion did you brew today?” He asks, his voice calm and strong.
“A potion of unbinding. I’m not sure how it will taste,” I warn him as we enter the kitchens.
The cooks look up from dressing the dinner, but Altair gestures for them to continue. “I’ll wash it down with a large glass of wine,” he says, flashing me a grin.
I watch as he rinses the cauldron in the stone sink and sets it aside. He’s more thoughtful than I realized. “And does the King often do dishes?” I ask, arching a brow.
“That depends, how appealing do you find it?” He counters.
“Very,” I purr. Before he can answer, I take the stairs two at a time, leaving him at the landing. I call over my shoulder, “I’ll meet you for dinner.”
“I’ll be waiting,” he says, chuckling.
I can feel his eyes watching me as I round the corner and disappear from view. Tingles slip down my spine and I suppress a shiver. Whenever I feel his eyes on me it’s as if I’m back in that armchair, breathless and filled with cravings.
In my room, I strip quickly; carefully setting the potion aside. I already picked out a gown for dinner, a sea blue dress with long, sheer sleeves. I slip into it, easily buttoning myself in as the back is bare. I study myself in the mirror and brush my hair back self-consciously. This will have to do.
Grabbing the potion, I go to our private dining hall to join him. My stomach is in knots that I can’t explain as I push open the door. Altair is already there, standing beside the fireplace. He turns as the door creaks, and his lips split into a smile. A real, genuine, and tender smile. My heart pounds faster.
“Shall we start dinner off with a bang?” He asks, pulling my chair out for me.
“What?” I gape, cheeks coloring.
His brows furrow. “The potion. Shall I have it now?”
“Oh.” I close my eyes and silently berate myself for having my mind in the gutter. But Altair does that to me sometimes. “Here, try it.”
He plucks the glass bottle from my hands and moves around the table. This time, he’s moved the flowers from between us. Now I have nothing to hide behind. I pour myself a glass of wine as he uncorks the bottle. He stares into the potion and then quirks a brow. “Wish me luck.”
As Altair downs the potion, his brows furrow with disgust. But he drinks it all, his throat bobbing with each gulp. I bite my lip as he lowers the bottle from his lips and pinches his face. A part of me didn’t think he would actually drink the potion I brewed. I thought he would scoff at me like the other Fae. Altair slams the bottle onto the table, grimacing.
“Wine,” he croaks.
I pass him my glass hastily and he chugs it, eyes clenched tightly closed. “Are you okay?” I ask, worry and fear forcing my voice to a higher pitch.
He coughs, returning my glass. “Fine,” he finally manages to say. He stares at the glass bottle and shudders. “What was
