Page 7 of Fey Empire (Fey Lords #5)

Chapter seven

T hree days ago, Prince Selwyn dropped the bombshell that our wedding is to be in a month. Today, I have been invited to have tea with Prince Consort Jamie Wyf Rhydianogi. The Crown Prince’s consort. The ordinary human man who used to be the Crown Prince’s pet.

I am surprised Mother didn’t want me to try to poison him so that I could take his place. Because I’m sure she must be annoyed that the Crown Prince is already married.

But she hasn’t given me any orders. She just shooed me out of the door, and now I am following this grumpy pink-haired servant through the halls of Buckingham Palace.

Mother is probably plotting something even more nefarious. Such as assassinating the Crown Prince and putting Selwyn on the throne, and making her son Crown Prince Consort that way.

She probably thinks that Selwyn would be easier to control than Rhydian. Softer. Less dangerous.

I shudder. Why can no one see what Prince Selwyn really is?

My thoughts are distracted by the pink-haired servant throwing open a pair of double doors and leading me into a lovely sitting room .

Oh my goodness. We are already here. I didn’t even have time to worry properly.

I drop into a quick curtsy and then look up. Prince Consort Jamie is not alone. Sitting at the beautifully laid table with him are two others. A large, very muscled man wearing barely anything. And a tiny, extraordinarily pretty man with long blond hair.

The Prince Consort smiles at me and beckons me over. He is beautiful, with brown hair and kind eyes. I can see how the Crown Prince fell for him.

“Lawrence!” he beams. “This is Blake, Prince Mabon’s pet, and Ollie, Prince Tristan’s pet.”

My eyes slide to the pretty collars around their necks. I pull my gaze away before I am caught staring.

“Delighted to meet you,” I say.

“Come, sit down.” Jamie pulls out the seat next to him.

I step towards it.

“Oh!” he says suddenly. “Is it alright if I call you Lawrence? I should have asked. Should it be Lord something or other?”

Bless him. Vessels are not granted any titles until they are married. Unless they are in the rare position of inheriting. But he doesn’t need to know any of that.

I stare into his kind eyes and lick my lips. I glance around the table. I frigging hate the name Lawrence, but Mother will be angry if I don’t use it. But soon these people will be my family, and hopefully in the future I will be spending more time with them than with her.

I suck in a shaky breath. “My friends call me Laurie.”

That’s a lie, because I don’t have any friends. But again, that’s not something he needs to know .

“Laurie! How lovely!” His warm brown eyes flash. I think he has been at the fey court long enough to believe in the importance and power of names.

I take my seat. Jamie pours me a cup of tea. I thought the lowest-ranked person poured the tea? Is he honouring me, or simply being human and informal and not caring about etiquette?

I mumble some thanks and sip the tea. I guess I’ll never know.

I glance up and find vivid green eyes staring at me intently. A lazy coil of magic drifts over me. Oh, that’s interesting. Prince Tristan’s pet is a vessel. The few times we have been in the same room, it has been with hundreds of other people. I didn’t notice his magic.

“Do you know Luci? Count Consort Felford?” he asks. “He’s all fancy like you.”

I carefully place my teacup down. “Sadly, I have not had the pleasure.”

I may have attended a ball or other social function where he was present, but I don’t recall. Which is a shame since he is a legendary figure now. A vessel so powerful, he enabled his husband to open the portals and allow the fey to return.

I wonder how Prince Tristan’s pet knows him? It’s pretty clear Ollie isn’t nobility, despite being a vessel. It’s also pretty clear he has a lot of fey blood in his ancestry. He is an intriguing person, that’s for sure.

Suddenly, the door opens, and Prince Dyfri strides in.

My first instinct is to politely get to my feet and give him a curtsy, but then I remember my latest fey etiquette lesson.

No bowing or curtsying to rhocyn. Even if they are also a prince.

I still have no idea what a rhocyn is, or why Prince Dyfri is one.

But at least I know how to behave around them.

“So sorry the servants couldn’t find me to deliver my invitation,” Dyfri says sweetly.

Oh crumbs. There isn’t another place setting. He definitely wasn’t invited.

Jamie flushes red. “Pinky, can you set another place, please?”

The pink-haired servant scowls, but quickly sets another place. Dyfri sits down and picks up the teapot. As he pours himself a cup of tea, he speaks.

“Or is this a human-only gathering?”

“Of course not!” Jamie splutters indignantly.

Blake shifts uncomfortably. Ollie is glaring down at his teacup. The bright sunny window behind them seems incongruous with their discomfort.

“Ah! I get it,” says Dyfri as he brings his teacup to his lips. “You didn’t want to scare the delicate flower.”

His dark eyes look right at me. I hastily look away. Am I a delicate flower? Quite possibly. However, I’m almost certain that most people are scared of Prince Dyfri, and it is not just me. The whole half-unseelie thing is terrifying enough, and that is without even meeting him.

“Have you heard from Llywelyn?” Ollie’s question sounds more like a demand, and the way he is glaring at Dyfri is not exactly friendly.

Dyfri picks up a scone and a knife. He starts delicately slicing the scone in half. “Llywelyn was exiled. That means nobody talks to him or knows where he is. I’m surprised you do not understand the meaning of the word.”

Ollie’s face turns thunderous. “I’d call you an asshole, but you’d get all petty and poison me for it. ”

Dyfri reaches for the clotted cream. “I’m glad you have learnt your lesson.”

Ollie’s face scrunches up even more, and he slumps back in his chair with a little growl of frustration.

Okay, these two clearly have a history and clearly do not get along. I wonder what the story is there?

