Page 19 of Fey Empire (Fey Lords #5)

Chapter eighteen

S elwyn lopes purposefully towards the cottage. There is no other choice but to continue hurrying after him. If I slow down at all, I might get lost.

Suddenly, I startle as a man appears, walking around the side of the cottage, carrying a wooden bucket. He sees us, drops the bucket, and rushes over to stand in the gateway of the cottage’s garden, blocking Selwyn’s path.

The man looks human, and as I stare at him, I realise I have seen him before.

This is the man who held Llywelyn in his arms after the prince had been shot.

The same man who scooped the prince up into a bridal carry after he stabbed the blue-haired noble.

This is Llywelyn’s pet, although he is not wearing a collar now.

I didn’t think anyone had been banished along with Llywelyn? But Selwyn doesn’t seem at all surprised to see him.

“Greetings!” Selwyn says affably. “I have brought a gift. Food is easy to hunt or grow, but cloth is difficult to weave, and expensive to buy.”

The human stares longingly at the bolts of cloth in Selwyn’s arms. He licks his lips. His clothes are clean, but they do look very tatty .

Selwyn holds out the cloth. The human doesn’t take it. He doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t move, either. Let alone invite us in. His dark eyes are stern and unflinching. Why doesn’t he want Selwyn to be here?

The cottage door opens. Llywelyn stands, framing the crooked doorway. His white robes are far simpler than anything I’ve seen at court. And his horns are gone.

Holy goddess. Is that part of his punishment? That has to be awful.

My gaze tracks over where his horns should be. And then down the long golden plait that is in front of his shoulder and weaving down to near the top of his stomach.

I blink. He had short hair a little over a month ago. Not even to his jaw.

My stomach twists uneasily. “Time runs differently here,” Selwyn said.

That certainly seems to be true. How long has it been for Llywelyn and his former pet? How long have they been in exile?

“They can come in,” Llywelyn says softly.

The human nods, takes the bolts of cloth, and steps aside. Selwyn walks forward almost jauntily. As if he is completely oblivious to the hostility in the air.

I swallow and lower my head as I follow Selwyn up the garden path. The human steps behind me, and I shudder.

We enter the cottage, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the shade after the bright summer sun.

There are cool flagstones under my feet. Crooked rafters not far above my head. The far wall is almost all taken up by a fireplace. A fire burns merrily in the hearth. I spy a large wooden sink in one corner, under a small latticed window.

There is a large, sturdy oak table taking up most of the room. To my left is a closed door of weathered wooden slats. I’m guessing the bedroom is behind it.

It’s lovely in here. So cosy and homely. But I don’t want to live here. There isn’t any room for a start.

“Please, have a seat,” Llywelyn says as he gestures at the table. His tone is calm, but there is a frantic edge to him. Why is he not happy to see his brother? Is he worried about getting in trouble for breaking his exile?

Selwyn moves towards the table. He pulls out an ancient-looking chair. He pauses and picks up something from the seat. He holds it aloft.

It looks like a rattle for a baby. A hand-carved one.

Llywelyn pales.

The human snatches the rattle from Selwyn’s fingers. “I’m practicing carpentry so we can trade more things at the market.”

Selwyn nods and sits down. He pulls out the chair next to him and gestures to me. I sit down too.

Llywelyn steps up to the fire with jerky movements. He picks up a large bronze kettle and places it on the flames. Then, he and his pet join us at the table.

A tense silence settles. Outside, the birds are singing and the sun is shining.

Finally, the kettle boils. Llywelyn stands and busies himself with making tea. As he reaches for cups on a high shelf, the narrow cupboard beside him clatters open and a wooden drying rack falls out onto the stone floor.

The drying rack is full of squares of white cotton .

The human moves swiftly and shoves the drying rack back into the cupboard and shuts the door. Who puts a drying rack away with laundry still on it? And why so many large napkins?

Actually, I think they might be nappies.

“How is the child?” Selwyn asks genially.

Llywelyn says, “What child?” at the exact same time as the human snaps, “There is no child.”

The look in the man’s eyes is cold and dark. Murderous and calculating. I can see my death in his eyes.

