Page 77 of A Cruel Kindness

“Please don’t do this to me,” he muttered at the ceiling.

Peter paid him no mind. “Due to the sensitive nature of Freya’s Crossing, I’ve changed around the schedule. Your unit will be guarding the Bridge tonight.”

I’d noticed that the Bridge always had at least five soldiers guarding it. Now it was our turn.

I tried to hide my frown. I’d really wanted a moment alone with Soren, but that didn’t seem likely.

“Now,” Peter said, “Please get out of here so I can focus on coming up with an excuse to summon the Guard so everyone doesn’t freak out.”

Freya jumped off the dresser she was sitting on and floated out of the room. Arthur scurried by with his head hung low. What an odd pairing they made.

Soren was slow to stand, and it wasn’t until I was halfway out the door that I heard his chair move back. “Give me a bottle if you’re making us do this.”

I turned, only to hear Peter laugh for the first time. He reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of the same Muli whiskey I’d had at the bar. They must really love that stuff.

I hadn’t even realized it was dinner time until we walked out from the hallway containing Peter’s office and were confronted with the waiting eyes of half the camp.

The window to the kitchen was still closed, which only gave everyone time to absolutely assault us. The exact contents of our conversation with Elijah, including the fact that he was the one we met, would remain confidential.

But there was no hiding that a Muli emissary had arrived at the camp, scared shitless. That was the most action we’d had in a while, and I got ripped away from Soren, pulled into another conversation before I could do anything about it.

I had dreamed to be treated like that, to be spoken to like a normal person instead of a princess that could order their death when she wanted. I just didn’t expect that to happen at the same time I was all but starved to be near Soren.

Violent, violent thoughts started churning, another reminder of how much had changed. The Bond had turned me into someone that found that funny, rather than horrifying.

And right now, I felt like I was going to light something on fire if one more person stood in between me and Soren.

Now that I accepted that it was useless to fight the Bond anymore, it decided to become much more vocal, speaking in full, flowery sentences instead of the low, commanding grunts I’d grown so used to.

Where is Soren? I can’t feel him. I like him. Can we be with him alone? I don’t like these people. You should kill them so we can be alone with Soren.

Shut up, I begged silently.

After another round of screaming in my mind, I forcefully pushed past a line of people and grabbed Soren’s hand to make it stop harassing me.

Soren’s answering chuckle only made me more irritated.

“Shut it,” I growled at him, yanking him closer so I could speak the words directly in his ear.

“Forgive me for relishing in your affection, Bell,” Soren quipped in return, making me smile before I could stop it.

His eyes dropped to that smile for a heavy moment until the sound of the kitchen window sliding open broke us apart.

Soren blinked slowly, like he was asking one of the deities for strength.

He placed his hand low on my back as we walked up to the window to swipe our food.

Good! Make sure Soren eats a lot of it. He needs it to heal, The Bond said, never one to forget the events of the day.

My eyes drifted up to the bandage over his brow, my heart clenching painfully. Though he was healing faster than I thought possible, the only thing I could focus on was that I didn’t have to see him injured for much longer.

God, I really hoped he didn’t get injured in front of me again.

Soren led us outside when we had our food, going for one of the tables still set up. The food, the sunset, nor the whiskey was enough to distract me from the pounding urgency the Bond decided to thread through my body.

The only relief I got was the conversation from Freya and Esme. Esme seemed a little too excited by the prospect of our night shift.

Freya scurried off halfway through the meal, surely to prepare for her Cross.