“Ready?” he bites out.
I nod. Whatever was I thinking?
Before I have the chance to second guess it, he bends down, scoops an arm under my knees, and lifts me up with his other cradling my back. With one arm around his neck and the other clutching my flower, he takes off.
It’s a darn good thing I hold on tight. He flies through the woods, even with me in his arms. He’s so much faster than I would have been and somehow manages to dodge limbs and shrubs with grace almost as fine as the pink-haired fae woman’s.
Still, he’s breathing heavier by the time the wooden stands slip into sight between the trees, and sweat dots his brow. With me in tow, he rushes toward the podium.
Wall-less tents dot the field on their side of the podium now. Fae lounge in their shade. Other competitors?
A wave of murmurs rushes through the crowd as Galen comes to a stop and plants me on my feet. With so many fae watching and talking about me, I’m frozen like a deer in headlights.
I guess it’s only fair that Galen runs ahead and leaps up the stairs to the stage. Well, sort of.
A roar of cheers and applause rise as he hands over his flower.
I’m searching for Sigurd before I realize what I’m doing. And it’s not hard to find him. A knot forms in my throat as I catch sight of him leaning on the edge of his royal box, palms splayed on top of the railing. His expression is hard to make out, but the lack of movement says enough.
He’s pissed.
Because I got a flower or because Galen carried me?
Both?
“Wren,” Galen calls to me as he hops down the stairs. He jerks his head toward the stage.
Right. I haven’t won this game yet.
Chapter 15
Withnotimetolose, I race up the steps to the podium to claim my victory.
The announcer sweeps his arm in a large flourish, fanning out the faux—at least I think they’re fake—feathered wings hangings from his arms as part of his attire. Today, they’re a greenish color and match shimmering eyeshadow that creates a dramatic smoky eye any makeup artist would be proud of.
I hold out the flower, and he grabs my hand, raising it in the air.
The crowd roars. It might be my imagination, but their cheers are louder than ever before. Are they truly excited to see me move on?
I find Sigurd again, and the hope fluttering in my chest dies. The people are happy, even if their king is not.
Just peachy.
It takes everything I have to keep the smile plastered on my face until the announcer lowers my hand.
“Quite a show,” he says with a wink before plucking the flower from me. “Rest, relax”—he gestures to the tents—“until this game is complete.”
I dust the glitter from his hand off my arm as I make my way down the short flight of stairs. The other winning competitors cluster in the shade of the tents, reclining in plush chairs and enjoying the displays of food and drinks arranged in each. I count my blessings and search the tents. I find Galen nearly chugging a glass of water. He occupies a nearly empty tent. One more reason for its appeal. I’ve had enough odd conversations with fae today.
“Thank you,” I say.
He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and gives me a nod.
“I’m not sure I’d have made it back in time without your help.”
A huff of laughter slips out as he grabs a plate stacked with fruit. “I should be thanking you. Who thought finding a flower would be so hard? You must be lucky.”
“Yeah.” Lucky. Right. I worry my lip with my teeth.Or getting myself in loads of trouble trusting some woman I don’t know. Unsure what to say, I grab a glass of water and chug it back.