House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1) by Sarah J. Maas

Ruhn stepped forward, either pushing past Sandriel’s wind or being allowed to do so. He grabbed Bryce under the arm and hauled her to her feet. “She is a female member of the Fae royal household and a full civitas of the Republic. I lay claim to her as my sister and kin.”

Ancient words. From laws that had never been changed, though public sentiment had.

Bryce whirled on him. “You have no right—”

“Based upon the laws of the Fae, as approved by the Asteri,” Ruhn charged on, “she is my property. My father’s. And I do not permit her to trade herself in exchange for Athalar.”

Hunt’s legs almost gave out with relief. Even as Bryce shoved at Ruhn, clawed at him, and growled, “I’m no property of yours—”

“You are a Fae female of my bloodline,” Ruhn said coldly. “You are my property and our father’s until you marry.”

She looked to Declan, to Flynn, whose solemn faces must have told her she’d find no allies among them. She hissed at Ruhn, “I will never forgive you. I will never—”

“We’re done here,” Ruhn said to Sandriel.

He tugged Bryce away, his friends falling into formation around them, and Hunt tried to memorize her face, even with despair and rage twisting it.

Ruhn tugged her again, but she thrashed against him.

“Hunt,” she pleaded, stretching a hand for him, “I’ll find a way.”

Pollux laughed. Sandriel just began to turn from them, bored.

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.”