27. Ryewood
Ryewood
By evening, I’m still wound too tight to stay inside. I need air, space, anything to quiet the noise in my head.
I walk the castle grounds as the sun sinks low, casting shadows long across the frost-covered grounds.
The air bites at my face, but I welcome it, anything to calm this restless unease.
But my mind keeps circling back to that moment in the courtyard, when my father’s cold, calculating attention fell on Gemma.
The weight of what I did has settled into my chest like a stone. I lied to my father for her, and he knows it. If her cover falls apart, if whatever she’s hiding comes to light, I’ve tied my word to hers against whatever truth is waiting to surface.
I should regret it, but I don’t, not even a little.
Movement near the southern gate catches my eye.
Two cloaked figures are about to slip through the archway. Not sneaking exactly, just careful.
My steps slow. I recognize her before my mind catches up. The shape of her, the way she carries herself. Gemma with Finn behind her, positioned like a shield.
But the closer I get, the more something nags at me. The way she moves is off. It’s too careful, too contained with her shoulders held too still. It looks like her, but it doesn’t quite feel like her.
They’re almost through the gate when a guard’s voice cuts across the courtyard.
“Hold there.”
A bird startles in the branches overhead; its wingbeats are replaced by the guard’s footsteps on the gravel.
Gemma stiffens. Finn’s shoulders lock, and without seeming to think about it, he shifts half a step, putting himself between her and the guard.
My legs carry me forward before the decision even lands.
The guard steps into their path, young enough to still care about doing things by the book.
“Evening,” he says, lantern raised. “Western gate’s closed after dark. Anyone leaving needs to clear the eastern checkpoint.”
Finn’s jaw flexes, and I know what he’s doing. Running the math on how much force is acceptable.
“Problem?” I ask mildly, stepping in before either of them answers.
The guard turns sharply. “Your Highness, these two were—”
“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.