Page 47 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

I breathe deeply and let myself settle.

The servants’ gate creaks, and I faintly hear the guards greeting someone through.

A man walks in, middle-aged and weather-lined, in a coat that costs more than most people here earn in a month.

Recognition flickers, then hits like a blow. The merchant, the one I left unconscious in the alley.

His eyes sweep the grounds and land on me. For a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then his brow furrows, creases deepening as the pieces click into place.

No, no, no.

I turn back to the stables, reminding myself I was in a mask that night. He doesn’t recognize me.

His footsteps close in and my pulse spikes.

“Do I know you?” He says it too loud with his eyes sweeping over me, searching.

“I don’t think so,” I say, calmer than I feel. “I should be getting back.”

“You’re her.” He steps closer. “The girl from that night”

Footsteps crunch on the gravel path behind me, and I turn.

Ryewood is already closing the space between the training yards and the stables; his stride is unhurried, but his eyes are sharp and fixed on the merchant.

He reaches us before I can find words.

“Problem?” Ryewood asks casually, like he wandered down here by accident.

The merchant stiffens.

“Your Highness.” The words come out thin and uncertain.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Ryewood says, without any of his usual warmth.

The merchant hesitates. “Marcus, Your Highness. Marcus Holt.”

Ryewood tilts his head, studying him with that focused intensity. The merchant’s eyes dart back to me.

“I know this woman. She’s the one who attacked me months ago and left me bleeding in an alley.” He straightens, righteous now. “She was with you that night, Your Highness.”

My stomach drops.

“Marcus,” Ryewood repeats, sharper now. “Have you heard of the Caldwell family?”

The merchant nods, clearly confused.

“I’m curious.” Ryewood steps closer. “Do you think the King would be interested in witnesses? People who saw things they weren’t meant to see?”

The merchant’s hands start to shake.

“I didn’t—I didn’t see anything,” he manages. “I was in my home that entire night until I saw both of you.”

“No? I’m sure I saw you as I was leaving their house, Marcus. I think the King would be very interested to hear about it.”

The merchant goes pale as bone, and Ryewood lets the silence stretch.

“But I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Ryewood says calmly.