Page 117 of Burdened Bonds
My bond spirals inside me.
He jolts, shock and pain and fear rushing across his face.
My feet carry me forward.
“Tristan!” I cry because I can’t hold it in, despite knowing I should, despite knowing I’m a fool, despite anticipating how dangerous this is; I can’t help myself.
For a split second an expression of confusion hovers on his face and then, then the mask of indifference slams down. His eyes glaze and he peers down his nose at me like he’s always done.
“Pig girl,” he says, his voice emotionless and cold. And it’s like it always is, it always was. His disdain for me and his disgust. And a shard of ice hits me through our bond.
I am a fool, a stupid, stupid fool to ever believe, to ever think, to ever wish …
Tristan Kennedy is his father’s son. As cold, as heartless, as cruel. He never wanted me, he’s never cared about me, he’s always resisted this. Our bonding was accidental, unintentional, something he most definitely regrets with every fiber of his stuck-up body. I doubt he’s even felt one drop of pain at our separation.
His dad laughs.
“Ahhh, yes, I heard that’s what they called you at the academy. On the account of that revolting little pig you stubbornly refused to be parted with.” The man shakes his head. “A little trouble maker right from the start. A waste of time and space, isn’t she, son?”
I glance at Tristan but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring straight ahead into space, his eyes blank, as if beingdragged here for this conversation is the dullest thing he’s ever been made to endure.
“There’s nothing special about her,” Tristan says, his voice just as bored as his expression, almost robot-like. “I’ve told you countless times. She’s not worth your time or your interest.”
Despite my best efforts, the hurt his words cause me reflects on my face. Christopher Kennedy smirks at me.
“Now, now, Pig Girl,” he chuckles, “no need to be upset. You didn’t really believe my son was interested in you?”
“I’m not interested in your, or your son’s, petty games,” I spit, finding my tongue at last.
Anger flashes in his eyes. “Yes, I’ve heard about your temper and your ill-manners.”
“It’s your son’s manners that leave a lot to be desired.”
“Oh, I’m not talking about my son.” He points to Tristan, motionless and quiet beside him. I peer at him. He’s like a shell of his usual self. None of the usual swagger and arrogance. “I heard it from another, very reliable witness who tells me you have a penchant for attacking other students.”
I growl, guessing exactly who he means.
“Summer Clutton-Brock is a spoiled little bitch obsessed with petty revenge and–”
“On the contrary, I’ve found my future daughter-in-law to be a very reliable informant and a most willing aid. Very keen toserveme.” The smallest of frowns flickers across Tristan’s brow and I jolt.
Daughter-in-law? Summer Clutton-Brock? Did I hear that right? I can’t have heard that right!
“No,” I mutter, not realizing I’ve said the word out loud until it falls from my lips.
“Yes. Tristan Kennedy and Summer Clutton-Brock are engaged to be married. It will make a very good match.Joining two powerful families together. And a high-society wedding – I hate to flatter myself – but aroyalwedding – is just what the people need after all they’ve been through. Some joy. Some cheer. Everybody likes a wedding. And Miss Clutton-Brock will make an especially beautiful bride.”
My knees begin to shake and I can’t make them stop. I knew Tristan Kennedy was an asshole. I knew all along he didn’t really care about me. But there’s no denying we are fated mates – no matter what his father might say – fated mates who have sealed the bond, who are bound to be together forever. How … how could he marry someone else? How could hebewith anyone else?
My bond pangs inside me, adamant this can’t be true.
“No,” I mutter again, shaking my head as my legs continue to tremble, “no, he wouldn’t–”
“Tell her, Tristan.”
“Summer and I are extremely happy,” Tristan says, eyes still blank, voice still monotone. “And very much in love. We hope to be married as soon as the arrangements can be made.”
“Ahhh,” Christopher Kennedy says, “and here she is. The beautiful bride-to-be herself.”
