Chapter 18
Esme
You’d think casting up your accounts in front of your Soul Mate would leave you horrified. Someone needed to tell the Bond it was normal to feel embarrassed after something like that, not excited.
It was clearly some sort of base instinct that was critical thousands of years ago, only mating for survival. The only thing the Bond could understand was that Ford had taken care of me in my time of need.
It grabbed onto the fact that I enjoyed it, too. Not just the act, but all that it uncovered.
Old wounds, long repressed—not healed, I wasn’t that delusional. The orphan to isolated teenager to rejected paranima path was a rough one, especially when it came to taking care of myself.
That was all I’d ever wanted, somewhere to belong. Someone to belong there with. If they cared enough for me to make sure I was alright and would be there if I needed support, that would have been nice, too.
I’d given up hope a long time ago that I could find that with Ford. It had been painful to admit that to myself, and it was painful to try and reconcile that might no longer be true.
Because it wasn’t just as simple as surrendering to the Bond. It was never that simple.
Every other paranima who’d accepted the Bond seemed to genuinely fall in love with each other on top of the Bond’s mania. One look at Bellamy and Soren—or any of the Matches that had been on duty before us—and you’d know they meant more to each other than some biological compatibility.
The Bond had simply brought them together, but their love would have formed without it.
So then why, after eight years, hadn’t Ford fallen in love with me?
I tossed back another large gulp of my drink at the thought, earning a not-so-subtle side eye from the bartender. I’d snuck down here while Ford was in the shower, needing some space to think. The image of his shoulders slick and glistening was far too distracting.
The pleasant burn of Muli whiskey did a good job at momentarily easing the pain in my chest. Just a moment, though. Another breath and it was back.
Every insecurity I’d ever faced in my life was flying back at me, like shards of glass slicing across my skin. A deep, hopeless feeling of intrinsic not-enough-ness. Or too-much-ness.
Whatever it was, something about me pushed more people away than it invited in.
It was only when I pretended to be someone else, one of the many personalities I put on depending on the needs of the mission, when people seemed to accept me.
Even now, on a rare moment where I allowed myself not to put on airs in public, people were keeping a healthy distance from me. The bartender had looked halfway to fainting when I’d asked him for a drink.
“Ah, there you are,” Bellamy said from behind me, shocking me out of my spiral.
“Hi,” I said, mustering a close-lipped smile.
Bellamy motioned to the bartender for a glass for herself—well at least he can smile at her—before turning back to me. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Esme? It doesn’t look too fun.”
“I’m fine.” Bellamy’s eyebrows were raised in doubt before I even spoke. “Alright,” I said, forcibly pushing away defensiveness. “I don’t feel great.”
Bellamy smiled softly, coming to sit next to me. I didn’t know if she could tell how hard that was for me to admit. “Would it be easier for you to tell me or me to guess?”
“I’ll tell you.” I had a feeling letting her guess what was wrong with me would send me running in the other direction. I was never very good with accepting other people’s perception of me. A consequence of being talked about like I wasn’t in the room for the majority of my life, I assumed.
It ended up taking several minutes of silence for me to finally say.
“I’m scared. The Bond is getting harder to ignore.
” My willingness to ignore it was also thinning by the minute.
“But I…I don’t think just blindly accepting it is the right thing to do.
Ford and I have never had an easy relationship.
It just feels wrong to throw my hands up and accept this now that the Bond has presented for him. ”
Bellamy nodded, considering. I appreciated how long she stayed silent, thinking, before she finally said, “You two barely know each other when secrets aren’t involved. And I’m sure those secrets made you both act differently than your true selves.”
I knew, I knew there was truth to her words but I wasn’t ready to hear it. “For a little while, sure. Not for eight years.”
Bellamy’s mouth curved into a slightly derisive smile. “Maybe. But, if I may speak honestly, I think you’re wrong.”
No one had ever said that to me so blatantly, and it made me jerk back.
However, close behind, came a respect that had me listening to Bellamy with an openness I hadn’t been capable of the moment before.
“I don’t think my family is capable of loving me, and it’s because they don’t know me. In my situation, they never sought to know me. In yours, there was a large part of you hidden.”
