Page 128 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

“And when I finally have you, when I collect on that promise, I’m not going to be gentle. I’m not going to hold back.” My voice drops. “I need you whole for what I have planned.”

I won’t be another risk. I won’t be the reason her healing takes longer than it has to.

Her breath catches with a flush creeping up her neck as she bites her lip. Then she recovers and lifts her chin.

“You think you’re the one who’s going to be doing the wrecking here, Ryewood?”

“I know I am.”

“Mmm.” She steps closer. “Funny. Last time, you were the one who couldn’t stand. The one who was shaking. The one who was completely ruined.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “The one begging for more.”

My cock throbs at the challenge. “Careful, little fox.”

“Or what? You’ll make me beg?” She tilts her head, all innocence. “I’d like to see you try.”

Then she turns and walks away.

I’d like to see you try. Oh, little fox, you have no idea what you just started.

I take a step toward her and stop because movement flickers at the edge of my vision. I glance up. One of the guards has shifted closer to the ring, watching us. The air goes cold. I don’t follow her. Don’t let myself watch her walk away, because someone else already is.

Chapter 43

Finn

The Davriks are in rare form today. Bastion and Beaumont have been circling me for the past ten minutes, taking turns with strikes that are just a little too hard to be friendly sparring.

“Heard the swordmaster’s been spending a lot of time with the princes,” Bastion says, parrying my strike. “Must be nice. To have her so…attentive.”

I don’t rise to it, just block and counter.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Beaumont adds, coming at me from the side. “For someone who doesn’t know her place.”

That’s my sister they’re talking about, and my jaw flexes before I can stop it. I force it loose and keep my hands moving, because in this castle every reaction is a weapon you hand to your enemy.

“I wonder what other talents she has,” Belinda calls out. “She definitely knows her way around swords.”

Before I can respond, Rye appears at the edge of the ring.

“Mind if I cut in?” His voice is pleasant, but his eyes aren’t.

The Davriks can’t refuse a prince. They bow with false deference as I step back. Rye takes my place, rolling his shoulders loose, looking relaxed and almost bored. I know better; this isn’t going to end quietly.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Rye says.

Bastion strikes first with a quick combination meant to test Rye’s defenses. Rye deflects each one without moving his feet, barely seeming to try. When Bastion comes again, harder and more aggressive, Rye simply sidesteps him, lets his momentum carry him forward, and taps him on the back with the flat of his blade as he stumbles past.

“You’re overextending,” Rye says mildly. “It leaves you open.”

Bastion’s face flushes. He resets and attacks again, but this time, Rye engages, and it’s not even close. He moves like smoke, there one moment, gone the next. Every strike Bastion throws hits empty air, and every opening he leaves, Rye exploits, a tap to the ribs, a strike to the wrist that nearly disarms him, a sweep he barely recovers from. When Beaumont steps in to help his brother, making it two against one, Rye just grins.

I’ve seen Rye fight for years, but this is different. These months of training have changed him. He’s sharper and more deliberate. The sloppy habits Gemma called out are gone. Hayes moves the same way now. Even Rosie, who learned to fight in back alleys and barn lofts, has been honed into something precise and deadly.

My sister doesn’t just teach people to fight; she leaves a mark, and people have noticed. I see it in the way the yard goes quiet, the way conversations pause when she speaks, the way eyes track her hands when she demonstrates like they’re trying to learn something they shouldn’t be seeing.

She’s too good, too clearly responsible for the changes in the princes. And right now, Rye is putting on a masterclass in exactly how much she’s changed him. In this castle, that kind of attention is never safe. It’s a threat.

Rye disarms Bastion with a twist of his wrist, sending the sword clattering across the stones, then catches Beaumont’s strike, twists, and sweeps his legs out from under him. Beaumont hits the ground hard, lying flat on his back and staring up at the sky.