Page 6 of Fey Empire (Fey Lords #5)

Chapter six

T his is a nice pencil. When it runs out, I’ll ask for the same brand. Actually, I’m going to need a new sketchbook soon. So, I should ask for more pencils at the same time. Running out is awful. Not being able to draw makes me feel itchy.

But that’s a problem for the future. Right now I have this lovely pencil, and there are several pages left in my sketchbook. The natural light from the large window is good, and it is comfy here, curled up on this settee.

Fey robes are heaps more comfortable than what Mother dresses me in. I like them. And since I’ve been dressed in them every day since I was presented to court, I guess I’m wearing them forever now.

The pencil flows over the thick paper. It’s hard not to hum contentedly, but Mother is sitting across from me.

I cast her a quick glance. She is doing something on her phone. Whatever it is, it has kept her quiet and nearly motionless for the last hour.

One day, I’d like to discover what it is about phones that keeps people so engrossed. Maybe Prince Selwyn will give me one?

I bite back my sigh. It has been three days since I was presented and Prince Llywelyn committed a public murder.

I’m starting to wonder if I will ever see Selwyn again.

He said he didn’t want me wandering around court while all this drama is unfolding.

But maybe I’m just an inconvenience, and it is a good excuse to keep me out of the way.

I twist my head and look up at the late spring sky through the thick pane of glass. Three days of being confined to these rooms is starting to wear on me.

I turn back to my drawing. A picture of the double doors that lead to the throne room. It is coming along nicely. I just need to work on the shading.

Behind the real-life version of these doors, right now, Prince Llywelyn’s trial is taking place.

I’ll be finding out soon enough if my confinement really is temporary.

My waist tingles with an echo of Selwyn’s touch. He put his arm around me. There was danger, and the very first thing he did was come to me and put his arm around me.

I thought that was a good sign.

But maybe he was merely protecting his property because having it damaged would make him look bad.

Suddenly, the door flies open and Lord Dunavon runs in.

“Prince Llywelyn was found guilty of a dishonourable killing! They opened a portal and banished him right there in the throne room!”

Mother jumps to her feet. “What are the implications for us? Can we turn it to our advantage?”

She walks over to the table. Lord Dunavon joins her. They begin a fast-paced discussion. Plotting, planning, scheming .

I tune it out and concentrate on my drawing. To think that I was foolish enough to believe that the fey invading Earth would mean Mother would stop all her manoeuvring. I should have known it was only just the beginning.

The door opens again, this time far more sedately, and Prince Selwyn strides in.

I scramble to my feet and drop into a curtsy. Mother and Lord Dunavon bow. Then Mother grabs Dunavon’s arm and pulls him towards the door.

“I’ll send a servant with some tea, Your Highness.”

Her green eyes fix on me with a very pointed look. She shuts the door behind her. I swallow. What did that look mean? Does she want me to seduce him? Surely she knows that I still don’t have a clue about how to do such a thing.

Nervously, I turn to face Selwyn, but he is looking over my shoulder, at the settee I was just sitting on.

He strides over to it and picks up my discarded sketchbook. I swallow uncomfortably. It is so unpleasant when people look at my drawings. Mother hasn’t done it for an age. She seems to now trust that I won’t draw pornography or anything inappropriate.

“This is good,” says Selwyn as he inspects my drawing.

My heart flutters. That’s awfully nice of him to say. He has no need to give me compliments.

He flicks back through my sketchbook while I twist my hands and sweat. Suddenly he stops and freezes on a page. His eyebrows lift.

Oh sweet goddess. I know exactly what he is looking at. It is the picture of him. I drew him sitting on the edge of a bed of rumpled sheets. Lounging back on his elbows. With ?most of his shirt buttons undone, revealing a very well-defined chest.

I’d probably be in trouble if Mother saw it. But this is worse. Far worse. The ground needs to open up and swallow me down. And my cheeks need to stop burning hot enough to make flames. Oh my. I’m going to be sick.

Selwyn pulls his gaze from the drawing to look at me. Whatever he was going to say is interrupted by a servant arriving with tea.

Thank heavens for small mercies. No, actually, this isn’t a small ?mercy, it is an enormous one. An incredible reprieve that I will forever be grateful for.

I hurry over to the table. Selwyn snaps my sketchbook shut and sets it carefully down on the small ornate side table next to the settee. Then he comes and joins me.

Tea. It’s just tea. I can do this. The fey have a ton more etiquette around it, but at the end of the day it is still tea. Teapot. Cups and saucers. Strainer. Milk. Honey. Sugar.

