Had she waited longer, stalked him another few days before making her move, she would've known of his curse on her own. But she had been running out of time for longer than she would like, had been looking over her shoulder for weeks now wondering if she was being trailed by one of the hunters her aunt surely sent out to keep tabs on her, to ensure that she retrieved the Amulet of the Dullahan. If she failed, they would kill her - or try, though she had no intentions of going down without a fight.

In fact, her plans were much greater in magnitude, brimming with the ambition her mother had passed down. She wouldn't redeem herself, she would do more. She would get the amulet back, and with the court she was building, she would snatch the Unseelie crown from her aunt's bony fingers so spite her for the years of abuse and blame.

Her aunt had always blamed her for her mother's death. Blaise bore her hate with determination, her chin up, her eyes dead pits of swirling green - until the day that the amulet was stolen. Until the day she was banished from the courts with one order. Retrieve the Amulet, or pay with blood, she thinks, remembering the words her aunt had hissed at her, those vicious words a promise of pain and suffering before death could brush its cool lips to her head.

It is why she needs Archer now, why she cannot allow harm to come to him. When he grunts in pain and the world shifts, when the glamour blots the truth from her eyes and turns the park into a cozy little cabin, a fire crackling in the hearth, she feels her shoulders stiffen with tension. So this is his power, she muses, impressed by the strength of it even as it filters away, the park reappearing where the cabin had been.

"It is my curse," he says, answering her question much quicker than she had expected before wrenching his hands from hers, his face a mask of agony as he shouts about a creature and bolts into the brush, re-emerging with the wriggling form of a squirrel. There is a brief moment, before Archer attacks, when she looks into the eyes of the squirrel and sees its fear, when her ears register its pitiful squeaks and she watches with her head cocked to the side, fascination catching like fire in her eyes.

Then, Archer strikes with a deep bite to the tiny creature's flesh and it is still in his hungry hands. Her mouth parts in awe as Archer consumes the life of the squirrel, his body growing visibly stronger with each gulp of blood. Already, he looks better than he had a moment ago and on instinct she moves towards him, once again lapsing back into the part she must play. Her hand settles gently in the small of his back and she bites her lip, her voice hesitant. "Archer."

Her fingers trace circles in the dip of his spine, a comforting touch before she pulls away, giving him a moment of privacy to finish his meal before glancing back at him.

"Come on. You can rest at my house and we'll talk," she says, the authority in her voice like that of a mother's, leaving little room for argument. "Anyways, I've got to clean these scrapes before they finish healing improperly."

She stretches her hand towards his, her fingers brushing the side of it before closing around his cool grip, the carcass of the animal discarded in the grass. It isn't a long walk to her home in Hawethorn Village, but she is running out of time. The sooner they get behind closed doors, the better.

Especially with aunt Morrigan keeping such careful watch on her movements. Best she not know that her niece is recruiting.