Page 90 of Gods' Battleground

Of course.

I glanced at Damiel.

“Don’t look at me, Leda,” he said, chuckling. “Nero isyourhusband.”

“And he’s your son.”

“I fail to see how that is relevant to this discussion.”

“You raised him.”

“Only partially,” Damiel argued. “General Silverstar is the one responsible for Nero’s fundamental distrust of desserts.” He looked at Calli. “You should really work on that.”

“Actually, Rhydian is quite fond of desserts,” she said. “Especially my desserts.”

I snorted.

Calli rolled her eyes at me. “That wasnotmeant to be a double entendre, Leda.”

“You should have thought of that before you said it,” I laughed.

“Yes, I should have known you couldn’t be mature about this.”

“Hey, I’m very mature.” I reached for another cookie.

Sierra slapped my hand. “No more cookies!”

I retracted my hand, sighing.

“Rules are for mommies too!” Sierra added.

Calli was cracking up. And so was Damiel.

“Laugh it up, Grandpa,” I told him with a smirk. “Yougot told off too.”

Sierra and Eira flashed him dual grins.

“Well, it looks like everything is in order here,” I said, licking the last crumbs off my fingers. “I’ll just go check on the hungry troops now.”

Calli returned her attention to the meatballs. Damiel started frying up some potato pancakes. And the two mini chefs went back to making mountains of cookies.

As the kitchen door swung shut behind me, I heard Damiel ask Calli, “So you’re sleeping with Silverstar, right?”

I chuckled. Damiel had never really shed his Interrogator past. He always had to know everything that was going on. He was nosy like that.

I headed into the banquet hall and grabbed a tray, loading it up with lots of food from the buffet. Right around the time I made it to the mashed potatoes, I caught a glimpse of Nero standing under one of the archways, talking to a Legion soldier. The man was obviously cut from the same cloth as Nero. They moved alike. Stood alike. Breathed alike. They even tied their bootlaces alike.

The mystery soldier had Nero’s build, tall and muscular. But they both moved smoothly, fluidly, more like panthers than tanks.

The man’s hair was dark and short, yet just a tad longer than the typical Legion cut. Like he was rebelling in a subtle way. Ok, a very, very subtle way. The rest of his appearance was perfectly to regulation—from his smooth black leather uniform, to the buckles on his weapon straps, all even and identical.

“Leda?”

I turned toward the guy who’d spoken my name. It was Alec.

“Sorry, Alec. I’m a little distracted,” I said as I sat down, joining him, Ivy, and Drake at the table.

It was nice being here with the old gang. It brought back memories of my early Legion days.

---