AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He shakes his head.
“Tabitha? Matt?” I ask, dreading the answer.
He hangs his head. “I couldn’t bear to try. It runs in bloodlines, whatever makes this possible. But even then, not everyone gets it. Especially if it hasn’t been cultivated, or so Hawke told me.”
Cultivated. As if we’re plants. I push the thought away. They may not see Mark or anyone else, but I’m still human.
“Then I have to go back, or they’ll really think we’re both gone for good.” An idea strikes me, and I jolt upright. “You want to help me?”
“If I could—”
“Then get me in that tournament.”
He blinks at me. “The—”
“The games or whatever.”
His expression hardens. “Wren, that’s—”
“Dangerous? Don’t care. You did it, didn’t you?”
“I did. Won on dumb luck, really. Entered three times, which is why I know the risks it could expose you to.”
“I still don’t care. It’s that or… What? Sit here for months, years, until this darn thing goes away?”
He smooths his hands down his pants. “It is nice here. You might come to like it.”
“Ugh,” I groan and smash my fist into the covers. “Look, you said you’d help. Get me into that tournament.”
“Sigurd will be—”
“I don’t care what he thinks.” I shove to my feet, pacing again.
“He saved you.”
“Hetrappedme here!”
“Wren,” he scolds me like I’m a kid again.
Maybe I’m acting like one, but I don’t care. With all that’s happened, that’s the least of my worries. “You’re his cousin’s husband. Surely that gives you some authority.”
Cogs are turning behind his eyes. His lips pinch. “Yes, some.”
So, he is part of the royal family. It’s a far cry from what our family is back at home, that’s for sure. Lordy, what would Gran think of all this if she knew? We’d always thought Uncle Mark ran away with some woman, but to find out instead that it was a man, a royal, who isn’t even human. Air escapes between my lips. Maybe it is best that Gran doesn’t know.
“But I wish you’d hear me out first, Wren.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I…”
His voice tugs at me. Somehow, I have to make him see reason.
“Uncle Mark.” I smooth out my voice, filling it with the southern drawl, and kneel next to his chair.
This close, I can see the few faint lines of age that no transformation to fae or otherwise can quite hide. He’s different but… My chest tightens as I catch a whiff of peppermint. All at once, I’m hanging out at his house as a child, playing on the thick, brown carpet with Tabitha.
“I want to hear your story. I want to know why you left.” My voice cracks over the word. “But, please, help me with this first. Show me you’re the loving uncle I remember and not just the one who turned his back on us.” His worn hand is so solid and real under my fingers as I give it a squeeze. “Then, I promise, I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”
For the briefest moment, I forget why I’m so angry with him, why I have been for years. I want to hug him, regale him with stories from home, and tell him everything about his kids and grandkids.
But he left.