Bellamy paused to take a sip of her drink, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt my throat seize up with tears, rendering me silent.
“Soren and I have spoken about this a lot, especially about the difference between our bond and the one he had with Carson. The Bond may not control you like some brain-eating parasite, but it is a part of you. A large part. In repressing it, I’m sure you hid more of yourself than you realized.
” She nudged my knee in a casual show of affection.
“Even kept yourself so far away Ford couldn’t know you, then love you. Even after so long.”
And for some reason, the only thing that came to mind to say was, “I never said I was concerned with Ford loving me.”
Even as I said it, I heard the lie.
“Th-thank you,” I followed with quickly, suddenly horrified at the prospect of Bellamy thinking I was dismissing her. “I think I’m just confused and tired and—”
I cut myself off with a shake of my head, well-timed with Ford popping around a corner. At the first sight of him, I felt my body relax, then melt further in a way that made me crave physical affection.
I wanted a hug. From him.
It was so simple and so horrible, tears sprung to my eyes immediately.
Though I knew running from him was the wrong thing to do, especially after the events of the day, staying was worse. I was too raw to do anything but unleash on him.
It would probably break my heart further to go to him, to have him give me affection, and then suffer through him pulling away if it was too much for him.
I shot Bellamy a desperate look, begging her to step in. The second her chin started to dip down in assent, I was out of there, right in time for the first tear to fall.
?
I was, admittedly, slightly tipsy.
Some might call it drunk.
I would say they were being annoying.
God forbid, I let loose a little bit. I wasn’t the type to turn to drink to soothe my pains, but sue me.
Ford was still mad, in an oppressive way that made me feel hot all over. I barely remembered what we discussed at dinner, an in-depth conversation about the Vir government and the shift of power to new hands every seven years.
Information that had been embedded in my mind for as long as I could remember.
It was important that Caspian understood that system and how Bellamy and Soren were planning on integrating that into the treaty.
The whole system would fall apart if the next family to take power just decided not to listen to it.
Bellamy stayed silent on the fact that the change of power was a big if. Her father wanted to keep it. Her and Soren had a really good argument for holding power until things settled down, even if it made her uncomfortable.
She had floated the prospect of Ambrose—or another equally qualified and Match-less royal—offering for the Princess’s hand in marriage.
“Absolutely not,” Elijah had responded. As if he had the authority to speak on behalf of the entire family.
Clearly, he did not, as Caspian’s voice was full of rarely-evoked authority as he said, “The Princess is barely of marriageable age. That would have to be a much longer discussion.”
“If you’re still looking for a bride,” Soren said, none too kindly, “There are a few younger royals who might be a suitable match. Once you both become actual adults, that is.”
To Caspian’s credit, he simply laughed in the face of that dig. “Rest assured, Soren. I have no interest in marrying your paranima.”
“Do you have one? Elijah said you didn’t,” Freya said. The air at the table went taut for a second. We’d never really met anyone from Muli who wasn’t obviously Matched.
I wasn’t sure if it was rude to ask, especially considering that Caspian didn’t have a visible Mark.
No one in the royal family did, for that matter—Elijah included.
“No,” Caspian said. “We don’t show our Marks until a Match has been located. Whoever they are, they haven’t revealed themselves yet.”
“How does that happen?” Freya seemed genuinely interested, which helped matters. Even then, I could see Bellamy tensing.
Caspian cleared his throat, straightening in his chair. “We consider it to be an important part of the process to locate your Match yourself. Some people never find them.”
“It’s only in military service that we track Marks,” Elijah cut in, looking down at the glass of whiskey curled in his large hand. “Make sure the right people are sent to the Bridge.” He looked up as he continued, “And that we send people who can actually Cross it, when that fateful day comes.”
“By invitation,” Caspian quickly corrected, shooting Elijah a look. The gap in their authority and age became apparent then.
It was authority that won out, making Elijah toss back his whiskey before he said, “Of course, if invited.”
The tension was still palpable, enough that no one spoke for a few seconds. It was Freya who broke the silence. “Actually, Elijah said that you wouldn’t have one.”
Well, that wasn’t exactly a good way to break it.