Don't Let Go (Third Book to the Other Side)

Chapter Twenty Five

"Why do you look so nervous?"

The air smelled sweet, a byproduct of all the flowers scattered strategically through the room decorated to mimic a temple of some sorts or something. The failed attempt at music carried easily through the air, lacking all depth and feeling that I had come to depend on. But there was a harsh, frenzied feeling that permeated through the atmosphere, touching everybody gathered at the table.

"Do I?" I returned underneath my breath while one of his generals went on and on about something that hardly mattered. I forced myself to meet the King's gaze.

He seemed unimpressed by my attempt to shrug it off. "Yes. You do. Is everything okay?" His hand slid across the arm of his chair slightly, but I had no doubts he had every intention of doing it. I shifted, moving my own closer. It didn't mean anything, but the more he believed me, the better. It was a game, a dance, and if I didn't win, my blood would stain the marble floor underneath our feet.

"It's just another meeting," he said, shaking his head firmly as if trying to work it out himself. "You didn't seem so upset at the last one."

I shrugged, caving in on myself. "My apologies, Your Ma—"

"Don't."

"Pardon me?"

"You know I hate it when you call me that, Thomas," he said, leaning his face on his hand. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Are we?"

"I'd like to think so."

I held a sigh and glanced up at the ceiling. The stars shimmered in through the window, but I wasn't sure if I felt relieved and safe or scrutinized by their presence. Their stares certainly seemed to burn into my skin. A cloud rolled in front of the moon, and my jaw tightened.

A hand on my back. I flinched as though the touch had burned me, a hand flying to the dagger belted at my side even before I knew what I was doing.

"Sorry, sorry!" George exclaimed immediately, and it was perhaps the first time I heard a genuine apology from him in quite some time. "I forgot."

I nodded, folding my hands behind my back, and returned to observing the meeting.

"Thomas, is there something you want to talk to me about?"

"Of course not," I returned sharply. The small object sitting in my pocket felt as though I was carrying a stone. It was cool to the touch, somewhat of a reminder of what my mission here was. Not unpleasant, but not entirely comfortable either.

But the vine wrapped around my wrist was all I needed to relax.

At the other side of the table, somebody cleared their throat, making me jump in surprise. "Uh, My King?"

"Yes?" George returned, waving a hand in sheer boredom.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes, yes. Please, continue."

"Well, I—"

"Oh, enough!" exclaimed Cornwallis, throwing his fist against the table and practically leaping to his feet. "Are we really going to dance past the elephant in the room? One of our most valuable prisoners is missing, and the man standing right next to you is the person who did it!" He let out a huff of air, meeting my gaze with an angry scowl. "If you can even call it a man."

The words sunk in, ripping at my flesh, but I only tilted my head questioningly, waiting for an order.

"Oh," George said, not bothered in the slightest. "Is that all?"