Bellamy takes the wine and holds the cup in his hand with a grip that suggests he would rather smash the cup in Lexa's face than drink it. That's what Leliana means by 'for the pain', right? For causing pain.

He does not like the itch of scrutiny, of sitting under the spymaster's gaze. Then again, he subjected himself to this, so he endures it without comment or prompting, a muscle working in his cheek. When, finally, the next question comes, it's not one that he likes either.

He doesn't look at Lexa. They didn't corroborate this. They aren't here to discuss what's passed between them. How badly does he want to say it? We met when she betrayed me and everyone I care about. Said she'd help us, then left us for dead. And then he'd have to talk about Clarke. Clarke, her face pale and worried, something beyond worry, a certainty and a fear and a resolution, the same that Bellamy had felt. They had all made choices. Lexa's won't get her executed.

And if he doesn't answer first, who knows what the hell answer Lexa will give.

"My people crossed her lands, looking for safety." Bellamy gets there first, grits the words out. They're all true. "The Avvar took offense to us being there. We've had our run-ins."

There. Partial truth. He leaves it simple, leaves it for Lexa to try to contradict.