Page 2

Chapter two

B uckingham Palace has changed. Even the parts that still look the same do not feel it. Something is definitely off. Everything is other. It is mind-numbingly terrifying. The old Buckingham Palace no longer exists. The Fey Court has taken its place.

I’m being escorted swiftly through this strange new world by several guards. My wide eyes and slack jaw are not an act. My new persona and my true self are in full accord.

We pass walls of moss, streams that babble down hallways. Stars that hang next to chandeliers, and shadows that seem to breathe. Prince Llywelyn has vanished and left me in the care of his intimidating guards.

My mind is reeling. Everything is happening far too fast. My brain cells are trying to stick to training and absorb and record every detail, but it is too much. It’s all too strange and new.

Doors burst open, and all of a sudden I’m in a bathroom. One that reminds me of a Turkish Bath. Every surface is tiled in verdant green and glittering gold. The centre of the large room is a huge sunken pool. A hot tub of sorts, one that could easily fit twenty people.

At the far end of the room, three long arched windows let in muted light through gauzy white curtains. The windows reach the floor and could also be doorways. Something about them is giving me the rather unsettling feeling that if I were to walk through them, I would no longer be on Earth.

I shiver and snatch my attention away, just in time to see a stout, leather clad woman approaching me. She barks something at the guards, and before I can blink, my arms are seized in grips of steel and I’m bent over a low table, my face smashed sideways into the wood.

The woman begins chanting. She pinches my earlobe and I wince. I know what is coming. She is going to pierce my ear with a large silver needle. Over and over again. Sewing a rune into my flesh. One that will enable me to understand the Fey language.

The pain, when it comes, is sharp and biting. I hiss and scrunch my eyes up tight. I’ve been trained on how to withstand as much torture as possible. But right now I’m not Ethan the Special Agent. I’m Ethan, the ordinary man. Nobody save for Prince Llywelyn knows otherwise, and it has to stay that way.

The enchantress works swiftly. She finishes mutilating one ear, then the guards lift my head up, turn it to the other side and slam my freshly, numerously pierced ear onto the table. I let out a yowl of pain. The noise is barely past my lips when she starts sewing into my other ear.

I give a token struggle. Not enough to earn me a slap, but just enough to seem like a civilian panicking.

Suddenly, I’m yanked upright. Quick enough to make my head spin. The fey woman roughly checks her work. Then she grunts in apparent approval.

“Strip him,” she snaps.

I jolt. I knew they were going to give me a bath, but I’d assumed I’d be told to undress myself. But they haven’t even given me a chance to show willing.

I close my eyes and stand still as hands tear my clothes off. I hear the yoga pants rip and then feel a breeze on my exposed genitals.

The guards shift their bodyweight and I instinctively tense. It is hard to stay still and allow it to happen. I grind my teeth as I am thrown bodily into the air. I allow my limbs to cartwheel before I hit the hot water of the bath and sink like a stone.

Fucking hell. These bastards are really starting to piss me off. And where the fuck is Llywelyn? He should be overseeing this and ensuring I’m treated with a little more dignity than usual. We are going to be working together, and I’m here to help the snide asshole.

I rise up from the steaming water, coughing and sputtering. And now, as if conjured by my thoughts, the prince is standing by the edge of the pool as if he has always been there.

The woman beckons me out of the water, and I stride up to my captors obediently. It is so damn tempting to shake water all over them, but I resist.

Llywelyn’s golden eyes sweep over me. His perfectly shaped nose wrinkles in disgust.

“I don’t like the body hair,” he grimaces.

It is so hard not to glare at the little shit, but I just about manage to keep my wide-eyed look of fear plastered on my face.

The female fey walks over to a set of shelves set in a curved alcove. She selects a brown earthenware jar. I eye it with trepidation as she glides up to me.

The guards hold me still as she scoops lavender coloured gloop out of the jar and smears it over my chest. My arms are lifted up and my armpits covered with the cold, sweet smelling cream. Next it is my legs.

Then I’m yanked down and bent over while she stands behind me and applies the substance to my balls and around the base of my cock, and then my ass crack. I suck in a shuddering breath. Her touch is impersonal, almost clinical, but I still don’t appreciate it.

The guards release me, and I straighten up. I watch as she calmly wipes her hands off with a cloth and returns the jar to the shelf. While her back is turned, I shoot a glare at Llywelyn. What the fuck is he playing at? There was no need to have me covered in hair removal cream. At least, I’m assuming that’s what this gloop is.

As soon as we are alone, I am putting this obnoxious princeling in his place. I am not his slave. We are colleagues. And colleagues do not go around ordering non-consensual butt waxes .

Golden eyes return my glare evenly. I haven’t even ruffled him. He is not even the least bit concerned about the repercussions.

The little shit.

My eyes narrow, but suddenly, all my thoughts are derailed by a strange tingling sensation on my chest. The peculiar feeling grows and spreads. Now everywhere that is covered in the gloop is starting to burn.

Oh god. It is really, really burning. I’m on fire and my skin is peeling off layer by agonising layer. I scramble towards the bath, but the guards thwart me. They grab my arms and hold me still while I burn.

