Page 61 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Movement draws my eye. Grier is crossing toward the stone wall, posture rigid, jaw tight. He doesn’t look our way, but I know he sees us.

Footsteps echo along the eastern wall, and two patrol guards round the corner earlier than they should be. Their gazes slide to us without surprise. One of them opens a narrow leather-bound book and writes something down. They aren’t protecting anything, they’re recording.

Grier feels it too. He shifts, just enough to place himself between us and the guards, and Gemma stiffens beside me. She pulls her hand free and stands.

“I have to go.”

“Gemma—”

She’s already walking away, and the guards fall in behind her, not close, just enough to confirm what I already suspected. They’re not on patrol; they’re on her.

Cold washes over me. I take a step after her and feel the weight of the choice I should have made sooner. If I follow her, they follow her harder. If I reach for her, the cost is hers to pay.

I stop, and the distance between us—the one I swore I didn’t know how to hold—snaps into place.

I look to Grier and find the same dread on his face, and underneath it, loss, worn raw. His head shifts once, barely there. Don’t.

It’s not a command, it’s a warning, and for the first time, my jealousy has nowhere to land. We’ve both been standing in the same fire, and I just refused to see it.

Gemma disappears around the corner, guards with her, and I don’t follow.

Pain hits sharp and immediate, then my certainty settles deeper, somewhere it can’t be shaken loose. My distance is what keeps her safe, and I have to hold it.

Chapter 20

Finn

Something is wrong with everyone I care about, and no one will tell me a damn thing.

It’s been a week. A full week since Grier last showed up to training. A week since Gemma has been anywhere near the yards. A week of me running sessions alone, pretending everything is fine while my gut screams that it’s not.

I don’t know what happened, but I can guess.

Grier and Gemma have history, the kind of history that leaves marks. I’ve watched them dance around each other for years, her keeping him at arm’s length, him quietly devoted in a way he thinks no one notices, but I always notice when it comes to them. Something must have finally broken, and now they’re both shadows.

I push the worry down, bury it beneath the easy grin.

“All right, you sorry lot,” I call out, twirling one of the practice swords. “Dual wielding today. Two blades, two hands, and twice the fun.”

The yard is sparse, just Hayes, Rye, and Rosie. The Davriks stopped showing up days ago, apparently, actual work was too much for their delicate noble sensibilities.

Rye is stretching near the weapons rack, but his eyes keep drifting toward the castle entrance like he’s waiting for someone.

I wish I didn’t know who. Worse, I wish I didn’t see the way Gemma looks back. Whatever’s brewing between them is dangerous…for all of us.

Hayes is already warming up, his form precise as always. His gaze keeps sliding toward Rosie.

She looks up, catches me watching, and for just a moment, those green and teal eyes hold mine. Every time she looks at me like that, I forget why we can’t have this. She looks away first, like she always does, and goes back to examining her blades as if they’re the most fascinating things in the world.

I realize I’m rolling a sea lavender sprig between my fingers, one I don’t even remember picking. But there it is, the stem worn soft from handling, the tiny purple blooms, the only piece of her I let myself hold. I shove it in my pocket before anyone notices.

I clear my throat. “Pair up. Hayes. You’re with Rosie. Rye, you’re with me.”

Hayes practically lights up. A knot twists in my chest, sharp and unwelcome.

This is the job, getting close to the princes, gathering information for the rebellion.

Rosie’s eyes flick to me over Hayes’s shoulder, just for a moment, and my chest loosens.