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“If you choose to ally again,” the prince says, “perhaps you would include me?”
“You?” Galen scoffs. “That’d pit everyone else again us.”
“Maybe.” The prince shrugs. “But you may need my help in whatever is to come.” His eyes cloud over, and his body stiffens.
I search Galen’s face for answers, but his wide-eyed glance at me says he has none. This, whatever it is, is not normal, not even for a fae.
The milkiness departs as quickly as it came. With a shake of his head, the prince is back. “You’ll need me. Think on it.”
He smiles but doesn’t wait on a reply before he walks away.
“That was…” I let out a sigh. “Why would he want to work with us?” I ask once the prince is a safe distance away.
“Don’t know.” Galen crosses his arms and stares at the retreating prince. “But I don’t like it.”
A roar of gasps and cheers rises from the crowd. People jump to their feet.
“Ah, our last winner arrives!” the announcer yells.
The last. I rise on my toes to see who it is.
A large bird, twice the size of my eagle friend, lands on the stage. It’s feet away, but the wind from its wings stirs up my hair and flutters the heavy tablecloths. It looks to the announcer and caws.
The announcer nods and flings an arm in the air for dramatic effect. “And we have a race to the finish!”
I edge out from under the tent and spot a few more massive birds circling high above. Spiders race down my spine. They’re watching, and somehow the announcer understands them? Magic of some sort, it must be, but then, did they see the cat fae too? I bite my lip. Her offer was strange, but having it voided already would suck.
The last competitor leaps onto the stage in a roaring bound.
Cheers and applause engulf us. This game is done. The remaining fae are disqualified.
I look over at Galen. So few came after us. I may not have made it in time on my own. I owe this man, this fae, and maybe I can help him.
Chapter 16
Hawke’shealingmagicsoothesmy aching muscles better than a hot bath ever could. Not that it stops me from taking one. The shiver of magic under my skin couldn’t clean the sweat from my skin and hair, not to mention that the steaming water was a welcome respite from the revelations of the day.
Of course, tomorrow doesn’t bode any better. The next competition is still two days away, but I promised Uncle Mark we could have our chat tomorrow.
It’s going to suck.
But at least it’ll be done with.
I’m finishing a painfully lonely dinner in the common room when a thunderous boom follows a rush of wind. The last bite nearly lodges in my throat as I jump to my feet, whirling toward the balcony.
Great, dark wings shield the last of sunset and cast fluttering shadows across the room. Warmth coils low in my gut even as my knees shake. Sigurd stands on the balcony, an imposing figure if ever there were one. His expression is dark and grand as his wings and cooler than ice. A king of the air in furious glory.
A deep, hidden part of me trembles, aching to fall to my knees to worship this being who certainly is not human—no one could mistake him like this. But another part, one that scares me even more, wants to caress and admire his wings, to feel their silken touch on my bare skin and let him cocoon me away from the world in his dark embrace.
You don’t know what he’s done. The echo of Galen’s words buries itself in my chest, and I shiver.
“Wren,” Sigurd draws out the last note, letting it coil in the air between us.
“Sigurd.” My body goes into autopilot, and like an idiot, I curtsy.
His wings fold in and then vanish completely. One might think them an impressive illusion, had it not clearly been his landing that caused the castle to tremble and me right along with it.
No sooner do I step toward him than he appears in front of me.
