Page 74 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Chapter 25

Gemira

The stairwell opens onto the princes’ level, and the castle changes. The hallway is warm and quiet in a way that feels private, like I’ve stepped past a line I can’t pretend I didn’t see. There are arched doorways set deep into the stone on either side, with tapestries lining the walls between them.

A guard steps out from one of the doorways and into my path.

I shouldn’t be here this early.

“Evening, Swordmaster,” he says, his eyes flick past me like he’s checking whether I came alone. “Access to the princes’ private suites has changed.”

My stomach drops. Access doesn’t change without a reason, and I already know we’re the reason. I should go back down. Wait for Finn and walk in with everyone else, and make it look like I was mistaken by coming this early. But my feet don’t move. Because I’ve spent weeks pretending the distance doesn’t matter, and I’m finally out of ways to convince myself.

“I won’t be long,” I say, and move to step past him.

He doesn’t answer, just moves with me, one step sideways, close enough that I have to stop. The message is clear; the corridor is closed.

A flicker of movement draws my eye past the guard’s shoulder. Ryewood stands at the far end of the corridor with an easy posture.

For a single moment, he looks at me the way he did under the willow tree. His eyes sweep over my oversized cream sweater with my hair falling loose around my shoulders. Then it’s gone, locked down like it never happened. He doesn’t step closer, like he’s already decided how close he’s going to let himself get.

“She’s with me,” Ryewood says. The words land warm and reckless in my chest. Then I remember who’s standing between us.

The guard stiffens and clears his throat. “Your Highness.”

Ryewood holds the guard’s gaze with his expression flat.

“Yes,” he says mildly. “Is that a problem?”

The guard hesitates, then steps aside. “No, Your Highness.”

The corridor opens, and my pulse doesn’t settle. I pass the guard without looking at him, but I feel his eyes on my back the whole way. I’m not just the swordmaster anymore. I’m the one the prince waved through, and that will get reported. I knew the risk when I came early, and I did it anyway, because after the way he looked at me today, like he’d already figured out how to let me go, I couldn’t let him.

Ryewood turns as I approach, like he’s going to walk to me, then stops himself. I hate how much that hurts.

The suite doors open into warmth, the kind that makes the world feel softer than it is. A stone fireplace dominates the far wall with golden flames crackling. Worn leather couches face the fire, and glass doors open onto a terrace overlooking the gardens. The night beyond is sharp with winter. A green velvet card table sits next to the bar, and past it, a short hallway disappears into the princes’ rooms.

This is the kind of room that makes you forget you’re being watched. And I’m here because I couldn’t stand the thought of him keeping his distance without forcing him to feel it. I hate that I knew that before I climbed the stairs.

“Drink?” Ryewood asks, already moving toward the bar. Away from me.

“I have whiskey, wine, mead, or⁠—”

“Whiskey,” I cut in. “Neat.”

He glances at me, quick and unreadable, and pours. When he hands it to me, I let my fingers deliberately brush his, an offering I can’t take back. His hand stays, and my pulse kicks up. Then he pulls back all at once, like he’s burned himself.

This was my line, and what I asked for. So why does every part of me ache for him to cross it?

He looks unfair tonight. The firelight warms his tan skin and turns those deep green eyes darker than usual. He’s relaxed and unguarded, more himself here than he ever is in daylight. His white shirt is open at the collar with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His forearms are making it hard to think straight, with all those lean muscles and veins tracing down to his hands. All I can think about is exactly where I want those hands to touch me.

A knock at the door breaks the moment. Hayes emerges from the back hallway and moves to answer it.

I turn away and take a long sip because breathing is easier when I’m not looking at him. The whiskey burns, but not as much as knowing he already learned how to let me go.

Rosie steps in first, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a green sweater. Hayes’s expression softens the moment he sees her.

Finn slips in behind her, and his eyes find mine across the space, and I read the question without him asking. I give him the barest nod.