Page 71 of A Sweet Destruction

“He’s a good deal older than you,” Soren said, rolling his lips together to hide a grin. “How did this…friendship develop? A family relation, perhaps?”

Oddly enough, out of everyone, it was Cornelia that was unable to hide her reaction quick enough. You’d think Soren simply inquired about the weather based off all that emotion Caspian and Elijah showed in response.

Cornelia’s right shoulder pinched, so slight you’d miss it if you weren’t looking right at her. I had my instincts to thank in that regard.

Ford’s too. His hand fell to my knee, squeezing once. Just a little touch, a reassurance that he either saw what I did or knew that I’d observed something important.

Oh, thank God, the Bond and I said in unison when Ford kept his hand there. A second later, my arm started to buzz with warmth and my eyes flicked down just to make sure it wasn’t on fire.

That would have been a better alternative than finding my hand on top of Ford’s, holding his palm to my knee. I blinked once, sure that when I opened my eyes it would turn out to just be one of those little daydreams I’d used to lose myself in.

But no, no my hand was really there. And I’d either lost my mind even further and tightened my grip or Ford squeezed my leg again.

“Let go,” he said low, with a curve to his mouth, “Or I’m doing it again.”

“Do you like your bones in tact?” I said, too addled to keep a grin off my lips.

Ford’s answering chuckle drugged me stupid for a second, enough for him to slide his hand away with a torturous pace, fighting a smile the entire time. I begged myself to fight back, to say something snippy in return, but couldn’t manage it.

Not when there was a pleasant warmth spreading to my chest, not at all fueled by the Bond. It was just…God, it was just nice to tease him. To be teased back.

There was a word for that, but if I acknowledged it—

I’m sick of you. He’s flirting.

Well. This version of the Bond had clearly matured in true spirit slumber, resorting to much more sophisticated ways of messing with my head. Much harder to ignore than its babbling swings of emotion.

As if Ford could hear the Bond himself, his mouth curved up just a bit further before turning back to the table in time for Caspian to say, “There is plenty of time to discuss the intricacies of my family tree through the course of our negotiations.”

“Just how long are you planning on keeping us here?” Bellamy said, her voice entirely sweet. Her particular brand of sweet that hinted at a slight threat.

“You are free to leave whenever you please,” Caspian responded carefully, the first time he’d spoken with a measured tone.

“Though leaving would inherently be seen as a refusal to continue negotiations,” Elijah said, keeping his eyes on his swirling glass of liquor.

Soren’s low snort skittered across the table. “Understood.”

Functionally trapped, then.

Caspian waved a hand dismissively, readjusting in his chair as he did so. “Oh, so dramatic. I’d prefer to have these discussions when everyone is well-rested and well-fed. You all had quite the journey.”

Nearly four hours of a hard ride, but the adrenaline was preventing me from truly feeling it.

“Now, I can’t do anything about rest until you see your accommodations, but I can certainly do something about the food,” Caspian said. A mere second after he finished speaking, people started pouring out of doors with plates of food piled high.

To everyone’s credit, they served us plates of a carefully constructed collection of vegetables and a small bowl of soup with steady hands. I thought I saw a little shakiness as Elijah was served, though it was my soup that ended up with a splash onto the plate underneath it.

The rest of the meal proceeded as amicably as possible. I knew my role, choosing to stay mostly silent and observe as Bellamy and Soren kept the conversation polite yet flowing. Caspian, for all his youth, was clearly similarly trained in political charm, matching them beat for beat.

Everyone else jumped in where appropriate, with Freya surprisingly taking on a fair bit of the conversation.

“Which of you have been stationed here the longest?” Caspian had asked casually, his tone hardly reflecting the fact he was discovering who had been fighting a war against his people for the highest number of years. Probably cooking up some sentencing judgment based on the time we’d been here.

“That would be me,” Freya volunteered, speaking in her same soft cadence. Not that I expected any different from her.

Caspian took his sweet time looking at her before responding. Long enough that Arthur got around to clearing his throat. The Prince simply laughed, nodding once at Arthur in deference. “And how long would that be? You are quite young.”

Freya nodded, her smile slight. “Yes. It’s been fifteen years.”