Page 105 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

He says it like a confession, like he’s proud of it. And somehow that makes it even more unbearable, the teasing, the lightness. The way this man can pull a smile out of me when I’m barely standing.

His thumb traces slow circles against my spine. His gaze drops to my face, and he stills. He sees it, everything I’m trying to hide. His whole body changes, coiling toward me like he’s ready to fight whatever made me look like this.

“Gemma.” He says it like he’s already hurting for me. “What happened?”

“I’m—” The word catches in my throat. For a terrifying moment, I almost give him the part of the truth that would undo everything. Almost let everything spill out right here in the middle of this glittering hall. “It’s nothing, I just⁠—”

“Gemma.” Grier appears at my side. “There’s some protocols we should go over before the tethering—where to stand, when to bow. You’ll want to know before the officiant calls everyone to attention.”

Ryewood’s hand tightens on my back. “That can wait.”

“It really can’t.” Grier’s voice is calm and unbothered. “Unless you want her kneeling when everyone else stands.”

A muscle feathers in Ryewood’s jaw. He ignores Grier completely.

“Gemma,” he says, softer now. “Talk to me. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

I want to tell him. I want to fall into his arms and let him hold me. But some truths don’t bring people closer; they destroy everything they touch, and this one would get us killed.

“It’s nothing.” The lie scrapes my throat raw. “Really, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” He says it so gently, with the certainty of a man who knows me better than I can afford.

“Rye.” Grier steps in again. “Let me borrow her. Five minutes.”

Ryewood’s eyes don’t leave my face. “Gemma, you don’t have to go.”

I pull away because if I stay, I won’t be able to stop myself, and the truth will take him from me for good.

“I’ll be right back.”

He searches my face, and whatever he finds makes his brow furrow deeper, but he doesn’t push. He just lifts his hand and brushes his knuckles against my cheek, so tender I almost break.

Grier offers me his arm and guides me away.

I look back and immediately know I shouldn’t have. The hurt on his face is raw, and underneath it is the quiet fracturing of a man watching something slip through his fingers. My body tries to turn back before my mind catches up, and I have to force myself forward.

Grier guides me through the hall and out a set of glass doors onto a wide stone terrace. The night air hits my face. Below us, the ceremony grounds spread out in the moonlight. The altar is a masterwork of magic, with pale stone shaped into flowing curves that catch the torchlight. A display of power as much as devotion.

Grier stops at the terrace railing, hand sliding from my arm to my wrist, holding there a breath before he lets me go. He settles beside me, steady and patient, the way he always is when I need him most.

“That bad?” I try for a smile, but it doesn’t land.

He holds my gaze like an anchor holds a ship.

“You don’t have to be fine, Gemma. Not with me.”

The words land somewhere deep, and I let them. Because he means it. He’s always meant it.

“I know,” I say, exhaling slowly.

He nods and lets the silence sit. He just waits, the way he always does, until I’m ready.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For all of this. For⁠—”

“Don’t,” he says quietly. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

I owe him so much more than an apology. I owe him a version of me that isn’t in love with someone else.