“You should show that little trick to Jack Barlowe,' Xaden says, turning his palms upward and offering me my daggers.

'I'm sorry?' This is a trick. It has to be a trick.

He moves closer, and I lift my blade. My heart stumbles, the beat irregular as fear floods my system.

'The neck-snapping first-year who's very publicly vowed to slaughter you,' Xaden clarifies as my blade presses against his cloak at the level of his abdomen. He reaches under my cloak and slides one blade into the sheath at my thigh, then pulls back the side of my cloak and pauses. His gazes locks onto the length of my braid where it falls over my shoulder, and I could swear he stops breathing for a heartbeat before he slides the remaining dagger into one of the sheaths at my ribs. 'He'd probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head.”