Page 33 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

We step into the ring, and Finn settles into his stance the same way he has our entire lives. He strikes first, fast and precise, a clean testing line meant to look convincing without escalating. I let myself lose half a step, let the blade pass close enough to be believable, and then I turn it. Not a block, but a redirection, a theft of momentum.

Finn adjusts instantly, like he expected it. Good.

He presses again with a combination he uses on recruits, efficient and contained. I slip inside it and tap his ribs. The kind of point that looks like luck to anyone not paying attention.

Murmurs start.

Finn steps back and resets, and when he comes forward again, there’s a shift. Because if we make this too neat, it looks staged and suspicious. So Finn gives the yard what it expects. A fight.

Steel rings sharper now, faster. Finn comes at me with the version of himself no one in Terrath survives. I meet him, but I let him take ground so the watching eyes can relax into their assumptions.

Then I break the rhythm. A feint that isn’t a feint. A step that shouldn’t fit. A strike at an angle the yard doesn’t teach.

Finn reads it anyway, like always, but reading doesn’t mean stopping it.

I slide past his guard, and my blade finds his throat.

The yard holds, suspended, like it’s waiting to see what comes next.

The King’s voice cuts through it.

“Well then, it seems Finn wasn’t exaggerating,” he says with false amusement.

I incline my head. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

His eyes linger on me a moment longer, measuring me behind that careful expression, before he turns away.

“A word, Commander.”

And just like that, it’s over. Not because he’s satisfied, but because whatever he’s decided isn’t something he’ll do here. Not with this many eyes.

Finn steps away, talking to Hayes.

I wipe sweat from my brow and turn⁠—

Ryewood is already there, closer than I expected, and I feel his warmth before I’ve had time to prepare for it.

He studies me openly, the charm set aside for something more honest, like he’s adding something new to everything he already thought he knew.

“So,” I say coolly. “What happens now?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His mouth curves like he enjoys that I didn’t pretend.

“Are you going to turn me in? Or do we pretend you didn’t just figure out who I am?”

Concern flashes across his face.

“No,” he says, plain and unguarded. “Of course not.”

“Why not?”

He holds my gaze and lets the silence stretch.

“Because I don’t want you to vanish again.” The words are light, but the admission isn’t.

His expression shifts, like he’s testing whether he’s allowed to continue.

“I finally get you in the daylight, and I’m not in a hurry to lose you.”