Expansive marble halls shone with light through huge windows, the sun magnified by a mirror-bright sea. Aetha leaned against a window in the foyer of the palatial wing that she shared with Eiri’el. There were sanguinates among the nobles and the golden guard who had gone so long without good, clean blood, who had been forced for so long to resort to animal blood or in desperation to feed on a plagued peasant, that light this bright became intolerable to them. They would burn at its touch. Aetha wondered if the weakness left by the beast’s curse was similar to that, but no, it couldn’t be.

Withered Quil resembled those desperate many but did not burn in the sun, did not resort to stealing blood or trying to drink from his betters. No, it was a weakness of character. They lacked the strength of resolve.

Aetha shook herself, found the strength to stand against the weakness in her body, and marched through the foyer. Past the twin staircases that led to their banquet halls and suites was a great door to the wing’s own bathhouse. This had been built at Eiri’el’s request, its many heated pools and baths all dedicated to Eiri’el’s exclusive use. For hours every morning and evening, Eiri’el could be found here, attended by a platoon of caregivers. It was no less than she deserved, for the disregard Eiri’el had survived during her first years of life.

Aetha found Eiri’el immersed in water and steam, surrounded by narrow gray attendants. Aetha said, “Eiri’el, we must speak of blood.”

“Always of blood with you, sister.” Eiri’el lay reclined in a pool, her head carefully supported by the hands of the attendant behind her. Eyes closed, Eiri’el said, “Join me if you want to speak.”

Sighing and rubbing at her temples, Aetha said, “I’m much too tired to attend you in the way you deserve at the moment. Just let us- ”

“Join me.”

Aetha froze in place, hands framing her face, red hair a tired tumble all around her. The bath’s attendants watched their matron-queen carefully. A few backed away into the steam and left the room. Aetha hated noticing that, hated how she could hear everyone holding their breath, hated how she held her own breath until it ached in her chest. She’d never understood how Eiri’el’s simple, unassuming voice could lash chains around her like this. Aetha struggled to make herself breathe, to move. It took a long time.

Eventually, Aetha gasped, “Oh, sister, only you could command me so. Fine.”

Eiri’el sat up in the water and said to her attendants, “See to the queen. Then leave us. We will want to be alone.”

When her clothes were neatly folded to one side, fresh hot water and perfume poured into the bath, and the attendants were all gone, Aetha sank into the pool on the side opposite Eiri’el. The pool was large enough that they couldn’t see one another through the steam, but Aetha heard Eiri’el moving, so she spoke quickly. “You must drink the blood of the beast I caught for you. You’ve no business choosing weakness when strength is a sip away.”

And then Eiri’el was upon her like some kind of predator surfacing from the water, pinning her where she sat. Eiri’el didn’t do this with any kind of strength. She was just a narrow body, sickly thin arms, skin so pale, hair so thin and white it seemed made of the steam itself. Her foggy eyes, blind, were nonetheless narrow with hunger when she stretched her frail body across Aetha’s, and Aetha couldn’t move for fear of hurting her.

Aetha did her best to ignore her sister. She said, “I’ve told them to build a new arch to you beneath mine,” but earned no reaction, so tried, “I’ve commissioned a new symphony for you,” but Eiri’el silenced Aetha’s lips with her own.

After a few minutes of this, Eiri’el said, “Are you too exhausted to move?”

And Aetha said, “Yes, I am. I refuse to drink of any blood until you drink of the beast.”

“Oh, you are my beast, Aetha’al’ain.” Eiri’el’s thin fingers tangled in Aetha’s hair and pressed, her breath against the skin of Aetha’s neck.

Looking down at the movement of Eiri’el’s body, at the thinness of her shoulders, the way the knobs of her spine and her ribs could be easily counted, Aetha found herself thinking of the body of the beast. How red it had been, how magnificent the swells of its muscles, the lines of blood running down back and chest, stomach and arm.

Eiri’el paused, “If you bring the blood tonight, plenty for both of us, we will drink it together. Will that satisfy you?”

Aetha closed her eyes. “Yes, it would.” She lifted her tired arms and put them around Eiri’el, wondering what it would be like to be pressed upon instead by a body she didn’t fear to touch.