The Wish Granter (Ravenspire #2)(2)
The boy swallowed hard as the coins slid across his boots. “I can wish for anything?”
“I can’t bring back the dead, and I can’t force people to love you, but anything else is well within my powers.”
“Can you protect my sister and me from the queen?”
Teague’s eyes narrowed. Trust a human to think of something so small when the world was laid at his feet. He needed the prince to wish for more, or his plan was never going to work. “Is that really all you want?”
“That’s all that matters. We’ve lost our home. Our mother.” The prince’s voice caught, and he swallowed hard. “All we have left is each other. The queen’s hunters won’t stop chasing us until they kill us. I just want to keep my sister, Arianna, safe.”
The boy held Teague’s gaze, and Teague swore silently. The stupid prince was telling the truth, and that kind of wish wasn’t worth the price Teague needed him to pay. It wouldn’t put Teague anywhere near the throne, and it wouldn’t give him the power he needed to protect himself from the fickle betrayal of humans.
He had to get the prince to wish for more.
“Your sister would be safe if you were the ruler of Súndraille.” Teague kept his voice soft and compelling, but anger flared as the prince shook his head.
“My father is the rightful ruler of—”
“Your father betrayed you and sent you into exile.” Teague’s voice sharpened. “The queen won’t rest until your family is dead. And there’s only one way to change that. You have to take the throne.”
The boy recoiled. “I can’t do that. I just want my sister to be safe.”
Teague’s smile stretched wide and feral. “The hunters are closing in. It’s only a matter of time before she’s dead, just like your mother. I can keep her safe, but I will only do so if you make the right wish.”
The wish that would put Teague one heartbeat from the throne and set his plan into motion.
The prince considered Teague in silence, his eyes haunted. Finally, he said, “And if I don’t wish to be the king? If I wish for my sister’s safety instead?”
Teague’s smile winked out. “Then I will decline to grant your wish, and will leave you to the mercy of the queen’s hunters.” He leaned forward. “All you have to do is wish to be the king of Súndraille. No one would have power to hurt you or Princess Arianna again.”
No one but Teague.
“In the stories, wishes always come with a price.” The prince squared his shoulders as if braced for a blow.
“Everything comes with a price.” Teague stepped closer. “But I’m all that stands between your sister and death. Is there a price you wouldn’t pay for her life?”
The prince closed his eyes as if something pained him, and then said quietly, “No, there isn’t.”
Magic burned beneath Teague’s skin, as cold and absolute as the triumph that filled his chest. Removing a scroll of parchment from his inner pocket, he unfurled the wish contract and quickly pricked Thaddeus’s finger with the tip of his dagger. Pressing the boy’s bloody finger to the debtor’s signature line, he whispered, “Go ahead, dear boy. Make the wish.”
THREE WEEKS LATER
ONE
THIS CORSET WAS going to be the death of her.
Arianna Glavan, (suddenly official) princess of Súndraille, leaned against the long wooden table in the center of the busy palace kitchen and threw chunks of butter into her bowl of flour, remembering at the last second not to wipe her fingers on her fancy silk dress.
How any girl with her rib cage cinched in a vise was supposed to dance her feet off, much less eat from the buffet table, was a mystery Ari had no desire to solve. It was bad enough that she was going to have to stand in the receiving line with Thad and greet the nobility who, up until the royal family’s unexpected death three weeks ago, had treated her brother with thinly veiled contempt. To smile at them with bones cutting into her waist while her lungs labored to take a full breath was more than she could bear.
Especially when she planned to eat at least one of every item on the buffet table. Stars knew, it was the only thing she was looking forward to tonight.
Quickly cutting the butter into the flour with her fork until a pastry dough formed, Ari passed the bowl to one of the kitchen maids, who’d just finished whipping up a sauce to go with the basted lamb shanks, and turned to her best friend, Cleo. “Help me out of this.” She gestured vaguely toward her dress.
Cleo tugged at the blue scarf that held her curly dark hair out of her eyes and returned to pitting the bowl of dates in front of her. “I can’t,” she whispered. “Thad already knows I lied about you being sick last week for Lord Mitro’s banquet, and attending your brother’s coronation ball is far more important than that. You have to go. You’re supposed to be a real princess now.”
“I meant help me out of this corset.” Ari motioned her friend toward the enormous walk-in pantry that was nestled on the far side of the kitchen, opposite the hearth ovens whose heat flooded the room, leaving everyone who was working with flushed cheeks and glistening brows. “Please, Cleo. I’ll probably die if I have to dance while wearing this.”
“Fine. But if you get me in trouble again, you’d better buy me a year’s worth of art supplies.” With a quick glance to make sure Mama Eleni—head cook, undisputed boss of anyone who set foot inside the kitchens, and Cleo’s mother—was distracted by the crepes, Cleo wiped her fingers clean on her apron, ducked past a trio of maids carrying trays of thinly sliced apples baked into cinnamon-dusted florets, and followed Ari into the pantry.