"Even without a blood oath, I would have done it." Those words - so earnest that they'd cut her to the core - replay in her mind as she cleans up in the bathroom, and still when she sits next to him on the couch. Her thoughts are at war, leaving her stripped and tired. Seeing the adoration in his eyes would surely destroy her, so she focuses on that blood stain as if she might burn it away with the smolder in her eyes, all the while ignoring the voice whispering wicked things into her head.

You cannot ignore me forever girl, and the voice is right, because it is her, the very essence of her soul. As much as she might like to think otherwise, the goodness inside of her existed only when it could benefit her. The ghost of a conscience, weighed down by the selfishness that had been bred so thoroughly into her family line and nurtured as she grew into a young, vicious woman. She could love Archer - and something inside of her uncoiled in pleasure at the thought of it. She could love him, but it would never be fair.

She could never give him everything that he deserved, because she would only ever take. It would be selfish to even try, so she averts her eyes until she can't anymore - until his calloused, warm fingers tilt her chin towards him and his soft voice breaks the silence she'd allowed to grow like a yawning chasm between them. "What are you thinking," he says, and a frown etches lines between her brows. "I'm glad you're healing." Her words come out more clipped than she intended, distant in a way that he'll no doubt notice.

Then he's telling a story and she listens in silence, flushing red as he gives her a wide, warm smile that only serves to stoke the fire of war raging inside her. Do not fall for his pretty smile and sweet words, whispers the voice - her voice, and she gives him a smile that seems more like a cringe, leaning in to listen to his tale. A genuine smile breaks across her face when he talks about the homely daughter, a giggle surprising her as it bubbles from her throat. At some point throughout his story, she begins to relax beside him, leaning against him. The places where her skin brushes his tingle like electricity and his voice drowns out the sinister beast inside of her, wrapping her up in a bubble of giddiness that she thought she might never feel again, not since having her heart clawed at by Vaughan and his self-serving treachery.

It is only when he cups her face, his thumb skating across her flesh leaving little shocks of warmth that she stiffens again, terrified of this closeness and that flicker of brightness in her chest. His words, heavy with feeling and sincerity, are a punch to her gut and she closes her eyes against them, sucking on her teeth to suppress a whimper.

He would be so easy to love and make promises to. But love is a weakness - an anchor tied to your leg in an angry sea. It has its own agendas, none of which could ever exist - much less thrive - in her world. She would do nothing but poison its purity, as she had poisoned so many things before.

Still, she doesn't pull away from him, sighing heavily through her nose. Her head instinctively turns into his touch, the comfort of it soothing her nerves even while his words condemn her to a misery she could never relay to him. She should tell him not to care for her - that anything that existed between them existed only because of their oath. It would be simple to crush that hopeful spark in his eyes before it could grow into flame. Break him now, croons her conscience, a whisper in her head. A shiver down her spine.

She squeezes her eyes shut against it, and opens her traitorous mouth.

"I would fight for it," she breathes, sorrow riding her words heavily. She would fight for that if she could. And because she is selfish - despite knowing that it is wrong to give him hope of anything more than brief pleasure slashed with pain from her - she leans into him, the fingers of her left hand laying soft against his stomach as she lands a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

For a moment, she allows herself to feel the magic curling between them, stitching them together as fate had no doubt intended. She ignores the cool hiss of that inner voice and makes herself a promise - a promise to Archer. I will break your curse.

She had never planned to keep her word anytime soon, too wrapped up in her own selfish desires to care how Archer would feel when he discovered the truth. Of course, she would have eventually been forced to carry out her end of the deal, given the terms of the blood oath. Years from now, perhaps.

Now? She forgets her injuries, her brain feverishly working out a plan to find the fairy who'd cursed her knight. And perhaps she is still being narcissistic - perhaps it would be kinder to release him from the oath altogether and send him away from her and the ambitions she harbored. Every moment that he spent protecting her was a moment that his life would be in danger, and for what? He owed nothing to her. She'd tricked him. Would do it again.

Her thoughts are a maelstrom in her mind and she allows her gaze to meet Archer's, a devilish smile twitching at her mouth - another mask slipping into place to hide the wave of emotions and thoughts ravaging her mind. When she leans forward to kiss him again, it is with a newfound hunger, her eyes gone glassy with unshackled desire.