Page 21

Chapter twenty-one

B eing out in the sunshine feels wonderful. The gardens of Buckingham Palace have grown a little wild since the fey have taken over. Personally, I feel they look better this way. The air smells cleaner too. Remarkably fresh for the middle of London. I have no idea how they have done it, but it is a great improvement. Not everything the fey have done is evil. But then again, nothing and no one is ever one hundred per cent malevolent.

My gaze shifts from observing the crowd at this garden party, to Llywelyn. He is standing beside me, holding my leash limply in his hand. His impressive antlers are on display. His golden eyes are narrowed and his chin is up at an arrogant angle. His secret shoulder pads add to the obnoxious illusion.

No one, absolutely no one, could look at this man and guess that he has whimpering nightmares and makes stuffies and loves to bottom. Maybe he should become a Secret Agent. He is certainly an expert at secrets.

A small group of laughing people drift past us. Llywelyn does an excellent job of acting as if it is he who is not deigning to notice them, and that it’s not the other way round.

My chest tightens uncomfortably. Llywelyn is lonely. Desperately yearning for attention, connection. Yearning to be acknowledged. Longing to be loved. I’m fairly confident that the only reason he wants the throne is so people will finally notice him.

Being shunned is a particularly cruel form of punishment for him. Someone else may have been able to brush this resyn stuff off, bear it without too much suffering until their hair grew back. But for Llywelyn, each rejection is a fresh wound. I see it, and I wish I was blind to it.

I turn away and look back at the crowd. I’m supposed to be working, not worrying about Llywelyn.

My gaze meets Ollie’s. Oleander Evans, pet of Prince Tristan. The man Llywelyn lost a duel for and the whole reason he is a resyn.

The beautiful half-human has been casting glances towards Llywelyn the entire party. But this is the first time our eyes have met. He seems to take it as permission and starts walking towards us. His long leash dangling free by his ankles.

I stiffen my shoulders and prepare for a confrontation. Ollie walks right up to Llywelyn and stands before him, looking him right in the eyes. My heart does a skip. The first time I saw Ollie, I suspected he didn’t respect the rules around resyns. Finally seeing someone who thinks this resyn thing is a load of bollocks, is so refreshing. It is going to be so good for Llywelyn.

“I…um…it is good to see you out of your rooms,” says Ollie.

Llywelyn looks completely taken aback. As if he has no idea what to say or how to respond.

Ollie clears his throat. “I appreciate you trying to help me with Silas, and…I am sorry for everything that happened.”

Silas? Who the hell is Silas? Damn Llywelyn for keeping things from me. I should know everything about him by now. Including all of his interactions. Hell, I should know who his best friend was when he was five years old.

My throat tightens. Yeah, I have a horrid sinking feeling that Llywelyn didn’t have any friends when he was a child. Sycophants would have encouraged their children to play with the older princes, higher up the food chain. And ironically, others would have been intimidated by his status.

Too much for some. Too little for others. What an unpleasant position to be in .

A strange look fills Ollie’s dazzling green eyes. I can’t decipher it at all, and his immense beauty is distracting me. He doesn’t look fully human, his fey heritage is clear, and it is a deeply striking look. I can’t believe I missed it the first time I saw him and it was something Llywelyn had to tell me later.

My stomach swoops. Llywelyn tried to claim Ollie as his own. He wanted to steal him from his brother. Is Ollie his type? Because boy oh boy, that is competition I cannot compare to.

I close my eyes and try to pull myself together. I look nothing like Ollie. I’m not pretty, I’m handsome. Manly. And I know full well that Llywelyn desires me. He fucking goes wild on my cock. There is absolutely no need for me to feel insecure.

Ollie awkwardly thrusts his hand out. “So no hard feelings?”

Wow, that is magnanimous of him. I’m impressed. I’m liking this guy more and more every minute. Maybe he could be a much needed friend for Llywelyn?

Llywelyn sneers down at Ollie’s hand as if it is a lump of maggot-ridden shit. My heart sinks.

Ollie sighs and withdraws his hand. He places it on his hip instead. Green eyes glare up at Llywelyn.

“Take it from someone who spent their whole life being a nasty asshole. It is not the protection you think it is. And it is a miserable way to live.”

And with that, he is gone. Striding over the green grass, back to Prince Tristan.

“Why do you act like such a dickbag?” I ask under my breath.

Llywelyn inhales sharply. “I behave as a prince should!”

Just as the words leave his lips, Tristan laughs. A rich, melodic sound full of mirth. It carries on the spring air and fills the garden. A mocking rebuke to Llywelyn’s claim that princes need to be assholes.

I turn to Llywelyn with a raised eyebrow.

