Page 125 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

He exhales through his nose. “I don’t know. It wasn’t the tethering magic, that felt different. It was…consuming.”

“Consuming how?”

“Like the earth itself. One moment we were at Briarwood, watching the tethering blast her, then the next, the ground opened beneath us and pulled us through. It let us go, miles north, in the snow.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I say.

“No, it doesn’t. And I’ve felt magic before. Davriks pulling stone, Thornwicks shifting soil. This wasn’t that.”

“What was it then?”

“It was bigger. The ground felt almost alive.” His jaw flexes.

The implication crawls up my spine.

“Northpine is where we grew up,” I say. “It couldn’t have been random. Olin’s cabin was a quarter mile from our childhood home. Magic doesn’t choose like that.”

My confession sits between us.

“Something chose where to take her,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. “I think it did.”

I let that settle.

“And Rye?”

Grier hesitates, just enough to let me know something is coming.

“He’s in love with her, Finn. Completely. He wanted to stay up there. Give up everything—the title, the crown, all of it—and disappear with her.”

I stare at him. “He what?”

A prince willing to walk away from power isn’t romantic. It’s dangerous.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Grier adds. “Whatever comes next, he’s all the way in.”

I look back toward the room. Toward the man holding my sister’s hand like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered. Concern wars in my chest. She deserves someone who loves her like that. What I don’t know is whether loving her that much will protect her or paint an even bigger target on everything she is.

“Thank you.” My voice breaks. “For getting her back to me.”

Grier pulls me in and holds on tight.

“Always,” he says quietly. “Always, Finn.”

Chapter 41

Ryewood

The castle appears on the horizon just after midday.

I should feel relieved. We’re almost home, and Gemma’s stronger every day. Finn and Rosie ride ahead, laughing at something Grier said. But my chest tightens with every mile. Nearly a month of her in my arms, no walls, no titles, no pretending. What happens when we ride through those gates?

Gemma shifts against my chest, and I breathe her in. Wildflowers on a sea breeze, threaded with ember-warmth. I’ve memorized the scent of her so thoroughly I could find her in the dark by it.

One of my hands holds the reins, the other rests on her waist, with my thumb tracing slow circles on her hip. I can’t resist. I press my lips to her ear.

“I’m not ready to share you yet.”