Page 79 of Bonds of Pain
“You look like you’re contemplating jumping out that window.”
I turn to find Cillian beside me, his ice-chip eyes scanning the crowd before settling on me. The bond between us pulses with his awareness of my discomfort.
“Just weighing my options,” I mutter. “Third floor might not be high enough.”
His mouth quirks. “The Enclave didn’t prepare you for royal gatherings?”
I shoot him a withering look. For some reason, I don’t feel any need to hide my frustration from him. Maybe it’s the bond, compelling me to honesty. “Oh sure, between ‘How to Please Your Alpha’ and ‘Proper Posture for Breeding,’ they squeezed in ‘Emotionally Reconciling a Corrupted Bond with a Future King and His Bodyguard Turned Secret Lover Who Hates You.’ It was my favorite class.”
I expect anger, but Cillian’s expression softens slightly. “I don’t hate you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I don’t,” he insists, taking my empty glass and setting it on a passing server’s tray. “In fact, under different circumstances, I think I would like you very much. You’re funny, at least. That’s not something I can say about any other woman that Logan has entertained over the years.”
The admission catches me off guard. I search his face for signs of manipulation but find only a quiet sincerity that’s more dangerous than any lie.
Before I can decide how to respond, Cillian nods toward a cluster of women near the orchestra. “See the woman in the purple dress? That’s Countess Renfield. Rumor has it she’s had three husbands, and each died more mysteriously than the last.”
I follow his gaze. “The one with the peacock feather in her hair?”
“That’s the one. And the man she’s talking to? Lord Barclay. Claims to be the greatest hunter in Melilla, but actually pays locals to kill the animals he poses with.”
Despite myself, I feel my lips twitch upward. “What about the couple by the dessert table?”
“Ah, the Duchess and Duke of Westfield. They hate each other so much they live at opposite ends of their estate. They only appear together at events like this, and they’ve perfected the art of smiling while plotting each other’s demise. It’s fairly well-established that she tried to poison him at a gala last year.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re making that up.”
“I wish I were,” Cillian says, his eyes dancing with something almost like mischief. “Court is just elaborate theater. Might as well enjoy the show until it’s your turn on stage.”
“If I’m playing a part, I wish I’d done a little more research before auditioning,” I say, tracing the rim of a water glass a server just placed in my hand. “The role of future queen with a fake mate and an involuntary bond with his secret Omega lover wasn’t exactly covered in my Enclave training.”
Cillian’s expression shifts, the playfulness fading into something more somber. He stares into the crowd, but I can tell he’s seeing something else entirely.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “For how I treated you when you arrived. This—“ he gestures vaguely between us “—is exactly what I hoped to avoid. I never wanted anyone else dragged into our mess.”
“Why can’t you just hate him?” I ask, knowing I don’t need to use a name for us both to know exactly who I’m talking about.
Cillian’s eyes find mine, a sad smile playing at his lips. “For the same reason you can’t hate me.”
His words might as well be an arrow to the chest. Because he’s right. Despite everything, despite knowing I should despise Cillian for his part in my captivity, I don’t. The bond betweenus makes it impossible to truly hate him, just as his bond with Logan creates the same conflict for him.
But if Logan deserves to be punished, then Cillian does too. I can’t let hormones and mysticism distract me from what I need to do.
I open my mouth to tell him to keep his fake sentiment to himself when a smooth voice speaks from behind me.
“I believe this is the part where I tell you your new pack Omega is absolutely lovely, Cillian. How delightful to see you again, Maya. Or, soon to be Princess Maya, I suppose. Bonding seems to agree with you.”
The voice slides over my shoulder like a knife. I jump, my body reacting before my brain can catch up. I’ve heard that voice in my nightmares too many times not to recognize it immediately.
Dr. Sionis Thane stands behind me, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that matches the steel in his eyes. His smile is polite, professional, and completely at odds with the predatory gleam I recognize all too well.
“Dr. Thane,” I manage, my voice barely steady. “What a surprise.”
“Is it?” His gaze flicks to my necklace, the Corellian crest sitting at my throat. “I would think the future queen would expect to see the royal inquisitor at court functions.”
I want to run. My gaze flicks to the nearest exit, and the throng of people standing between me and the ballroom doors. But where would I go? There isn’t anywhere left to run.