He bristles. “Nobody is truly as they seem. Everyone puts on the persona they think will help them the most. ”

“And being a hated dickbag helps you?”

Shit. Why did I say that? What the hell has got into me? Why am I frustrated by Llywelyn pushing people away when I know he craves friends? It is not my problem. It shouldn’t be my problem. I shouldn’t care. Not like this.

Llywelyn’s face pales. His features pinch. I’ve pissed him off.

He yanks on my leash and pushes down on my shoulder. I think about resisting, but we are in public. Which is precisely why he is doing this. The little shit.

With a glare, I drop to my knees.

He steps in close. The silk robes covering his cock brush against my face. His golden eyes glitter and his nostrils flare. Cold fingers rake through my hair before grabbing it and forcing my head back.

Fuck. I kind of like him like this. It is turning me on. People are watching, even though they are supposed to pretend they can’t see Llywelyn. I can feel their eyes on us. A prickling along my skin.

Llywelyn is acting all dominant. No one watching us knows the truth. They don’t know that when we are in bed, I’m the boss, and that he submits to me so sweetly. They’d never imagine that he takes my cock and whines for more.

This paradox between appearance and reality, added to the clandestine nature of it all, is getting me so fucking hard.

He pulls me to my feet and drags me out of the gardens. To everyone looking, it appears he is finding a private place to shove his cock down my throat. Part of me is hoping that is exactly what he is doing.

We enter the palace and he bundles me into a small, nondescript room. His hands move. I think he is putting a secrecy spell over us.

His golden eyes blaze at me. “Can you keep your criticisms of me to when we are in private?”

No blow job then. It’s shocking how disappointed I am. It is on the tip of my tongue to offer one. But before I can utter a word, he speaks again .

“My persona was carefully constructed under expert advice!” His chin looks deadly at this angle.

I shake my head in an effort to get my brain cells firing. “Whose advice?”

Llywelyn blinks. “A very trusted court advisor.” His cheeks heat because he knows that I know exactly who he is talking about.

For fuck’s sake, I should have figured this out. That bastard Iestyn again. Groomer, abuser, manipulator. Is there no part of Llywelyn that he has not shaped and contaminated?

I inhale deeply through my nose. I do not want to talk about that vile piece of shit right now. No good would come out of that conversation anyway. It would only serve to throw me into a murderous rage, and Llywelyn would get all defensive. So, no, screw talking about Iestyn. I’m going to change the subject.

“Nevermind that,” I snap. “Why did you challenge for Ollie, you clearly don’t like him?”

Llywelyn startles at my abrupt change of topic. Then his eyes narrow. “Tristan is Rhydian’s obvious successor. I needed to get rid of him.”

I cross my arms over my chest. Llywelyn often manages to surprise me. Sometimes he appears like a sulky spoilt brat. Other times, it feels like everything he does is cold and calculated.

“Explain.”

Llywelyn gives me a belligerent glare, but he starts talking.

“Mabon is too flighty and air-headed. An image he has carefully cultivated. Tristan is charming and popular.”

I let an expectant silence fall.

Llywelyn huffs. “I’m next in line after Tristan. He is the one in the way. People wouldn’t skip over me for Selwyn, he is too secretive and unknown. Nobody would ever choose Dyfri, he is half-unseelie and a rhocyn.”

His golden eyes fix on me. “Tristan needed to go. If I didn’t do it, your people would. ”

A shiver races down my spine. He is not wrong. I can only assume that if Tristan was ever approached with a deal to put him on the throne, he declined. Or my superiors assessed him and decided he wasn’t suitable. Whatever the process, the Agency has decided on Llywelyn as their puppet prince.

Which means Tristan has to go.

“You are prepared to murder your own brother to get what you want?” I ask.

I’m not judging, I’m assessing. I need to verify how far he is willing to go. Can Llywelyn openly take his brother off the board, or is an unfortunate accident needed?

Golden eyes grow impossibly large. “No!” He coughs sharply and starts again. “I mean, that is dramatic and unnecessary. Banishment would be just as effective. It was what I was aiming for, to get rid of him before your people did something more drastic.”

His shoulders droop, and he drops my gaze to look dejectedly down at the floor. No doubt thinking about his failure and how his brother is very much still in the firing line.

My heart pounds and twists. Oh god. I can’t take this. Llywelyn is too sweet for this world. He was made to knit stuffies, bake cakes and take cock. But he is forced to be a prince in a deadly fey court. Trying to win a game he is nowhere near ruthless enough for.

He wanted to keep Dyfri safe. He wanted to stop Tristan from being killed. Hell, he wants to be crown prince because he thinks Rhydian hates it. And because he wants to be loved.

My stomach contorts into a tight, painful knot. I want to keep Llywelyn safe. More than anything. But I don’t know if I can.