Page 8 of Fey Sovereignty

“You are my pet,” he says. His tone implying he is deeply bewildered by my question.

I puff out my cheeks and sigh. Fine. The bed is bloody enormous, and it looks divinely comfortable. God knows I’ve suffered far worse in the line of duty.

I stride over to the bed and slide under the covers, rolling on to my side and putting my back to the prince. He will not stab me. He needs me.

After a few moments, the prince joins me. He must be as light as a feather because the bed barely moves.

He snaps his fingers and the room falls into darkness. My eyes close and I fall asleep almost instantly.

Only to be jolted awake an hour later. I sit up in bed, heart racing. But everything is quiet. There are no threats. Nothing to be alarmed about.

A patch of luminous moss on the wall is casting a soft teal glow into the room, but that wouldn’t have woken me.

The prince is asleep. Curled on his side, in the tightest ball I’ve ever seen anyone contort themselves into.

As I watch him sleep, he whimpers softly.

Mystery solved. He is the one who woke me up and disturbed my peace. Trust him to be annoying even when he is sleeping.

He whimpers again, and I shove his shoulder. He startles awake with a yelp.

“You were having a nightmare,” I grunt as I lie back down.

Llywelyn says nothing. I listen to him shift position and get his breathing back in order. Then everything falls silent once more.

This time, it takes me a long time to fall asleep.

It’s morning, but I don’t want to wake up. This bed is so soft and so very warm. I could lie here all day.

But I have never been that lucky. The scrape of curtain rings over a curtain pole gives me a nanosecond of warning before bright sunlight dazzles my eyelids.

I groan and reluctantly open my eyes. Then I blink.

Llywelyn is standing by the window. Alone. Did he really open the curtains himself? He doesn’t seem the type. I’m surprised he even chews his own food.

His golden eyes glitter as he peers down at me. Then he throws something at me. I catch the small bottle and glare at him.

“What is this?” I ask.

He lifts his chin up. “Oil. So you can prepare yourself for me.”

My thoughts derail. Spectacularly. It’s not a train crash in my mind, it is an entire spaceship exploding. A spaceship containing every coherent thought I have ever had, along with my ability to form new ones.

“You think I’m going to let you fuck me?” my voice says, and I have no idea how I formed the words.

“You are my pet!” he declares regally.

“I don’t give a fuck!” I snarl as I throw back the covers and get out of bed.

Now that I am standing, we are a very similar height. A fact that is far more satisfying than it should be.

He blinks his strange golden eyes at me, as if he is having trouble processing my refusal to bend over for him.

His pink lips twist down into a frown, “If I go elsewhere for my needs, whilst having a pet, it will arouse suspicion.”

My gaze drops down to his crotch. The white nightgown is softly tented. I was told that the fey can’t masturbate. It was in my briefing. Along with the suggestion that I may have to help out in order to keep my cover.

I remember being told this. I remember shrugging it off as no big deal. I remember confidently telling myself, and my superiors, that I was a professional and I’ve done worse.