Page 73 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

“Tommin’s stuck on duty and can’t host,” I say, letting frustration seep into my voice. “And well, no quarters, no game.”

“Damn,” Gemma says, like she actually cares. “I was looking forward to it.”

Rye’s head lifts, his focus pulling to her. Come on, Princeling. Take the bait.

“Poker game?” He abandons the blade and turns toward us. “I didn’t know you played.”

“When we can find a place,” I say with a shrug. “Tommin’s quarters are the only spot big enough for a decent game.”

“You play poker?” Rye asks, his body already turning toward Gemma before the words are out, like he’s pulled to her. And just like that, I don’t exist.

Gemma doesn’t look up as she slides her blade into its sheath. “Why? Interested in losing your coin, Ryewood?”

“Bold of you to assume you’d win.” His grin is slow and easy. Too easy.

Now she looks up, meeting his eyes with that teasing glint I’ve only ever seen her give him. “You’re not exactly hard to read, Princeling.”

“Ouch.” He puts a hand to his chest. “And here I thought I was mysterious.”

“You thought wrong.” She tilts her head, smile widening. “I could take your last coin and your pride in the same hand.”

I’ve seen Gemma flirt before, watched her weaponize charm like another blade in her arsenal. This isn’t that. The teasing glint in her eye, the way her grin spreads without her permission, the softness she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s not playing a game with him.

Rye’s mouth parts, like he’s about to say something stupid and honest. Then his eyes flick past her to the archway, to the guards, and his expression smooths like he’s forcing it back into place.

“You’re probably right,” he says, careful and controlled, like he’s keeping himself leashed. His gaze holds hers for a beat too long before he breaks it.

Gemma blinks, just once. It’s small, but I see it—the tiniest hitch, like she didn’t expect him to retreat. He’s not going to bite? Fine, we’ll pivot. Rosie’s close enough to catch the shift, and she gives me a nod before making her move.

“Hayes,” she says warmly, “what if we had the game at your suites? It’s plenty big enough.”

Hayes stiffens, and I can practically see him calculating, his father’s disapproval, the risk, the rules he’d be breaking. Then Rosie’s hand lands on his arm. He glances down at her fingers, then back to her face. Whatever argument he had dies on his tongue. “I suppose…we could keep it small.”

“Really?” Her voice is warm and bright. She looks up at him with those stunning teal and green eyes. “That would be so fun, Hayes.”

He melts like butter in her hands. My fist clenches, and I force myself to breathe. But my chest doesn’t loosen watching her hand on his sleeve. I look away before I do something stupid.

Gemma lingers at the edge of the yard, her gaze drifting back to Rye like she’s waiting for him to follow. He doesn’t move. She turns and walks away, and Rye’s body angles after her before he catches himself.

Training winds down, and the yard empties. I spot Rosie across the yard. She catches my gaze and glances toward the stables. I wait a beat before making my way over.

By the wall, Voss is standing with Tommin. Tommin’s posture is stiff with his shoulders squared a little too hard. I see his hand open palm face to the ground, before he pulls it back into his pocket. He nods once at something Voss says, then unclips his sword and hands it to another guard. Voss turns him toward the castle, not the barracks or the armory, but inside. My stomach drops, but I keep walking. Reacting will only make it worse for him.

I turn toward the stables, trying to keep my face neutral. The stables smell of hay and leather, familiar and grounding. I find Rosie in our usual spot.

Her eyes find mine, and neither of us moves. This is the part where I’m supposed to remember the rebellion, the information only our proximity can get, and every reason I can’t have this. My grip tightens around the sea lavender without meaning to. I take her hand and place it in her palm, and she squeezes mine back like always.

“Finn,” she says gently, the way you say something you’ve been working up to. Her eyes find mine and hold them. “He made the trials so much more dangerous. There are things you need to know.”

I draw a breath and steady myself.

“It’s a maze in there. Hedges and trees and paths that trick you into thinking you’re going the right direction until you run right into a dead end,” Rosie says, like she needs me to hear every word. “And everyone inside is desperate, hungry, and afraid.”

Her fingers tighten once around mine, the sea lavender still pressed between us.

“You don’t win by charging,” she continues. “You stay hidden as long as you can, and you only move when no one’s watching. And when someone finds you, when they corner you, you end it fast. Hesitation will get you killed.”

The worry is plain on her face. I don’t speak; I just squeeze her hand and drop my forehead to hers. We both know what’s coming, but we just stand there pretending it isn’t closing in.