Page 60 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

“You’re not fine.” I shift closer to her. “Just…tell me what’s going on.”

Silence stretches long enough that I think she’s not going to answer.

Then, softly, she says, “I was with Grier last night.”

The words land like a punch to the gut. Deep down, I already knew, but hearing her say it is something else entirely. I swallow hard and force myself to ask the question.

“So that’s it.” The words scrape on the way out. “You’re choosing him.”

If he makes her happy. If letting her go…. The thought alone feels like it’s carving me open. But I’ll do it. I’ll let her go, even if it takes something from me that I’ll never get back.

She turns to me, and pain flickers in her eyes, deep and raw.

“I’m not choosing him,” she says.

Hope, stupid, reckless hope sparks in my chest.

“You were right,” she continues. “There was something between us. But it ended last night.”

A breath releases from my chest. She ended it; she’s not choosing him. But then I look at her again, really look, and see the devastation written across her face. The way she’s holding herself like she might shatter at any moment.

“Then why–”

“You should focus on the trials. Not me.” Her voice is flat and distant.

“Gemma, you’re all I’ve been able to focus on since you walked into my life in a fox mask.” I meet her eyes. “I don’t know how to walk away from you.”

She flinches like my words hurt her somehow.

“I can’t be with you either, Rye.”

The words knock the air out of me completely. All that hope, extinguished in an instant.

“Why?” My chest feels like it’s caving in; I feel like I can’t breathe.

“Your father.”

I almost laugh. “That’s what this is about?”

“He’ll never accept it.”

“I can talk to him⁠—”

“No.” Her voice sharpens. “The King is dangerous.”

Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something in them, fear edged with urgency. I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my tongue. I think about the twins he sent me to kill, about the orders I learned to disobey quietly. I think about the trees in the throne room, the sap that sometimes runs dark red. I know what it is.

Stones, she’s right.

“Then we leave…” The words tumble out. “We run, build a life somewhere far from here, we go north.”

She doesn’t pull away when I reach for her hand. Her face crumples, raw pain bleeding through.

“I tried that,” she whispers. “There’s no running in this kingdom.”

She’s not just afraid. She’s speaking from experience.

“What do you mean?” I squeeze her hand tighter. “Gemma, what happened⁠—”