Page 17 of Fey Divinity

I’m drawn to the living room by the sound of voices. Is the TV on? I open the door and pause. Dyfri is not alone.

He is sitting at a table that is piled high with small sandwiches and cakes and a very fancy tea set. At the table with him, is a strikingly beautiful young fey man with purple hair.

I blink. That is Prince Mabon, Dyfri’s brother, but how did he get here? There was no doorbell. No announcement of any visitors.

Prince Mabon looks up at me. “Oh, here is the brute. Come join us.”

Robotically, I walk across the room and sit in an empty chair. I’m not entirely sure if it’s of my own free will.

Mabon scrutinises me intensely. “He’d look much better naked. With a collar.”

My jaw drops open. No words come out, which isn’t surprising as there are hardly any thoughts in my head right now. Shock has cleared out my mind.

Mabon picks up his teacup. “Is his cock as big as the rest of him?”

“Yes,” replies Dyfri calmly as he carefully smears cream onto a scone.

Mabon makes a noise that sounds like a happy sigh. “I bet it is not as big as Mr Dinky, but that’s still nice for you.”

My jaw, somehow, drops even lower.

Mabon’s eyes suddenly widen. “Oh. I guess for you, it is not so ideal.” He turns to his brother with a look of real concern in his eyes.

Dyfri looks up and winces at Mabon’s expression. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

Mabon frowns and glances back at me. “Have you put him in his place yet?”

“He is not my pet, he is my husband,” says Dyfri before taking a delicate bite of his scone.

The purple-haired prince makes a dismissive gesture, one that rattles all the silver bracelets on his narrow wrist. “Meh, same thing.”

My jaw snaps shut, and I find myself glaring at my uninvited guest. Mabon’s eyes are a purple several shades darker than his hair, and they narrow at my stare, but I don’t care. He is rude.

And far worse than that, I suddenly realise as my slow mind eventually catches up, Mabon didn’t stop whatever terrible things happened to Dyfri. He can’t have.

All my thoughts and conclusions from this morning are rushing back. My mind is whirling, putting the jigsaw pieces together, and it’s presenting me with an indisputable fact. If this man sitting at my table was a good brother, my husband would not be scared of people.

Mabon’s lips curl down. “Dyfri, why is it glaring at me?”

Dyfri doesn’t look at me. He just shrugs. “How should I know?”

The snooty, lilac-haired prince makes a displeased sound before turning his attention back to his brother, dismissing me entirely.

He takes another sip of his tea, then unexpectedly he squeals loudly.

Dyfri doesn’t flinch or look up from spreading jam on his new scone. It seems he is used to his brother being dramatic.

“Oh! How could I forget that you are no longer a rho… I mean, I can give you braids now!”

He jumps up from his seat and hurries over to my husband. He stands behind him, plays with his long dark hair for a moment, before selecting a strand and beginning to weave a plait in it with nimble fingers.

All without asking, I notice.

“First, a brother braid,” he chats happily. “Then a best-friend one.”

Dyfri nibbles his scone, but I see the small, pleased smile.

“Rhydian will have one for you,” Mabon says breezily. “As will Tristan and Selwyn. You can visit Loo-loo for his. Jamie will have ones to give you, and Laurie owes you an apology braid.”