Page 82 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

“With me.” The words come easily because there’s no line I wouldn’t cross to keep her out of Father’s reach. I don’t care what it costs me, only that she’s safe.

“Final preparations for tomorrow’s ride,” I continue.

The guard hesitates and looks at Finn and Gemma, then back at me.

“Of course, Your Highness,” he says at last, dipping his head. “Apologies.”

The guard moves on, and the lantern light fades.

Finn exhales slowly, but he doesn’t relax. If anything, he seems more tense now.

And Gemma. I turn to her, and something in my chest doesn’t settle the way it should when I look at her. She looks exactly like herself, same face, same eyes, same everything. But something’s off, like a note played just slightly out of tune.

“You all right?” I ask.

“Fine.” Her voice is flat, like an answer meant to end questions, not invite them.

“You seem different tonight,” I say before I can stop myself.

Finn goes rigid, and his hand closes around her elbow, already guiding her away with a protectiveness that borders on urgency.

“We should go, Gem,” Finn says.

It’s the first time I’ve heard him use that nickname, and she responds to it like instinct.

I watch them go, watch the way he positions himself between us.

Gemma doesn’t look back.

I stand in the dark courtyard, watching the empty space where she was, trying to make sense of what just happened. Something’s wrong. Something I can’t see, can’t name, can’t prove. But I feel it, deep to my core, with a certainty I don’t understand.

Chapter 28

Ryewood

Dawn breaks pale and cold over the castle walls, and I’ve never been more grateful to leave.

The horses stamp and snort in the courtyard, their breath fogging in the early light.

Then I see her. After watching her slip through the western gate last night, I wasn’t sure she’d be here. Whatever felt missing then is back now, easing the tightness in my chest.

She’s dressed warmer than I’ve ever seen her. She’s in a thick cream sweater falling over her riding pants, a fur-lined coat hanging open with a scarf draped loosely around her neck, not yet wrapped against the cold.

She looks softer than she ever has, and all I can think about is grabbing that scarf, pulling her close, and kissing her until neither of us can breathe.

When she glances up and catches me watching, warmth flickers in her expression.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Ready?” Finn calls out.

Gemma swings into her saddle with the easy grace of someone who’s spent half her life on horseback. “Been ready. You’re the one taking forever.”

“I’m thorough,” Finn shoots back.

“You’re slow.”

Finn grins. “And yet you love me.”