Page 24 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

“Running to Daddy,” he says with a quiet scoff. “Trust me, that’s not a concern.”

There it is again, something heavy beneath the words.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” The promise slips out before I weigh the cost of keeping it.

Surprise flickers across his face. “I didn’t realize I was the one with a secret to keep.”

“The look in your eyes says otherwise,” I say, stepping closer, but I don’t let myself cross the last bit of space.

He goes still at my advance, and his reaction lands deeper than it should.

“What really has you out here, Ryewood?”

His eyes hold mine long enough to make me feel bare. Like the truth sits on the tip of his tongue, then it’s gone with that practiced charm sliding back into place. “You know, for someone who won’t show me her face or tell me her name, you ask a lot of questions.”

The answer lands wrong.

“Yeah.” My voice scrapes out. “I guess I do.”

I turn away, and the effort it takes surprises me, but every moment here sharpens the wrong kind of attention. We’re too visible, and he’s too well-known. I should have left the moment he recognized me.

“Wait.”

His hand closes around my arm. His scent of cedar and moss washes over me. We both freeze—and he lets go immediately.

“Don’t go.”

The charm is gone now, and something unguarded looks back at me. “How can I see you again?”

Warmth surges through me, and for a beat, I forget why that’s a mistake. But being seen with him isn’t just reckless; it’s fatal.

“You seem to have a way of finding me. Until next time, Ryewood.”

I force myself to turn away.

“That’s not good enough,” he says, his voice rough.

My steps falter, and I’m turning back before I can stop myself.

A door bursts open behind him, and we both spin toward it.

“Thief—get back here!”

Fuck, the merchant.

Ryewood’s eyes snap to mine and stay there a beat too long, allowing the merchant to close fast at his back. Ryewood turns just in time, blade coming up to meet the strike.

“Run,” Ryewood calls over his shoulder.

I’m already moving, with blades in hand.

“Wait, don’t—” His voice spikes as he catches my movement in his periphery. “Stop!”

His attention snaps to me just long enough for the merchant’s blade to slash across Ryewood’s fighting arm.

I’m on the merchant before he can press his advantage. He has reach, his sword three times the length of my daggers, but reach only matters if I give him space.

I deflect the blade, the impact rattling up my arm, and close in before he can reset. He tries to bring the sword around, but I’m already inside his guard, where length turns clumsy. He realizes it too late and swings anyway, trying to use the sword like a club.