Page 139 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

“I thought the same thing.” I can barely get it out. “I thought I was protecting you.”

The tragedy of it sits between us like a wound. Two brothers, drowning in the same water, not knowing the other was right there. I can’t stand the distance anymore. I pull him in and hold him. He’s rigid for a heartbeat, then his fists curl into the back of my jacket.

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Get through the trials, then we’ll end this. We’ll end him.”

Neither of us moves for a long time. When I finally let go, he turns toward the window, and I know better than to follow. I give him the space he needs.

The sun has shifted by the time I check on him before heading to our father’s chambers. The storm has passed, but what’s left behind is quieter and worse.

“I’ll see you at the ball. I have to meet with him beforehand,” I tell him. “Don’t do anything reckless.”

He snorts softly. “Pot, kettle.”

I almost smile, but dread pools in my stomach as I make my way to the door, toward Father. The meeting doesn’t take long. It never does when his mind is already made up. Between Rye’s confessions and my father’s commands, my fists don’t unclench until I’m two corridors away from the ballroom, and even then, my hands won’t stop shaking.

I push into the ballroom, and it’s suffocating. Nobles cluster and preen and laugh like the world isn’t cracked straight through. I drift toward the open terrace doors, desperate for air. It barely helps, only enough to remind me how coiled my chest still feels.

My father’s voice hasn’t left me since I walked out of his chambers.

After her awakening, the announcement of your engagement to Lady Belinda will be made.

My hands start to curl back into fists, and I shove them into my pockets.

He’s been ordering Rye to slaughter twins for years. Families ripped apart because of a prophecy he refuses to release. My brother’s been drowning in guilt and secrets while I stood right beside him, oblivious. And I know his other secrets, what the trials showed me. What he calls love. Dressing up control as protection, calling obsession devotion. Now he’s selling me to Belinda, and somewhere in his twisted certainty, he thinks he’s doing me a favor.

He’ll expect gratitude.

I grab a glass of champagne and down it. Then another.

Across the room, Lord Davrik holds court with his sons flanking him. Belinda stands nearby, with a smile void of warmth. My future tethered.

My stomach turns.

I catch a noble’s glance lingering at me too long. I can’t do this tonight.

Then I see them near the terrace doors, Rye, Finn, Gem, Grier, and Rosie, tucked into a corner, away from the worst of it.

Finn says something that makes Rosie laugh brightly. A deep, sharp pain twists in my chest. I used to be the one who made her laugh like that.

Gem stands close to Rye, not touching, but close enough to matter. I watch her, the way she angles toward him, the softness in her expression. She’s real with him, open in a way she never quite was with me. The feeling presses deeper.

On our night walks, I thought—I thought something was growing between us, from the way she teased me when I tried to be too careful. The way she looked at me sometimes was not polite or closed off, but open. Like she saw past the crown and liked what was underneath.

She didn’t perform or measure her words. She didn’t treat me like I might shatter or promote her. She just…was herself. I let myself believe it meant something. That maybe, finally, someone saw me, not the title, the access, or the future king, but just me. Watching her now, I don’t know if I imagined everything.

I drain my glass and head over.

Rye spots me first. His gaze flicks to the empty glass, the tension in my shoulders. He steps away from Gem and pulls me into a brief hug, with his mouth near my ear.

“Just get through tonight,” he murmurs. “Keep your head down, and we’ll figure the rest out.”

I nod. He claps my shoulder and rejoins the group. Finn appears with amber-filled glasses.

“Perfect timing! I was just about to propose a toast.”

“To what?” Rosie asks.

“To me,” Finn says easily. “My charm. My brilliance. My inevitable triumph in the trials.”