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“Are you ready?” he asks.
I’m still stuck staring at the darn thing when Sigurd turns us back toward the majority of the arena and raises our bound hands in the air.
“Your winner, Wren Dawson!” His voice is unnaturally loud, so much that I wince and wish I’d known to cover my ears. The crowd has barely quieted when he adds, “She will now drink from the cauldron to receive her wish.”
It’s then that I spot the row of other finalists standing in front of the stage, all lined up to witness me claim the prize that they so recently lost.
My gaze lands directly on Galen and holds.
I’m trusting you.At least, I think that’s what he says, his words silent or lost to the noise.
A heaviness settles in my chest, and I know this is the moment I must make good on my promise. If I don’t, he’ll think I betrayed him, and I can’t do that, not after he gave up the win for me. He gave me his trust, his most precious gift, and I will not break it.
Sigurd lowers our hands and leads me toward the cauldron. I give a firm tug, drawing him to a halt. “Wait.”
“Wren?” His brows wrinkle as he looks at me.
“I have to ask a favor of you first, a few favors actually. I want you to grant the other finalists their wishes.” The press of his lips only grows thinner. He opens his mouth to protest, so I hurry on. “If it’s within your power, if it doesn’t hurt the Court of Air or another fae or human, if it’s a good and noble wish, please grant it to them. For me.”
His throat bobs. Murmurs have risen around us from the stands, spectators likely trying to understand the delay. Even Hawke has risen to his feet, though he still stands at his chair.
I draw my wandering gaze away and stare Sigurd down.
“This is an odd request, Wren. The cauldron only has the power for one wish, and by tradition, that’s all that’s granted at the games.”
Stubborn fae and their damn traditions. I notch my chin higher. “Then do this for me. Not for the games but simply because I asked, because I want this with my whole heart.”
His head tilts to the side as he looks at me anew. “Do you even know their wishes?”
“No. Not all of them.” They could be selfish, petty, or even vengeful things that shouldn’t be granted. I have no idea of most of them, but if it means that even one wish, Galen’s wish, is fulfilled, it’s enough.
I sense the indecision as Sigurd looks between the finalists and me and then back toward the cauldron and the other fae, as if seeking counsel in the silence. But I have one last card to play, one thing that I feel certain will sway him in my favor, and if I’m honest, it’s something I’d give without the promise of a favor in return.
I squeeze our joined hands, drawing his attention back to me. “Do this for me. Grant their wishes if you can, and I will be yours.”
His eyes widen, a soft blue glow lighting them from within.
“I’ll bear your mark gladly. And after I return and check on my family, once I’ve ensured they are well and cared for, I’ll return to you.”
“You’d come back?” His lips part in wonder. “You’d stay with me for this favor?”
“Yes.”
Sigurd rubs the back of my hand with his thumb. “My Wren, I will grant you this. If their wish is honest and true and within my power to grant, I will see it done. I promise you this.”
A pulse of some magic passes between us like a wave through the air. Fae gasp. One of the other finalists even takes a step back, disrupting their perfect row. This isn’t a simple promise. It’s bound in magic, a force so strong even I felt it.
My eyes well with tears as I take in what he’s done.
A smile breaks across Sigurd’s face, so honest and true that it nearly breaks me. It’s still there, the glow in his eyes bright as ever, as he looks to the crowd and raises his voice to that unnaturally loud tone once more. "Wren, as the winner of the games, has asked a favor of me, and I have promised to fulfill it.”
The crowd goes deathly silent, hanging on every word their king speaks.
“I shall hear the wishes of the other finalists,” he says. “If they are well intentioned and within my power to grant, I shall see them done.”
If I thought the crowd excited before, they’re losing it now. The cheers are deafening. The stage vibrates. The female finalist who guessed incorrectly literally leaps on another in her joy, but it’s to Galen that I look.
He hasn’t moved, only blinks before shaking his head and finally, finally letting free a smile. His gaze meets mine, and I see the relief there. Whether he doubted me or Sigurd, or both of us, I can’t say, but this is a surprise to him. A welcome one. I wish I could rush down the stairs and give him a hug and celebrate with him, but this isn’t the time. Hopefully, maybe, I’ll be able to see him later before he leaves.
