Page 129 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Rye stands over him, not even winded. “You all right down there?” Beaumont’s face is crimson, and he doesn’t answer.

There’s movement behind Rye, Bastion charging in while his back is turned, a cheap shot. Rye doesn’t even turn around. He steps to the side at the last moment, catches Bastion’s sword arm, and uses his momentum against him. Bastion flies past, stumbles over his brother’s legs, and crashes down beside him in a tangle of limbs and wounded pride.

Rye twirls his sword lazily. “Good effort. Same time tomorrow?”

A laugh escapes someone in the yard, quickly stifled but not quick enough. Bastion’s jaw tightens, and Beaumont won’t look at anyone. Belinda’s eyes have sharpened. They pick themselves up, brushing dirt from their fine training leathers.

“Prince Ryewood,” Bastion says. The words are polite, but the tone is laced with venom.

They retreat to the far edge of the yard, heads bent together, muttering. I catch the looks they throw, first at Rye, then at Gemma, cold and deliberate. This isn’t over. Rye just made enemies today, and enemies always find the right ears.

I know how this ends. I’ve already seen it happen. Tommin hasn’t been seen since we got back. I asked around casually, but I only got shrugs and averted eyes. No one says the word taken, no one has to. The King doesn’t move pieces loudly. He removes them. The thought settles heavy in my gut. If Tommin’s gone, the King is already moving, and we’re next.

Rye walks back with Bastion’s sword still loose in his hand, that faint satisfaction still in his eyes. He didn’t just beat them; he humiliated them, for Gemma, because they spoke about her like she was nothing.

Gemma stands at the edge of the ring with her arms folded and posture easy. Too easy. She’s careful. I know that, and anyone else would see nothing but control. But when Rye steps close and says something meant only for her, I catch the slip. It’s barely there, but it’s enough.

His expression shifts in answer. It’s not obvious or careless, but it’s the kind of look you only give when you’re sure who you’re giving it to. Gemma doesn’t do this. She doesn’t give reactions, doesn’t let herself be seen, especially not somewhere as exposed as this. She’s let Rye come closer than anyone ever before, and it sets every alarm I have screaming. Because loving him doesn’t make her safer, it makes her visible. And visibility is how people like her get killed.

I let out a breath; there’s nothing I can do about it here. Rosie’s laugh pulls at me the way it always does, bright and easy, and impossible to resist. She’s near the water station with Hayes and Grier. I know I should stay where I am, but I’m moving anyway. A sprig of sea lavender grows stubbornly near the edge of the stones. I pluck it as I pass, rolling the stem between my fingers.

Rosie’s eyes flick to mine, then they drop to the flower. Her lips curve into a soft, knowing smile. Hayes’s gaze tracks the exchange, lingers a beat too long before he smooths his expression and looks away. I tuck the lavender into my pocket, like it means nothing, but it means everything.

I know this thing between us is reckless and dangerous. And watching Gemma across the yard, and how easily love makes her visible, I know exactly how exposed Rosie is becoming too.

Hayes nods back toward the ring. “That was satisfying.”

“Rye’s been holding back,” Grier says. “They don’t learn.”

“They really don’t,” Rosie mutters.

I’m still smiling at her when the voice cuts in behind us.

“Ah. There you are.”

Percival Thornwick, the housecat himself, steps into our circle with his hands folded behind his back and his pleasant smile already in place.

“Prince Hayesland. Lady Rosalie.” His gaze flicks past Grier and me like we’re below him.

“Lord Percival,” Hayes says evenly.

Percival’s eyes drift to the training ring. “Prince Ryewood has improved remarkably under your swordmaster’s training.”

None of us takes the bait.

“I’ve been reviewing several market irregularities,” Percival says lightly. “The grain prices in Foxhollow have dropped quite dramatically. Happened right around the time your party passed through, I believe. After the Willowmere incident.”

His attention settles on Rosie.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Cold spreads through my chest. Grier steps in before I can do something stupid.

“We were a bit preoccupied with keeping Prince Ryewood alive, my lord. Didn’t have much time for market irregularities.”

His eyes linger on Rosie just long enough. Then he inclines his head.

“Of course.” He walks away, unhurried. He didn’t come for information; he came to see who flinched.