I stood, arms raised in the air from my wild laugh.

Bastiaan stared. I couldn’t read him. All I knew was that I felt exposed. Seen to my very core. Vulnerable. I curled my arms in a twisted tangle against my chest, scrambling to reassemble my internal armor.

Bastiaan strode across the frozen canal, his tread purposeful and unwavering despite the slick ice. Before I could lock my thundering heart away, he was upon me. In front of me. Gathering me in his arms and pressing me tight against his chest as though he could tuck me into himself.

Surprised, I allowed myself the momentary comfort and safety.

“Myrthe, you . . .” He swallowed and I felt him shake his head. “You’re alive.” Two words, hardly a breath of noise in my ears.

He was here. With me. Around me. How? “Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you here?” How was he in the Trial? Holding me? Last I knew he was with Runt at Windmill Cottage. Gone. “Did Sven shove you in too?”

“I couldn’t abandon you.” He yanked off his coat and wrapped it around me. It smelled like him. Felt like his embrace. He had entered the Trial . . . willingly? For me?

“No. No.” I couldn’t protect myself from this. Why would he endanger himself like that? There must be another reason. I pressed my hands against his chest, desperate for space. “You came for a wish, didn’t you?”

He frowned, warm hands still on my shoulders. “No.”

“Admit it!” My accusation manifested itself as a stone atop my rickety wall. I needed to keep building. Separate myself from his invitation to be safe. To feel. “That’s why you came after me. That’s the only thing I’m good for.” That was the only thing that made sense.

He tugged the cloth of his overlarge coat tighter around my shoulders. “Myrthe, I’m here to beg forgiveness.”

“For what?” I croaked.

“For seeing you as the Wishtress instead of Myrthe. You’re a human, not a resource. A person. A girl who makes my heart beat fast and whom that same heart misused. Please . . . forgive me?”

Remorse marked his face like the stain of frostbite. I wanted to forgive him. Wanted to believe him. But I couldn’t risk trust. Couldn’t risk emotions. Yet if I couldn’t have emotions, was I even fully alive?

Maybe he really did regret wanting wishes from me. I could think of one way to test his genuineness.

“I’m cursed.” The confession tumbled out. “Coralythe cursed me to die by my next wish.” Tell him why. Tell him why. Tell him why. I couldn’t. Not Bastiaan. Not when he was looking at me with such gentleness.

I didn’t want to be the one to end this.

I didn’t want to see him react like Sven.