Page 24 of A Sweet Destruction

As if in answer, the scar slashing down my face started buzzing with memories.

Memories I needed to shove away until I was ready to examine them, to figure out how they played a part in Esme’s secrets.

“Very likely,” I muttered, letting my eyes scan over the camp below us. Soren had found me up here, helping in the effort to split apart the rock that had fallen over the Bridge. The force of my strikes had apparently scared away everyone in a ten foot radius, and when someone had seen Soren up and about, they’d had him come interrupt me. “You and Bellamy realize you’re going to have to go full-blown diplomat, don’t you?”

Soren scoffed in the back of his throat, and that reaction was the very reason I’d brought up his newfound role. When he’d been drafted at nineteen—forced into this war by Bellamy’s father in a manipulated draft of the Royal children—he’d adapted quickly to his new life, seemingly happy to get away from the fluff and frills.

It was a cruel, yet ultimately kind, twist of fate to have his Soul Mate not only be the daughter of the man who had stolen his future, but Vir’s favored princess—one who was likely to have an incredibly active political future.

“I’ll do what I need to,” Soren said a moment later. “Not just from necessity, but also because I find I don’t mind my Royal duties now that I have a partner in them.”

This time, I didn’t try to restrain my annoyed grumble. Soren barked a laugh in return, clapping a hand over my shoulder. “I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t try to at least talk to you about this,” he said, his fingers pressing into the muscle of my shoulder in a show of comfort.

“You knew,” I responded, not intending it to sound as much of an accusation as it did.

Soren didn’t even flinch. “I did. Not the full story, and not since the beginning. I found out when she rescued you, and knew it wasn’t my place to say anything. Bellamy hasn’t told me what her and Esme discussed yesterday, but I imagine she had a way of suppressing the Bond on her end. I tried, and lasted all of a month before I wanted to—”

Soren cut himself off abruptly and I felt like I might be sick again. With an audible swallow, he restarted. “I didn’t enjoy keeping it from you, but it wasn’t my story to tell.”

“I respect you more for keeping your big mouth shut about it for five years,” I said, trying to bring some levity into the conversation even though there wasn’t a light bone in my entire body. “I’m honestly impressed.”

Soren laughed, the sound expanding towards the end, like his smile had widened over it. I tracked the line of his sight and found Bellamy at the other end of it, speaking to Esme.

The second Soren looked at her, her eyes shot up to hold onto his. Not a moment later, no, the actual second that intangible pressure landed, she felt it and knew it was him.

Shifting my gaze away and towards Esme, I found her doing the same, just in reverse. Following where Bellamy’s gaze was pointed, then to Soren. She had to have known I was standing here, but instead of looking at me, she trained her eyes to the ground.

My eyes narrowed, my hold on her form deepening. Even this far away, I could have sworn the muscle in her cheek twitched, as if her body was telling her to look at me, but her mind refused.

I wanted to take the sledgehammer in my hand and put it through my skull.

I settled for watching her. I could see out of my peripheral vision that Bellamy was approaching us, and Esme nodded in return at something she’d said.

Fuck it, I was letting myself stare. I could have described her with such unerring accuracy an artist could have replicated her likeness perfectly, but I’d never just looked.

Never allowed myself to. It had always felt wrong, when there wasn’t a Bond between us.

Now, I didn’t have the same resolve, knowing that she’d probably read it as me trying to get a rise out of her now that I knew what secrets she’d been keeping.

That was probably what my motivations should have been, but it didn’t seem quiet true.

My muddled thoughts notwithstanding, my eyes were firmly locked on Esme.

The soft smile that she gave Bellamy as she walked towards us, that line at deepened at the edge of her lips making an appearance. In the morning light, the soft brown of her hair shone like a river after a storm.

Despite everything, she stood proud and tall, agility and strength obvious in every little movement. In her athletic tank top, those long arms of hers were on full display, exposing smooth skin I’d never really touched. Skin I knew was dotted in tiny dark marks, not quite freckles, but something unique to her.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, irritation and something darker formed at the realization that I could only catalog those marks on her arms, plus a few on her upper chest and back.

So much of that area was covered by our Mark, the snake that delicately curved around her arm and shoulders, ending at some point on her left hip I’d only ever seen in small glimpses, but never the skin surrounding.

There were probably far more of those little dark marks on her legs or her stomach or her—

I shook my head, pulling myself back from the brink.

That line of thinking had been long forgotten—repressed, rather. Esme had been seventeen to my nineteen when we’d first been Matched, and she had still seemed so young.

When the years started to bleed away and Esme became unavoidable, I’d felt like an asshole for the thoughts that started to materialize.