I peek at Jamie. He looks long-suffering and not particularly worried. So, I guess this is all fairly normal. Perhaps it is more a personality clash than anything too bitter?

Jamie picks up a slice of a strange-looking fruit. “Llywelyn being exiled is such bullshit. Prys was a jerk.”

“Llywelyn is a jerk,” huffs Blake.

Ollie sits up straight. “I’m a jerk, and you all put up with me.”

“True enough,” remarks Dyfri as he slathers cream onto his scone.

For a moment, I think Ollie is going to launch off his chair and attack the prince. But he remains seated. While glaring viciously.

“Laurie, I’m so sorry. I promise you we can behave in a civilised manner.”

He gives Ollie and then Dyfri what I think is meant to be a stern look. I think it looks adorable, but then again I’ve grown up with my mother. This is like hearing a Pomeranian puppy growl when you have a hellhound at home.

Ollie sees Jamie’s look and huffs. Dyfi sees it and rolls his eyes.

This is the strangest tea party I have ever been to. I’m starting to understand how Alice in Wonderland must have felt .

“So, as I was saying,” Dyfri says calmly. “Something needs to be done about our delicate flower.”

I inhale a little tea, and my eyes water as I try not to cough. Oh goddess, please don’t involve me in anything. Anything at all. Let me be a quiet, unobtrusive observer.

I look up at Dyfri in dread, but he is staring at Jamie. “You need to get your husband to postpone the wedding.”

Jamie’s expression falls, and his cheeks heat. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? You have my big brother wrapped around your little finger.”

“It’s not as simple as that!” protests Jamie.

“There are so many human plots. Outright rebellion for one. Others are trying to overthrow Rhydian. We really need an alliance with human magic-wielders to help uncover them all. And they are adamant that the wedding needs to happen before they will help.”

That really does sound like my mother. Though in her defence, offering services before receiving payment is risky.

And fey are notorious for their deals. Even ordinary humans have heard those tales.

She doesn’t want them wriggling out of the wedding once she has given them everything she has to offer.

Dyfri frowns as he reaches for another scone. “He is too young. He is barely of age.”

Blake inhales. Ollie and Jamie go strangely tense.

Dyfri looks up. His eyes narrow. “Don’t.” He points at each of them with the butter knife in his hand. “Get that look out of your eyes right now.”

Everyone drops their gaze. Unspoken things are weighing the air down. Heavy and oppressive. I can not stand it .

“I’m looking forward to the wedding!” I blurt.

Four pairs of eyes turn to me. Four expressions of incredulous disbelief. None of them believe me at all.

I swallow. “I was raised for this, well not a fey prince. But a duke or earl, with magic. So, not this exactly. But close enough.”

Oh dear lord, I am waffling. And they are all still staring at me with utter skepticism.

“I’m not a normal human. I was raised with magic and knowing paranormal creatures are real. I’ve been trained my whole life to be someone’s consort. If the fey hadn't arrived, I would have been married on my eighteenth birthday. So, yes, I am young, but I’m ready.”

I’m not brave enough to look at anyone now. The silence is deafening.

“And Prince Selwyn is nice!” I blabber.

Murmurs ripple around the table. People resume moving again.

“Selwyn is nice,” agrees Jamie.

The others nod. Even Dyfri looks as if he reluctantly agrees.

Something coils deep in my guts. Selwyn really does have everyone fooled. How does he do it?

“So when is Rhydian marrying you off?” Ollie says to Dyfri.

The Prince snorts as he puts cream on his second scone. “Never.”

Oh. Is he bluffing, or does he really not know? Or maybe the rumours I heard were unfounded. Although a union with the Prime Minister’s son does sound strategic to me.

“Shame,” snipes Ollie. “You might have had to leave the palace. ”

Dyfri narrows his eyes.

Jamie puts his cup down forcefully. The clink of porcelain rings out. Neither Ollie nor Dyfri turn to look at Jamie, but they both back down.

Jamie lets out a breath and pours more tea, refilling everyone's cups.

“Why though?” says Ollie. “Human alliances are clearly needed. And they won’t care about…” he trails off and gestures at Dyfri’s long hair.

Dyfri places his knife down on the table with great precision. Dark, cold, magic seeps into the air. Glittering and discordant. Like endless voices screaming in the void.

“Whoa! Sorry!” exclaims Ollie as he holds his hands up in surrender.

Dyfri glares at him as his magic slithers towards the pet, and Ollie grows paler and paler.

“Please don’t poison me,” whispers Ollie.

Blake and Jamie exchange confused glances. Oh, of course. They don’t have any magic. They have no idea what is going on. They only know that these two are staring at each other.

Dyfri huffs out a breath, shakes his head in weary exasperation and then relaxes back in his chair. His obsidian magic slinks back to him. The air clears and lightens. He picks up his scone, and everyone breathes again.

That was impressive. I’ve never felt magic like that before. Strangely, I’m far more intrigued than frightened. And actually, I’m a little less scared of Dyfri now. Someone who has that much power but doesn’t use it to take his brother’s throne, can’t be a bad person.

Jamie shoots me a pained, apologetic smile .

I smile back at him. He doesn’t need to apologise. He invited me to tea, and that is an amazing thing, all of itself. It has also gifted me with meeting some of my future family. The people at this table are all going to be my in-laws.

And I have discovered that they care. They may be crazy, and dangerous. But they are also clearly kindhearted.

There is a chance I might fit in. They might be able to tolerate me, since they are used to oddness. They are already trying to welcome me.

And that is more wonderful than words can say.