13. Gemira
Gemira
Three weeks, and still nothing. I search night after night, always turning back before dawn. I’ve covered every corridor I can justify being in, every route I can explain away, and it’s led me back to the same two doors I can’t get through unnoticed. The princes’ suites and the King’s.
The doubt creeps in. I fold the panic away and focus on what’s solid.
Grier and Finn have checked the dungeons, every entrance and every corridor, but the certainty doesn’t settle the way it should.
Those spaces are too well concealed, built into the earth below the training yards, with stone shaped so seamlessly that the grounds seem to have simply grown around them.
The King’s kind of magic. The kind that makes hiding places invisible.
What if there are more, somewhere none of us have thought to look?
My resolve sets, and I move outside.
I find the cold stone below the training yards and move slowly along the wall. My hands do the work, feeling for seams that aren’t seams and rough patches worn too smooth. The cold creeps into my fingers, and still the wall gives nothing away. I keep moving.
Then the pattern shifts along the far edge of the yard. Not loose or hollow, but different. A section of wall shaped with a care that doesn’t match the surrounding weathering. It’s too smooth and too intentional, like something there once moved and was persuaded to be still again.
My pulse spikes. I’m right.
I test it gently, but nothing answers. Magic has hidden it.
I can’t do anything with it tonight. It will need watching, one of us at a time, switching out before anyone stays long enough to be noticed. If the stone ever opens here, if someone slips in or out, then we’ll see it.
Hope flickers in my chest, and I turn back toward the castle, startling a bird from a branch overhead. I look up and find the sky has already begun to pale. Dawn is already closer than it should be.
I’m almost to the servants’ entrance near the kitchens when footsteps echo ahead of me. I stop.
A guard rounds the corner with his gait unhurried. He’s not rushing or alert, just doing his rounds.
I shift back instinctively, but it’s too late. He’s already looking at me.
He slows.
“Swordmaster,” he says in a neutral voice.
My chest constricts. I turn, schooling my expression into something calm. “Morning,” I say.
“Training staff aren’t permitted in the inner corridors before the kitchens open,” he says.
I hesitate for just a fraction. “I thought I’d go for a walk.”
“These corridors are restricted until the morning rotation,” he continues. “I’ll need to note your presence.”
The space between us feels suddenly very narrow, and my stomach drops.
Footsteps approach from behind him.
“There you are.”
Rye’s voice cuts cleanly through the tension. He jogs up beside me with the ease of someone who expected to find me. He looks at me and is about to glance away, then hesitates. His eyes drift over my face and a frown starts to form, like I’m not quite what he expected.
“Ready for our morning run?” he asks, easy and familiar, but his gaze stays on me.
I feel heat creeping up my neck at how much he seems to notice. After all these years, I’d come to believe no one ever could.
The guard turns. “Prince Ryewood. I didn’t realize Swordmaster Gemira was training you this early.”
“I asked her to meet me for a run,” Rye says lightly.
The guard’s gaze flicks between us and lingers. “Understood,” he says after a beat. “That doesn’t change the restrictions.”
Rye’s brow creases slightly. “What restrictions?”
“Training staff now require an escort before the corridors open.”
He holds Rye’s gaze, steady and unmoved. Tides.
“I’ll need to record the incident,” he says.
“What’s your name?” Rye asks.
The guard blinks once. “Kerrin, Your Highness.”
Rye tilts his head, voice still calm. “I’d think carefully about how you phrase that report.”
The guard inclines his head. “Of course, Your Highness.”
Kerrin gives a short nod and steps back. He turns and continues down the corridor, boots striking stone with the same unhurried rhythm as before. I know then that the report will be written, and it won’t stop there. Whatever cover she had left, I’ve just made it thinner.
“I should go,” I say, already stepping back.
“Not yet,” Rye says. “One of the guards mentioned you’ve been out early a few mornings.”
He says it casually, but he’s already here, dressed before dawn. He didn’t just happen to be here. He came to find me.
He gestures casually toward the gardens, like this was always the plan. “If anyone’s watching, they need to see us walking together, not splitting off like we’ve just done something wrong.”
His attention is starting to matter, and it’s making everything more dangerous for us. Pressure coils in my stomach. I hate that he’s right.
“Come on,” he adds lightly. “We’ll finish the run properly.”
I hesitate a moment too long before nodding.
We walk side by side toward the gardens. The sky is brighter now, the soft gray giving way to pale blue. Early enough that the castle still feels half-asleep, but late enough that the mistake mattered.
Rye doesn’t say anything at first, but I can feel his attention on me. Like he’s watching from the corner of his eye.
I keep my gaze forward. I take another step before realizing he hasn’t followed, and I turn back. He’s looking at me fully now, like he’s done pretending this is casual.
“You’re different,” he says.
My pulse stutters. He’s close enough to the truth that my answers matter.
“Different how?”
He shakes his head slightly, frustrated. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”
I force a small shrug. “People are allowed to have off days.” The excuse sounds thin, even to me.
“That isn’t it. It’s like you’re…” He pauses, searching. “Like you’re here, but not quite.”
The words land too close to the truth, too accurate. He’s reading something he’s not supposed to be able to see. I shift my weight, instincts flaring to move and leave before this goes any further. “If this is about yesterday…”
“It’s just…” He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ignore me. I’ve had too many early mornings.” But his eyes don’t move. It’s like he’s waiting for something to click into place. He shakes his head and looks away.
I hear footsteps crunching on the gravel path and spot Rosie approaching us. I release my hands I didn’t realize were clenched.
“Good morning, Gemma!” Rosie’s voice softens the moment.
She comes down the path from the direction of her house, cloak wrapped tight against the morning chill. Too well-timed to be accidental. Her gaze flicks between us, assessing, before she smiles brightly and slips her arm through mine.
“You promised to join me for morning tea,” she says.
She turns to Rye, with her expression pleasant. “Good morning, Rye. Early run?”
“Something like that,” he says, though his eyes stay on me.
“Well,” Rosie says lightly, already guiding me away, “we won’t keep you.”
Rye hesitates, like he might say something, but we’re already moving. We walk arm in arm but don’t speak until her door closes behind us.
“Tea?” she asks, crossing the room to the kitchen where she gathers a small service already laid out. She brings it back and sets it on the small table in the living room. Books are stacked open across it, with sea lavender peeking out from between the pages, mid-press.
“What were you doing out there?” I ask.
“Saving you from getting caught,” she says, glancing back at me with a smirk as she pours. “You’re welcome.”
I don’t answer. She hands me a cup and settles into a chair.
“I was actually coming to find you in your room. I didn’t expect to find you with Rye.”
“Neither did I.”
She hums softly, then continues. “The servants talk to me differently than they do most nobles. They remember where I came from.”
I nod.
“Lara, from the kitchens, mentioned something last night,” she says. “Extra dishes have been going up to the King’s suites for months now. More than one portion, every day.”
My breath stills.
“The King eats alone,” Rosie continues quietly. “Always has. He’s very particular about it. But suddenly there are extra plates and extra food.”
Relief crashes through me like a tide, and I have to set the cup down before my hands shake.
“That has to be where he’s keeping her,” I say, unable to keep the urgency out of my voice.
Rosie’s mouth curves into a small, satisfied smile. “That was my thought.”
I pull her into a hug without thinking. She hugs me back.
“I need to get back before the castle fully wakes,” I say when I finally let go.
She catches my hands, her fingers warm and careful around mine.
“Before you go,” she says. “Would it be all right if I joined your training sessions? I miss it. And I thought…since you’re there…”
“Rosie,” I say, squeezing her fingers. “Of course. You’re one of us.”