“Forgive me, Brother,” Selwyn says in that same merry tone. “I saw your parent braid, and I assumed.”

Llywelyn’s long, elegant fingers fly up to his hair. To the small braid woven along his temple. He pales even more. Then he takes in a breath and puffs out his chest and tilts his chin to a haughty angle.

“I am very proud of… our chickens. I consider them my children.”

“Ah, I see, how delightful,” beams Selwyn. “Is the tea ready yet? I’m parched.”

Llywelyn scurries into movement and in no time at all, the table is set and tea is poured. None of the cups match, and the porcelain is chipped. The tea, however, is delicious.

“Are you enjoying the fey court?”

I blink. Oh goodness. That was the human, speaking to me!

“Oh yes, thank you! Very much!” I blurt incoherently before biting my bottom lip.

“It is still our honeymoon. Laurie hasn’t even had one moon to settle in!” snaps Selwyn .

Llywelyn and his human look at each other, then they look at me and Selwyn with raised eyebrows. I flush and busy myself with my tea.

Everyone else copies me and takes a sip of their tea while they compose themselves.

“Is Dyfri wed?” asks Llywelyn.

“No, not yet,” Selwyn answers.

“Is he happy?”

Selwyn shrugs. “Who can say? Dyfri is Dyfri. It was Mabon who pestered me to check on you. Shall I tell him you are happy?”

Llywelyn shares another look with his human. This time his face softens. His eyes glow, and a smile lights up his face.

“Yes,” he breathes without looking away from his man.

My heart flutters. How lovely. I’d give anything to have someone look at me that way. Like I’m everything precious and wonderful.

The sound of a chair scraping across flagstones makes me wince. Selwyn has abruptly got to his feet.

“Well, we must be off!” he declares.

I scramble to my feet. As do Llywelyn and his human.

“Farewell, Brother,” says Selwyn, and then he is turning and striding out of the door. He is halfway down the garden path before my feet think to move. He said, ‘We’. ‘We must be off.’ I guess that means he is not leaving me here after all.

I catch up with him breathlessly at the edge of the woods. “I thought you were going to ask if I could stay?” I gasp.

Selwyn doesn’t slow. He doesn’t look back at me.

“They will not risk their secret to grant me a favour,” he growls .

Secret? Oh the baby. Which, now I’ve had a chance to think about, it’s clear they must have stolen. Just like all the old tales of the fey. Stealing babies isn’t very nice, but if it is a fey custom, why the secrecy? Unless it is someone important’s baby?

Sweet goddess. I really do not have a head for plots.

I cannot make head nor tail of this. But that’s fine.

I’m only a consort and a vessel. I don’t need to know much.

And right now the wonderful facts of the matter are, Selwyn is not dumping me in the fey lands.

He is taking me back to Buckingham Palace, where I will have more opportunities to win him over and get him to like me.

And then I can prove to everyone that I am happy and that I can do this, and that they don’t need to intervene and whisk me away and cause all sorts of trouble.

Selwyn strides into the stone circle. He stops so suddenly, I nearly crash into his back. He whirls and stares down at me. His eyes are wide and frantic.

“I didn’t see this,” he says. “I didn’t see the child.”

I stare wordlessly at him.

“My sight is failing. Twisting.”

He grabs my biceps, and a small squeak escapes me. “What if it is also false? What if in this reality I never earn your love?”

His pupils are dilated. Wide and dark. Round now and no longer slitted. The iris around them is swirling with browns, golds and ambers. I cannot name the emotions I am witnessing, but I can tell they are intense. Deep and all-consuming.

I do not know what is going on. I don’t understand what he is saying. Is he saying he wants me to love him?

His eyes close. He takes a deep breath .

A portal opens.

He holds onto me as we step through it, but as soon as gravity corrects itself and I can stand on my own two feet in his breakfast room, he lets go of me. His hands leave my arms, and he walks away. The door swings shut behind him.

I stare at it.

My insides are in knots. My mind is whirling. I thought I could do this. I thought I could be a good consort for a fey prince. But it is becoming so very clear that I’m vastly out of my depth.

I have no idea what to do. And no one to ask.