House of Earth and Blood

But Bryce continued to reach for him, even as Ruhn tried to drag her toward the doors.

Hunt stared at her outstretched fingers. The desperate hope in her eyes.

No one had ever fought for him. No one had ever cared enough to do so.

“Hunt,” Bryce begged, shaking. Her fingers strained. “I’ll find a way to save you.”

“Stop it,” Ruhn ordered, and grabbed for her waist.

Sandriel walked toward the lobby doors and the awaiting motorcade. She said to Ruhn, “You should have slit your sister’s throat when you had the chance, Prince. I speak from personal experience.”

Bryce’s wrenching sobs ripped at Hunt as Pollux shoved him into movement.

She’d never stop fighting for him, would never give up hope. So Hunt went in for the kill as he passed her, even as each word broke him apart, “I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing. Don’t ever come looking for me again.”

Bryce mouthed his name. As if he were the sole person in the room. The city. The planet.

And it was only when Hunt was loaded onto the armored truck, when his chains were anchored to the metal sides and Pollux was smirking across from him, when the driver had embarked on the five-hour drive to the town in the heart of the Psamathe Desert where the Summit would be held in five days, that he let himself take a breath.

Ruhn watched as Pollux loaded Athalar into that prison van. Watched as it rumbled to life and sped off, watched as the crowd in the lobby dispersed, marking the end of this fucking disaster.

Until Bryce wrenched out of his grip. Until Ruhn let her. Pure, undiluted hatred twisted her features as she said again, “I will never forgive you for this.”

Ruhn said coldly, “Do you have any idea what Sandriel does to her slaves? Do you know that was Pollux Antonius, the fucking Hammer, with her?”

“Yes. Hunt told me everything.”

“Then you’re a fucking idiot.” She advanced on him, but Ruhn seethed, “I will not apologize for protecting you—not from her, and not from yourself. I get it, I do. Hunt was your—whatever he was to you. But the last thing he would ever want is—”

“Go fuck yourself.” Her breathing turned jagged. “Go fuck yourself, Ruhn.”

Ruhn jerked his chin toward the lobby doors in dismissal. “Cry about it to someone else. You’ll have a hard time finding anyone who’ll agree with you.”

Her fingers curled at her sides. As if she’d punch him, claw him, shred him.

But she just spat at Ruhn’s feet and stalked away. Bryce reached her scooter and didn’t look back as she zoomed off.

Flynn said, voice low, “What the fuck, Ruhn.”

Ruhn sucked in a breath. He didn’t even want to think about what kind of bargain she’d struck with the sorceress to get that kind of money.

Declan was shaking his head. And Flynn … disappointment and hurt flickered on his face. “Why didn’t you tell us? Your sister, Ruhn?” Flynn pointed to the glass doors. “She’s our fucking princess.”

“She is not,” Ruhn growled. “The Autumn King has not recognized her, nor will he ever.”

“Why?” Dec demanded.

“Because she’s his bastard child. Because he doesn’t like her. I don’t fucking know,” Ruhn spat. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—ever tell them his own motivations for it. That deep-rooted fear of what the Oracle’s prophecy might mean for Bryce should she ever be granted a royal title. For if the royal bloodline was to end with Ruhn, and Bryce was officially a princess of their family … She would have to be out of the picture for it to come to pass. Permanently. He’d do whatever was necessary to keep her safe from that particular doom. Even if the world hated him for it.

Indeed, at his friends’ disapproving frowns, he snapped, “All I know is that I was given an order never to reveal it, even to you.”

Flynn crossed his arms. “You think we would have told anyone?”

“No. But I couldn’t take the risk of him finding out. And she didn’t want anyone to know.” And now wasn’t the time or place to speak about this. Ruhn said, “I need to talk to her.”

What came after he spoke with Bryce, he didn’t know if he could handle.

Bryce rode to the river. To the arches of the Black Dock.

Darkness had fallen by the time she chained her scooter to a lamppost, the night balmy enough that she was grateful for Danika’s leather jacket keeping her warm as she stood on the dark dock and stared across the Istros.

Slowly, she sank to her knees, bowing her head. “It’s so fucked,” she whispered, hoping the words would carry across the water, to the tombs and mausoleums hidden behind the wall of mist. “It is all so, so fucked, Danika.”

She’d failed. Utterly and completely failed. And Hunt was … he was …

Bryce buried her face in her hands. For a while, the only sounds were the wind hissing through the palms and the lapping of the river against the dock.

“I wish you were here,” Bryce finally allowed herself to say. “Every day, I wish that, but today especially.”

The wind quieted, the palms going still. Even the river seemed to halt.

A chill crept toward her, through her. Every sense, Fae and human, went on alert. She scanned the mists, waiting, praying for a black boat. She was so busy looking that she didn’t see the attack coming.

Didn’t twist to see a kristallos demon leaping from the shadows, jaws open, before it tackled her into the eddying waters.

72

Claws and teeth were everywhere. Ripping at her, snatching her, dragging her down.

The river was pitch-black, and there was no one, no one at all, who’d seen or would know—

Something burned along her arm, and she screamed, water rushing down her throat.

Then the claws splayed. Loosened.

Bryce kicked, shoving blindly away, the surface somewhere—in any direction—oh gods, she was going to pick wrong—

Something grabbed her by the shoulder, dragging her away, and she would have screamed if there had been any air left in her lungs—

Air broke around her face, open and fresh, and then there was a male voice at her ear saying, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

She might have sobbed, if she hadn’t spewed water, hadn’t launched into a coughing fit. Hunt had said those words to her, and now Hunt was gone, and the male voice at her ear—Declan Emmet.

Ruhn shouted from a few feet away, “It’s down.”

She thrashed, but Declan held her firm, murmuring, “It’s all right.”

It wasn’t fucking all right. Hunt should have been there. He should have been with her, he should have been freed, and she should have found a way to help him—

It took half a moment for Declan to heave her out of the water. Ruhn, his face grim, hauled her the rest of the way, cursing up a storm while she shuddered on the dock.

“What the fucking fuck,” Tristan Flynn was panting, rifle aimed at the black water, ready to unload a hail of bullets at the slightest ripple.

“Are you all right?” Declan asked, water streaming down his face, red hair plastered to his head.

Bryce drew back into herself enough to survey her body. A gash sliced down her arm, but it had been made with claws, not those venomous teeth. Other slices peppered her, but …