Page 98 of Ruling the Green

“Go,” he demanded, his voice a harsh command.

My heart lurched.

Nira?

I patted Jet’s leg to get his attention.

“She missed a check-in,” he told me, covering my hand with his and squeezing. “You know Nira. She probably got on the train of something and lost track of time. Like a hound,” he added, trying to soften the edges of my anxiety. But there was tension around his own eyes that had me even more on edge.

I followed his gaze, seeing him watching his father, who was talking animatedly to Tove, his face going red, spit flying from between his lips as his words appeared to get more and more frantic.

We were more than halfway through the day’s events. All that was left was the joust and the melee. The latter of which I didn’t plan to stick around for. But Jet was going to need to if he wanted to keep an eye on his father to make sure he didn’t do anything to risk the throne.

I leaned into Jet, pressing my head to his shoulder. For the briefest of seconds, his head pressed to the side of mine before he straightened.

I saw his eyes go round just before I heard Cass let out a yell.

Jet shot to his feet as I turned to see the scene his father was creating.

But it was just then that someone behind Jet screamed and several men started calling for a doctor.

I took a step to the side, following the commotion. For a long second, the crowd was too thick to see anything. Then the people parted.

And there he was.

Grimwood.

With his face down in his own plate.

Breathing.

But unmoving.

It was just then that Nira’s words came back to me.

Make sure you look surprised and worried when something happens to him.

It wasn’t as easy, I realized, to make a scene when you weren’t able to scream, cry, or call out for help.

So I did what I could.

I rushed around Jet and flung myself at Grimwood, face twisted up in grief, though I couldn’t seem to manage any real tears.

I tugged at his heavy frame, grabbed his face, made every effort to look like I was trying to stir him.

For just a second, I saw something slash across his features. Something heated, furious. But then his eyes went as slack as the rest of his face.

“Gemma,” a voice called as a hand reached for me. “Gemma, allow the doctors to attend to your father.”

Oh, right.

That was Jet.

And he was speaking to me.

This time, when he reached for me, I let him pull me away, then into his arms.

He pulled me back against the wall as a man called for everyone else to make way.