Page 4 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

I open my eyes. Fletcher’s watching me, his usual flirtation stripped clean from his face.

“You’re making it very hard to enjoy this whiskey, Fletcher.”

He doesn’t take the bait. Doesn’t even smile. I must look worse than I thought.

“That bad?”

He pours another. Then pours one for himself.

Yeah. That bad.

“Davrik showed up,” I say. “The Lord himself.”

Fletcher goes completely still.

“You’re joking.”

“Wanted to see them before the transfer.” My teeth clench. “Said if they didn’t look enough alike, he’d rough them up. ‘Hard to tell the difference with swollen faces.’”

Fletcher’s jaw locks.

“Those girls aren’t even twins.”

Cold creeps up my spine, but I shove it back down where it belongs.

“The King’s getting more desperate,” I say. “What if he tries to go after them again?”

Fletcher studies me for a moment. Then his expression softens, that easy charm sliding back into place.

“Don’t worry, the Savages will take them from here.”

I almost laugh. “What, you’re telling me fairy tales now?”

He just grins and lets it sit there like he’s enjoying the joke.

“You need to eat something.” He reaches under the bar. “Apple turnover? I know how much you love these.”

“Too sweet. Got any meat pies?”

He tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “For you, Gemmy? I’ll check.”

“Gemma,” I say, rolling my eyes. We both know I hate that nickname. But I still can’t hide my amusement.

He disappears into the back, and the tension drains out of my shoulders.

I finally look down at my leg. A shard from the window shutter sliced me, jagged and deep enough to scar. Fuck.

I pull a strip of fabric from my pocket and wrap it tight. It’ll hold until I get home, but this cut isn’t just my problem. I’d owe her, again.

I turn to face the room and feel him before I see him. Grier’s eyes are already on me, steady and intense, the kind of focus that makes the rest of the bar fade into background noise.

He’s leaning back in a booth along the far wall, watching me like he’s been waiting for me to notice. He’s with a handful of off-duty guards, their boisterous laughter cutting through the din. But while they joke and gesture wildly, he just sits back, with his large hand wrapped around his drink.

He’s all broad shoulders and controlled stillness, the kind of build that comes from years of training in the King’s Guard. His olive skin and brown hair are the same features you’d see on most of the people in Terrath, yet somehow, he makes them look better. And those pine-green eyes are always offering more than I can return.

A meat pie slides into my line of sight.

Fletcher leans on the bar, his grin telling me he saw exactly where I was looking. “Last one.” He winks. “You’re lucky I like you.”