Page 50 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Across the table, Rye shifts in his seat. Even here, away from her, he can’t help but react.

I choose my words carefully. “The Davriks have been attending, and they’re developing.” The King nods, and I continue, “Ryewood is extremely well-prepared. The additional training has been beneficial.”

Translation: Your son will survive, the Davriks might, the rest won’t.

The King studies Rye before saying, “He’s proven reliable.” Then he turns back to me. “I want specifics. What techniques is she teaching? How is she addressing Ryewood’s weaknesses?”

I open my mouth to answer, but Hayes speaks first.

“You should hear it from her directly, Father.” His tone is measured and diplomatic. “Gemma and Finn could join us for dinner. Give you a full report on the training strategy.”

My jaw sets. “Finn is on rotation tonight. And Gemira isn’t entering the trials, so there’s no need to involve her in political dinners.”

“I disagree.” The King waves a hand dismissively. “Bring the swordmaster. If she’s training my son, I want to assess her myself. Hear her methods directly.”

Across the table, Rye goes very still. His knuckles are white where he’s gripping the armrest.

Neither of us wants her to be in that room.

“We’ll add a place setting for dinner. Grier, please inform the girl she’ll be attending,” Voss says.

The girl. Like she’s a servant being summoned.

The meeting is dismissed shortly after. I make my way through the castle toward Gemma’s quarters, and each step feels heavier than the last.

As I approach the western corridor, two additional guards pass me on patrol, heading to a posting.

“Where are you headed?”

They stop and straighten. “New orders, Commander. Additional security assigned to the lower west wing.”

“By whose authority?”

“The King’s,” he says. “Through High Commander Voss.”

I nod and step aside. Dread settles in my gut and follows me down the corridor. No matter how many rational explanations I cycle through, my mind keeps circling back to Gemma. More guards near her wing, and I wasn’t informed. That’s either an oversight or something much worse.

I reach her door and knock twice. There’s no answer. I knock again, harder, and her voice comes from inside.

“Just a moment!” she says, rushed in a way that puts me on edge.

There’s a pause, longer than necessary, before the door opens.

“Grier. Hi,” she says, opening the door fully.

“I need to speak with you,” I say, moving past her and shutting the door. “The King wants you at dinner tonight. With the Davriks.”

Her expression shifts from surprise into concern. “Dinner? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“This is coming from the King himself. He wants to hear about Ryewood’s training from you.”

I glance around the room. The window is latched, but the curtain is pinched between the frame and the glass, like someone shut it in a hurry. She catches me looking and shifts to block my view.

“Right.” She crosses her arms, then pauses. “I don’t have anything formal to wear.”

“I’ll have something sent to your room.”

She nods, but I see it now, the way her fingers grip her arms just a bit too tight, the slight tension around her eyes.