Blaise could flirt with him all night, teasing him in the way that young lovers do, testing the limits of propriety with a flutter of lashes here, a brush of skin there. She wants to do those things, to trail a line of kisses from his jaw down to the muscular curve of his shoulder, tracing her cool fingers across his collarbone so that she might lose herself in the warmth of him and forget about Morrigan and Vaughan, the Amulet and all the things that had gone asunder in her life.

It would be much kinder than what she must actually do, but Blaise has never been good with doing the right thing. Despite her attraction and the undeniable ache to know him so much more intimately than two fast friends flirting on a couch, it is too easy to lapse into what she knows. When your only skill in life is to take and use and break, you get used to warming your own bed at night, or so she tells herself as she slips her chilly toes further beneath the warmth of his thigh.

"Ah, well, little lass, there are a few things I am certain I could teach you," he says, and she wishes that he would, if only to distract her from the shitstorm of her life. Her pulse quickens at the idea of his hands on her and she turns her face away, her lips twitching into a coy smile as heat floods her cheeks. She hadn't blushed since she was a teenager with Vaughan and the sensation surprises her, if only for a moment.

He has managed to surprise her so much in their brief moments together that she shouldn't have been shocked when he accepts her proposition so quickly despite her urging him to consider it for a while, to take time to mull it and the implications of the blood oath over. Of course, she hadn't wanted him to think too much into the matter lest he decide it the benefits were not greater than the risk, but she certainly hadn't expected him to accept without hesitation, even with his curse hanging in the balance.

A slow smile turns up the corners of her mouth and her eyes spark with excitement, the thrill of the hunt only outshined now by the thrill of having succeeded in her conquest. She takes his hand, her heart thrumming loud in her chest and she's certain he must hear it because she can, pounding away in her ears so that it's hard to make anything else out. "Thank you, a million times, thank you," she breathes, and it is so genuine, so heartfelt because she knows that she's got a fighting chance now.

A small one, but there it is - the possibility of thwarting her aunt, the Prince, the court of insolent bandwagoners who'd sought to destroy her for losing the amulet, a mistake that had already gutted her internally.

She doesn't hesitate now, her legs pulling out from under him to drop to the floor. She springs up quickly, grabbing the bronze knife he'd left on the table after finishing with her knee. Her hands tremble as she grabs his, turning it over to expose his wrist. The knife is sharp and true as she slashes a fine line across the soft flesh of his wrist, the blood pooling quickly to the surface. "I, Blaise Margot Duval, of the High Fae of the Unseelie, do pledge my service to Archer Faxfair - in that I shall help him break the curse placed upon him. This I swear that I will do, in exchange for his service as my Knight and protector. This oath is binding, until released from it or death." Her words are soft but firm, her eyes bright with emotion.

There is a brief pause, a moment of electrified quiet between them before she lowers her mouth to his arm, her lips closing around the blood. It is warm and metallic and she takes three quick swallows of it, an animalistic groan building in her throat. The magic of a blood oath is strong and it fills her with fire, her veins singing as they burn with the power of the bond knotting itself into every fiber of her. It is overwhelming and with one last flick of her tongue across his fresh wound, she pulls away, her nostrils flaring and eyes wild. There is blood on her mouth, trailing down her chin.

She had not been prepared for the enormity of it; blood oaths were rare in the Unseelie courts, an unbreakable vow that most did not wish to seal themselves to. But she had been desperate, oh so desperate.

She can feel the bond between them like a steady hum and it staggers her to think that it is only half formed, that it could be stronger, more tangible than even this.

High on the moment and wanting it to be done so that she might sort out this strange feeling, she slashes the blade across her own pale wrist, watching with parted lips as her blood slowly trickled up from the cut. "Your turn," she breathes, hardly able to catch a breath from the magic pulsing in the air.