Page 120 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

I follow her gaze. Ryewood stands just inside the threshold, snow clinging to his boots with his breath fogging the air.

Marel rises, smoothing her apron. “I’ll give you two some space.”

She leans in and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“I’ll be in the washroom grinding herbs if you need me,” she says, already moving. The door closes gently behind her, the steady rhythm of the mortar and pestle resuming a moment later.

I turn back to Ryewood. His eyes haven’t left me. I feel him taking me in. I’m sitting upright without help now. My breath doesn’t hitch when I move. The color has crept back into my cheeks. The bowl beside me is empty, with no spoon left abandoned halfway through.

His gaze drops to it and lingers. His expression shifts, weighted with what we both already know. We’ve been here nearly a week. Long enough for my body to knit itself back together. Long enough that going back isn’t a question of if anymore, just when.

He sits, facing me with his knees settling to the outside of mine, and wraps both hands around mine. His thumb traces slow circles across my knuckles, like he’s memorizing the motion.

“You know,” I say lightly, “you look like you belong here.”

He hums, noncommittal.

“Chopping wood with snow on your boots. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d always been a commoner.”

One corner of his mouth lifts, just barely. “And if I said I liked it?”

I shrug. “I’d say it suits you.”

The smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Gemma.” Something in his voice makes me go still.

“Let’s stay, Gemma.” He brings my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Let’s disappear. Build something here with Grier and Finn. Please.”

The words crack something open in my chest.

For a moment, one desperate, aching moment, I let myself imagine it. A cabin in the snow with his arms around me every night. A life with no secrets, no lies, no castle full of people who would kill us if they knew the truth. Being Ella again, not Gemma. Being real and whole.

My eyes are burning. When did I start crying?

“Ryewood…” His name comes out broken. “There are things you don’t know about me.”

“Then tell me.”

“It’s not that simple.” Her face flashes through my mind.

“It is.” He cups my face, and his thumbs brush away my tears. “Whatever it is, whatever you’re hiding, it doesn’t matter. Nothing you could tell me would make me stop loving you.”

I close my eyes and let his words wash over me. He means it; I can hear it in his voice.

“There are things I need to do back in Terrath.” My voice is shaking. “People who need me. I can’t just leave.”

“Gemma—”

“Please, Ryewood.” I’m breaking. I can feel it—the cracks spreading through me. “Please don’t ask me to do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll say yes. Because if you ask me again, I’ll stay. And I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted—and it will destroy me. Because staying wouldn’t make me happy. It would turn everything I love into something I’m ashamed of.”

And for the first time, I see it clearly. He wouldn’t be ruined by loving me. He would survive it by reshaping his life around my guilt until there was no room left for himself.

I finally look at him. His face is blurred through my tears, but I can still see the devastation. The raw, open wound of him. He’s wrecked, completely wrecked.