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“Keeping me safe—is that what you call that tornado you conjured?” What a waste of magic.
He winces. “I’m sorry. I know what that means to you, but it’s the first thing I thought of that might make you stop—keep you safe.”
“You weren’t wrong. It did make me hesitate.” If not for all that we’d already shared, I might have stopped or turned and run.
“But I underestimated you.” He kisses my hand once more. “I should have known you would find another way to surprise me.”
I lace my fingers through his. “You thought I’d just let you fight, even though I was already free? I wanted to interrupt the duel—nullify it.”
“I know,” he says. “But I intended to win that battle and take out two birds with one stone, as it were.” He adjusts his grip, tightening his hold on me. “It seems things often don’t go as I plan. It’s a good thing I have a delightful mate to balance out my impulses. Or should I say, future Queen of Air?”
A fierce blush rushes to my face, and I jerk my hand away. “I’m sorry I said that. I couldn’t let you be in pain anymore. I had to make them agree, and that was the first thing that came to mind.”
“And so you did. You stopped a war, Wren.”
I shake my head. “That was you. You fought. You told them about what really happened in the past.”
“No.” He takes my hand in his again. “I merely said the things I should have spoken long ago. Without you there, they never would have listened to me. None of this would be possible.” He pauses, something in his gaze twinkling before he says, “You’ll be a brilliant queen.”
At that title again, my flush returns twofold. We’ve never discussed exactly what our relationship will be after this. I promised to come back, we share a mark, but there haven’t been any agreements beyond that. Queen is… It’s a lot. Not just a promise to be together but sharing of power. The thought of it alone almost makes me want to run—or it would, if not for the fae holding my hand right now and looking at me like I’m a treasure. Like he didn’t almost die today and actually won his prize instead of having things interrupted.
Sigurd draws me closer, and I let him, scooting further onto the bed.
“Was it truly foreseen?” he asks.
Unlike him, I can lie. Maybe it would be best to now, to tell him I made it up, but somehow, I can’t manage that. He deserves better, a future without lies and deceit. “It’s what Lysandir called me on the night of the ball, just before he left.”
Sigurd tsks. “That boy, ruining the surprise of asking you.” I gasp, but he continues, “Though I suppose I am grateful in this case.”
“You want me as your queen?” I gape, staring at him wide eyed. Surely, this has to be some kind of a joke. It would be a lie to say I don’t want it exactly, but it’s just so much so soon.
“Of course I do. I love you, Wren.”
Those words do something to me, drawing me further into his embrace until my legs nearly touch his where I recline on the bed next to him.
He loves me. Yes, even without his penchant for truth, the steady look in his eyes as he gazes at me says it too. This fierce and tricky man, this king, loves me. Not the woman he thought I was or that I look like, but me.
“I want you at my side but only when you’re ready.” Soft laughter slips from his lips. “I can be quite patient when there’s something I really want.”
I snuggle close to his side, laying my head on the pillow next to his. He turns to face me, lying just how we did the other night after we had sex and became a mated pair. I stroke his face, savoring the feel of his skin under my fingers—now clear of the blood and grime of battle.
“You love me?” I need to hear it again. Once would never be enough.
He curls an arm around my side, tucking me close. “I love you, Wren.”
“I love you too, Sigurd,” I admit.
And then my lips are on his, savoring the taste of him that I feared might be gone forever. He’s peaches and cream. Rain on a summer day. An autumn breeze through my hair. Everything that I love and crave and could never get enough of, no matter how long we’re together.
Gently, I pull away, despite his protest and his hand holding tight to my side, urging me closer. His eyes glow that intoxicating bright blue, showing just how much I’ve affected him.
“Only when I’m ready, right?” I say in the narrow space between us.
He groans, as if I’ve caused him worse agony than the duel, but releases me, rolling onto his back once more, his eyes tightly shut. When he opens them again, the glow has dimmed somewhat.
“You need to rest,” I say. “Isn’t that what the healer said?”
Sigurd grumbles but doesn’t argue.
