Chapter 8 #3
“I’d guess it was the Prince but he doesn’t seem the type to get his hands dirty.
I doubt he’d stay this close to the action—especially not when he has Elijah to do it for him,” Soren said, an obvious sneer in his tone.
Both for the momentary betrothal between the Prince and Bellamy and due to the fact that mere days ago, Elijah had callously shot her through the leg with an arrow.
Bellamy placed her hand over Soren’s on top of the table, a physical balm to his anger. “I can’t say I would pass up the opportunity to meet him.”
Soren scoffed a sound of agreement, right as he flipped his palm under Bellamy’s and threaded their fingers together. “Might have to wait a second on that one, baby. We at least have the decency to come to the action ourselves. Can’t say the same from him.”
“Against our will,” Bellamy said in soft disagreement, knowing as well as we all did that Soren had been dragged over here kicking and screaming.
Despite that history, he simply shrugged and said with a sly smile, “Semantics. Besides,” he picked up their joined hands and placed a kiss on the back of Bellamy’s, “you volunteered.”
“Semantics,” Bellamy teased, a noticeable blush teasing the tops of her cheekbones.
“Give it a few years, there might be a hole hoard of you over here,” Ford said, joining in on the banter even though his voice still sounded slightly strained.
That made two of us, at least.
“Hopefully that lot will include Ambrose Greene,” Soren said, glee thick in his voice.
My eyebrows creased together, unsure what that meant, which was not an experience I enjoyed. Lucky for me, Bellamy’s answer gave me the explanation I sought. “Soren, darling, it’s not nice to wish him death just because we might have been betrothed.”
Soren only smiled. “So you agree if he came over here, he’d die.”
Bellamy’s head cocked, which was her tell.
The sign that she was hedged her bets and was about to say something extremely diplomatic.
“Well, he’s not the most capable.” And there it was, a polite way to say the Greene kid wasn’t worth a damn.
Before I saw Bellamy and Soren in action, I would have extended that belief to all Royals.
“I think we should figure out a way to enlist him,” Soren said, his grin turning murderous. God damn, he really had a screw loose.
“No,” Bellamy said with a calm smile.
“Why not?” Soren pouted. “Then we’d be three for four on Royal enlistments. That’s a pretty good rate.”
"Four?” Ford asked, his brow furrowing. I only caught the expression because apparently I’d already been turning towards him the second a rumble sounded from his throat.
“Astor, Rystrom, Edelstenne, Greene.” Freya was playing with the screws in her hand, only passively answering.
We all knew our world’s history and politics, particularly the four Royal families that had ruled since the war began, but I just hadn’t expected her to jump in.
Especially after all these years, I didn’t think I’d be able to recall that it was the Astors who had been the ruling family during the discovery of the Bridge as fast as she had.
“One point to Freya,” Soren joked, to which Freya merely smiled. Really just the slightest raise of the corner of her mouth. I recognized that Soren was still speaking, but something wouldn’t let me look away from Freya.
“Okay, I changed my mind!” Peter’s yell pulled my attention away from something for the second time in a handful of minutes. What wonderful timing he had.
I could already tell he had a punishment in mind. Nothing heinous, and nothing painful, but certainly annoying.
“Oi, Wilks!” Peter barked at the officer who was leading the group of soldiers breaking apart the mass of rocks at the Bridge. “You have two willing volunteers who would like to help you through two shifts this morning.”
Though my arms felt like noodles and my back was still hurting from the way I’d taken my anger out on the rocks yesterday, I’d welcome the distraction—especially if it meant I didn’t have to sit in a stifling room with Ford.
“Yep, that’s me!” I squeaked out in a high-pitched scream, swiping up the remaining half of my muffin for some extra energy and running over to Wilks and the rest of the soldiers.
I heard a muffled curse behind me, but forced myself not to pay Ford any mind. I would take any little ounce of separation I could take while I still could, even though it was already starting to feel like barbed wire wrapping around my skin.
Ford was hot on my heels, I could tell that much, and I knew the second we stopped, he’d try to say something to me.
Luckily for me, Wilks was certainly not in the mood. His unforgiving features settled even further into stone at my approach, which was saying something considering I was historically able to crack his rough facade with a couple sly jokes.
“I have no idea what is going on, and I don’t care,” he said harshly. “If you think your horses will cooperate, rig them up and have them help with moving away the rocks. If not, you’re both on sledgehammer duty.”
“Just say you don’t want to hang out with us,” I snuck in, needing to see how he’d react to a jab—not unlike a little sibling poking at their older.
It was eight years of friendship with him that allowed me to see the little twitch at the corner of his mouth, before he crossed his arms and said, “Check on your horses first.”
Though that meant having to walk to the stables with Ford, once we were set up, I’d get some good distance. Turning on a set of restless legs, I broke into a casual jog right as I heard Ford grumble, “I don’t like that guy.”