It’s a custom that British nobles share with the fey. Though actually, if we are descendants of the fey, then perhaps it is something we inherited from them?

Regardless, I am capable of pouring tea and making small talk.

I take a steadying breath and pick up the pretty silver teapot. I fill Prince Selwyn’s cup first, and then my own. Keeping my movements fluid and graceful.

Apparently, allowing the sleeve of your robe to slide down and flash your wrist, is flirtatious. But I have no idea how to do that with any subtly, so concentrating on not spilling the tea is going to have to do.

I place the teapot down. I offer Selwyn milk and honey. He declines both. Which is a bummer because according to fey etiquette, if I wish to show respect and obedience, I now can’t have any either.

The silence is stretching. Uncomfortably so. I am the host, I need to say something.

“I’m sorry to hear about your brother,” I blurt.

Damnit. So much for small talk. What have I done? I’m probably not even supposed to know this yet. Prince Selwyn is quite likely here to tell me the news and what he expects of me now.

Selwyn picks up his teacup and raises an eyebrow at me. “Why are you sorry?”

Crap. I have really put my foot in it, haven’t I? Is saying sorry an admission of guilt amongst the fey? It wouldn’t surprise me.

“Well… um…I thought it was sad,” I splutter uselessly. “You might miss him.”

Selwyn stares at me as if I am crazy. “He killed someone dishonourably.”

His eyes are narrow. His expression is twisted in to shock and disgust. But it is a mask. A carefully constructed one, but a mask nonetheless. One that I can see right through.

He is upset. Deeply so. But he doesn’t want me to know that. He certainly won’t want me to know I can read him. He seems to find the fact that I can see his wolf displeasing enough.

I lift my shaking cup to my lips and manage a tiny sip. “A few days earlier, he saved your brother’s life.”

A gentle statement of support should be an acceptable offering. I saw him drop to his knees and try to save his brother’s life. He has to be aware that I know he cares, at least a little.

Selwyn’s cup returns to its saucer with a clink. “Are you implying the two events are related?”

Oh hell. I’m terrible at this. All I have done is make him suspicious of me again. I’m really starting to understand the whole, vessels should be seen and not heard, rule. It’s time I started sticking to it. I just need to try to dig myself out of this hole first.

“I do not know. All I do know is that Prince Llywelyn may have had his reasons.”

Oh lord. What am I talking about? He doesn’t want to hear my opinions. A simple apology would have been better. Why am I waffling?

Selwyn picks up his cup. He slowly brings it to his lips. He takes a sip. All while his mahogany eyes bore into me.

“Perhaps you are not as empty-headed as you look.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

Selwyn blinks and puts his cup down. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Take my insults.” He frowns.

I lower my gaze. What does he want from me? I don’t understand. I’m pretty sure he has no wish for me to be argumentative.

A new uncomfortable silence grows and stretches. It is so hard not to squirm.

“Dyfri says you are very young. Barely of age.”

My head snaps back up. My stomach twists. I thought Dyfri’s visit was a secret. What else has he reported?

“He thinks I should postpone the wedding until you are older. ”

My heart jumps into my throat. Oh no. Mother will be furious. So very, very furious. And all the blame will be mine.

Selwyn sighs. “Don’t look so worried. I know your people would not be happy with a delay, and since the whole point of this marriage is to form an alliance, it seems my hands are tied.”

My jaw is still hanging open. I snap it shut. The horror has been averted. He is not calling the wedding off. But my heart is still hammering, and my hands are now trembling.

He picks his cup up again. As if he didn’t just frighten the life out of me. Shakily, I try to copy him.

Tea. We are simply two people enjoying tea together. Everything is fine.

We drink in silence. I’m all out of conversation. If I try, I’ll only say something stupid again. If he wishes to talk, he is going to have to come up with something. I have learnt my lesson.

I watch him through my eyelashes. He doesn’t look annoyed by the silence. And he looks very handsome today. Extremely princely. He just did come from a hearing, so it makes sense that his hair and clothes are perfect.

He places his cup down. It’s empty.

“The tea was pleasant.”

Oh. I don’t need to pour more. He is leaving.

“The date for our wedding has been set for the next full moon.”

Oh sweet goddess. I stare at him with my mouth agape, but he simply turns and strides out of the room .

My heart is pounding so hard that it is making it impossible to form a single thought. I’ve broken out in ?a cold sweat.

Talk about dropping a bombshell. I’m not sure I’m ever going to recover.