Page 89 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

“And Gemma?” Grier asks.

“She gets dinner with Rye instead.” Rosie shrugs. “She just keeps him company, in public, completely safe.”

Grier doesn’t look convinced.

“It’s dinner, Grier,” I say. “She’s handled worse than a prince with a crush.”

He relents, barely, and the look on his face mirrors exactly how I’m feeling. Gemma’s never needed us to keep her safe in a fight. But this isn’t a fight. This is her falling for someone she’ll have to walk away from, and I’m terrified of what it’s going to do to her.

“I’ll fill Gemma in,” I say. “Rosie, think you can keep Rye busy while I talk to her?”

She tilts her head with a playful smile curling at her lips. “I suppose I could suffer through a conversation with a handsome prince.” She sighs dramatically. “The things I do for the rebellion.”

“Don’t enjoy it too much; I’ve grown attached to being your favorite.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks away first, still smiling, as she nudges her horse toward Rye. I watch her go and think the same stupid thing as always, that she makes everything feel possible.

Grier clears his throat. “You two are exhausting.”

“Shut up.” But I don’t even bother looking away from her when I say it.

I slow my horse until Gemma catches up, leaving Rye and Rosie a comfortable distance ahead.

“What’s up?” Gemma says, clearly reading my face.

“Tonight, Grier’s got a meeting with the rebels. Rosie and I are going with him.”

“And Rye?”

“Can’t know, obviously.”

“So, what’s the cover?”

“A tradesmen’s gathering with locals airing grievances. A prince showing up would shut them down.”

“Smart.” She looks at me, waiting. “And what do you need from me?”

“Keep him distracted. Get dinner and just keep him away from wherever we actually are.”

Something flickers across her face.

“Gemma.” I lower my voice. “If it’s too hard to be alone with him⁠—”

“It’s fine.” The words come out too fast, and we both know it. “I can handle dinner.”

I study her, weighing whether to push. But I know my sister, and pressing her when she’s like this only makes her shut down harder.

The next village rises ahead as the sun begins its descent, stone buildings and thatched roofs emerging through the tree line, smoke curls lazily from chimneys. We slow as we enter the town, passing a blacksmith, a general store, and then—the smells hit us. Fresh bread and something savory drift from a tavern on the corner.

“All right,” I announce, loud enough for the group. “Grier, Rosie, Gemma, and I have somewhere to be. There’s a tradesmen’s gathering on the east side of town, locals voicing complaints. We need to hear what they’re saying.”

Rye straightens in his saddle. “I’ll come⁠—”

“If a prince walks in there, they’ll clam up before we even sit down.” I shrug. “Sorry. You’re too recognizable.”

He nods, accepting it.

Gemma inhales deeply, her eyes drifting to the tavern.