âAstrid, please.â He chided, but affectionately. âIâve told you, cutting here,â in demonstration, he took his time palpating the pulse on the neck of this boy he was holding, drifted half an inch away from it and pierced the vein next to it. It was a clean incision, precise that it only stained the tips of his fingers. Blood blossomed from the wound, but didnât spurt in heaps, which proved his point. âBleeding will be slower, then you get to keep your toy for longer. But did you listen to your brother? No.â
    He wiped his hands clean on the boyâs clothes and gave him a gentle nudge towards Astridâs throne, âWould you like this one then? He was fun,â a bored sigh tore out his lips, âBut Iâm done with him.â
    âThatâs not the problem,â she huffed, the slightest irritation creeping into her voice as she watched her brotherâs demonstration. âCutting is your thing.â The smell of blood lures her closer and she swipes a finger across the boyâs skin, collecting a drop of blood on her finger before sticking it in her mouth. She can taste the power, perhaps the one that Athos has already carved onto his skin, or perhaps the boyâs own raw talent. âYou know I prefer the whip and I didnât mean to break him. I must have scratched him too hard.â
   Her eyes roved over the boyâs figure, debating. âMaybe Iâll play with him later. I want something new, brother. I want something special.â She inclined her head towards Holland. âI want the flower boy. Someone unbroken and unblooded.â