All I can do is twist and writhe. Sob and whine. Oh hell. My asshole is disintegrating. My balls are trying to shrivel up like a slug covered in salt. This is agony.

Sweat is dripping into my eyes. I look at Llywelyn and am greeted by his smug smirk. I have never wanted to kill anyone more.

A high-pitched scream echoes around the tiled bathroom. Fire has been replaced by ice. The scream was mine because the female torturer has doused me with a bucket of cold water.

I swear I can hear sizzling as the water disperses the evil cream. She lifts up another bucket and I lean towards it. Please, oh please, wash this damn stuff off of me. The water hits, just as freezing as the first time, but now I am expecting it, I welcome it.

It sluices away the last of the gloop. The burning sensation fades and I sigh in relief. I glance down at my chest. Not one single hair left. Smooth as a baby’s butt. And surprisingly, I seem to still have all my skin in place. I assume my balls and ass crack are in a similar state, but I will have to check later.

All in all, I have survived. I’ve never been hairless before, but I can bear it. When this is all done, I can grow it back.

A malevolent grin curls Llywelyn’s lips. “Was that the permanent cream? I do not wish to have to torment my pet like that again.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” mumbles the woman .

Cold horror churns my stomach, along with a twisted thankfulness. I really don’t want to endure that ever again, but is he seriously telling me that I am now permanently hairless? My body has been modified? Of all the very many things wrong with this, the fact that it feels emasculating is absurd. But apparently, that’s what’s on the forefront of my mind.

I’m staring at the prince in shocked outrage. So much so that I don’t notice the little fairy entering the room. He is just suddenly by the prince’s side. His sudden appearance is startling and it is hard to hide my flinch.

People don’t usually manage to sneak up on me. And this little guy looks like no one and nothing I have ever seen before. He looks like Tinker Bell’s brother. A Disney version of what a fairy looks like. I wasn’t aware that any of the fey looked quite like this.

The newcomer barely comes up to Llywelyn’s ribs. He is very slender, as well as very short. One green-tinged gossamer wing flutters, while a second stump of a wing is motionless. Leaf-green hair hides the fairy’s face as he holds up a crimson cushion for the prince to inspect.

In the centre of the plump cushion is a collar made of gold.

The fairy flinches as the prince picks up the collar. My eyes narrow. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Llywelyn is cruel to his servants. If I find out he tore this little dude’s wing off, it is going to be extremely hard to control myself.

Strong hands push down on my shoulders and the guards shove me onto my knees. I glare up at the prince, but he merely steps forward and puts the collar around my neck. It snaps shut with a sickening click.

Llywelyn steps back and smirks down at me. For a moment, I can’t see. The rage and disgust is so intense it consumes me. I do not like kneeling before him with a fucking collar on. Naked while he is fully clothed. Every single fucking thing about it is pissing me off .

Frantically, I inhale through my nose and seek my calm. That well of inner peace that I tap into often.

Llywelyn is not even human. He is not Caucasian. He is not a white man. His pale skin does not carry our world’s history. And for fuck’s sake, I had an additional psych evaluation done to check I could handle this. I told my colleagues that I could handle pretending to be a slave. It’s not real. It’s for the cause. It is so I can help save the entire human race from slavery.

This visceral reaction. This all-consuming fury, it serves no purpose.

Llywelyn blinks. His throat bobs. He leans back, shifting his body weight away from me.

It is slightly appeasing. Good. Let this despicable piece of shit be alarmed. He is going to learn that I am someone to fear. I am a dangerous man and he is going to stop his stupid little games.

The prince stares at me. Then he snaps his fingers. Everyone in the room bows and quickly scurries away. We are alone. Finally.

I get to my feet, and he takes a step backwards. Amber eyes narrowing in suspicion. At least this little fucker knows when he has pushed too far and I’m about to lose my shit. I’d like to think I would have remained professional if he hadn’t sent everyone away, but for the first time in my life, I can’t swear by it.

“You’re old and not pretty!” Llywelyn snips with an infuriating tilt to his chin.

His words jar. For a moment, my mind balks at them. Did he really just say that? He had to send his servants away because I was about to blow, and now these, these are his words to me?

Time for another deep breath. And then another. I can’t throw the little shit over my knee and spank him like he deserves, so I’m going to have to let it roll off my back.

“I would never choose you for a pet,” he sulks as he crosses his arms. “You’re not at all what I requested and nobody at court is going to believe this. ”

I clench my fists. “Sadly, Your Highness, we don’t have any highly trained Special Agents who are children.”

The prince simply sniffs. As if he is not at all insulted by the accusation that he likes children in his bed. My stomach heaves. I think I have met the very worst person on the planet. I certainly have never hated anyone more.

One more deep breath. “You are just going to have to convince all your friends that you think I am hot.”

Llywelyn’s eyebrows rise. He looks utterly incredulous. As if my suggestion is a preposterous notion.

I let out a heavy sigh and close my eyes.

This is going to be the hardest mission of my life.