15. Gemira
Gemira
The training yard empties slowly, bodies filtering out in clusters and conversations fading into the distance.
I need to move and breathe and get out of my own head before something else slips. Keeping my distance from Ryewood is getting harder, and I’m running out of excuses for why I keep failing.
I see the stables, and I take the path down the hill, away from the yards, letting each step pull the tension loose.
The horses shift in their stalls as I pass, and one dips its head toward me like it’s expecting to be fed.
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.
The merchant’s eyes widen as he nods frantically.
“We can simply forget what we saw that night. You never saw our swordmaster, and I never saw you.”
“I won’t say anything,” the merchant cuts in. “I swear it.”
“I know you won’t.” Ryewood doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. “Because we both know what happens if you do.”
The merchant stumbles backward through the gate, nearly tripping over his own feet. He doesn’t look back, and the gate swings shut behind him with a heavy clang.
My heart is still pounding when I turn to Ryewood.
He lied for me, not a small lie either, the kind that could make it back to the King, and he did it so easily, like I was worth the cost. He makes me feel safe in a way I can’t afford, and I have to remind myself of all the reasons being with him is anything but that.
I push the feeling down before it takes root.
“Who are the Caldwells?”
His expression is still closed and guarded.
“Not here,” he says quietly and glances toward the gardens and tilts his head. “Walk with me?”
My instincts scream to put distance between us, but my feet are already moving toward him.
We take a path deep into the gardens, away from the manicured hedges and well-trodden stone. The foliage thickens around us, the paths narrowing until the castle feels distant and the sea is close.
Ryewood stops at the edge, where the ground gives way to open air. The fog wall sits just off the shoreline, heavy and impenetrable. He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he stares out at the fog like it owes him something. His jaw works before he finally speaks.
“That night, I was sent by the King to the Caldwells.”
“Sent to do what?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
“They had twin boys.”
My blood goes cold before the words even land.
“My father sends me to find them. Families who’ve hidden their twins. I’m supposed to—”
“Supposed to what, Ryewood?” The words scrape out of me.
The silence stretches so long I think he won’t answer. Every instinct in me screams to run, to get as far from him as possible.
“Kill them.”
The word lands like a blade, and my vision narrows, and then I’m not here anymore. I’m a child in a snowbank with my mother’s body pressed flat over us while horses passed through the trees.
“But I don’t,” he says, pulling me back.
I force myself to breathe, but my chest is still too tight.
“What do you mean?”
He finally turns to face me. The pain in his eyes is raw and unguarded. Like he’s showing me something he’s never shown anyone.
“I defy him. Every time.” His words come out barely above a whisper. “I help them escape.”
My heart stutters.
“I make them separate. I force the families apart and send the children to different villages, different relatives, somewhere the King will never find them.” He shakes his head. “It’s the only way. If they stay together, if they’re ever seen together again…”
He doesn’t finish; he doesn’t have to.
“That’s why you looked so broken that night,” I breathe. “When I saw you in the alley. You’d just—”
“Torn a family apart,” he says, his voice hollow. “Told two parents they could never see their children in the same room again. Watched two little boys cling to each other, sobbing, then be pulled apart forever.”
The weight of it settles over me. He carries this, all of this.
“How long have you been doing this? Who else knows?”
“Years, I don’t know, I’ve stopped counting.” He turns and fully faces me. “You’re the only person I’ve ever told. I almost told Grier once, years ago, but I couldn’t do it.”
“Why would you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I just felt the need to.” He shakes his head. “Because lying to you felt worse than telling you the truth.”
I stare at him. The man I thought I knew—the charming prince, the one who flirts too much and pushes too hard.
But that’s not who’s standing in front of me.
This is someone who carries the weight of every family he’s torn apart and never asks anyone to help him hold it.
And something inside me, something I’ve been keeping locked down for months, cracks wide open.
I reach for his hand, and my fingers close around his.
“You risk everything for them, for kids you don’t even know.”
He goes still beneath my touch, and I take a step closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. His breath catches, and his eyes search my face.
“I do too.” The words slip out before I can pull them back. I should not be saying this. “The ones the nobles take, I get them out before they bring them to the King.”
His fingers tighten around mine. He’s looking at me like he’s just stopped being alone.
“You’re a rebel,” he says, with awe bleeding through his words.
The secret I want to tell him presses behind my ribs, but I shove it down. Instead, I nod and take the last step closer. His free hand lifts toward my face—
“Ryewood?” Grier’s voice carries from somewhere beyond the hedge, and we both pull back.
Grier appears around the corner, and his eyes flick between us.
“The King is asking for you,” he says.
Ryewood turns back to me, with everything unfinished between us, before he walks toward Grier. Grier gives me a knowing look before he turns and walks away.
I don’t know how long I stand there, with the sea crashing far below and nothing but the unmoving fog staring back at me. The feelings I’ve been pushing down for months surge up all at once, impossible to dismiss. He destroys himself to save them, and he told me. Only me.
How am I supposed to keep him at a distance when everything in me is pulling me closer? But closer means he sees more. And there are things about me he can never see.
I let that truth settle into my chest and hollow me out, because it’s the only option I have. I can’t have them both. We’ve been one my whole life. I’ll always choose her.