Page 13 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Ryewood

“This is a terrible idea,” Hayes mutters as we slip through the servants’ entrance onto the grounds. Crisp night air hits my lungs, kicking my pulse up.

Classic Hayes, every fucking time. He says it like he hasn’t already committed, like he won’t be beside us all night, drinking ale for ale.

Finn shoves him forward. “Move your ass, Your Highness.”

I smirk and tug the borrowed guard leathers into place. We take the east path without slowing, our boots hitting stone in a familiar rhythm. The training yards rise above us on the hill to our right, empty and quiet in a way they rarely are.

Tomorrow’s going to hurt.

Finn won’t let up. He never does, no matter how late we’re out, how much we drink, or how hard our heads are pounding. Dawn comes, and so does he.

“Any chance you go easy on us tomorrow?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Finn doesn’t even look back. “This how you’re going to be after your awakening, Princeling?”

A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. He’s been waiting all night for that one.

We keep moving, the smell of hay and leather thick in the air as we pass the stables. Noble row comes next, houses tidy and lifeless.

Hayes slows half a step, his attention drifting toward the house closest to the stables. Of course, Rosie’s house.

I roll my eyes; he’s got it so bad. Finn catches it too.

“Not tonight,” Finn says, already steering Hayes forward. “Tonight’s about women we haven’t met yet.”

The servants’ gate comes into view as we round the bend, plain and unadorned, the one Father doesn’t bother to dress up.

Grier steps forward with that quiet authority he carries like a second skin. “Evening.”

The guards straighten the moment they spot him, pulling their shoulders back. One of them sweeps his eyes over the rest of us in our guard leathers. “Heading into the city, Commander?”

“Long shift,” Grier says simply. “These three are with me.”

The guard glances toward the gatehouse. “We were told to⁠—”

“I said they’re with me.” Grier’s tone hardens just enough.

Nobody speaks for a beat, then the guards step aside without another question. “Of course, Commander. Have a good evening.”

The gate swings open, and I can already hear the distant sound of trial season spilling through the gap, like the city can’t contain itself. My pulse jumps, anticipation blooming in my chest. Tonight’s going to be a good night.

The streets closest to the castle are quiet, shutters drawn, stone swept clean, like the city ends at their doorstep.

It doesn’t last. I feel the shift before I see it, the noise thickening, voices overlapping. Terrath always gathers around the markets, the rare place where calloused hands and silk sleeves interact. But tonight, the city is infectious, with trial fever turning every street into a celebration. There’s music and laughter spilling out from every doorway.

A flash of silver cuts through the crowd. Davrik’s men.

Three of them, silver and blue, catching the torchlight, moving with purpose instead of drift.

Finn clocks them a heartbeat after I do.

“This way,” Grier says quietly.

We adjust without slowing. By the time we rejoin the main street, the silver and blues are gone.

We fall into the familiar curve of the markets, the massive stone wall rising beside us, old and unignorable, the kind of thing you stop seeing until you remember what’s on the other side.