Page 28 of Fey Sovereignty (Fey Lords #4)

Chapter twenty-eight

I ’m still surprised that the princes all get together for a family lunch as often as possible. It seems so very domestic. It hints at closeness and familial bonds that I swear are not there. They are princes. Rivals and enemies. A get together for the fey equivalent of a Sunday Roast, is jarring.

Yet here I am, witnessing it with my own eyes. I am sitting at a large round table with all six of the princes. Jamie, Blake and Ollie are also here. And obviously myself. Selwyn and Dyfri don’t have pets, so it is not that anyone is being excluded.

All us pets are sitting on chairs, next to our masters. It feels like we are being treated like spouses instead of property. Though, in Jamie’s case, that is true. He started off as a pet, now he is married. A consort to the crown prince. The fey version of a queen.

That is quite the elevation. I can’t imagine Llywelyn marrying me. The thought makes me smile and I have to duck my head down so nobody sees it.

As I stare at my cheese course, the gentle hum of idle conversation washes over me. This room is not as fancy as others in the palace. It still has dark oak panelling and high ceilings, but it feels almost cosy. Lived in and functional. It is circular in shape with one window high up in the wall, near the beams, which is letting in plenty of light while not compromising privacy.

I like it. It is far more light and airy in here than any cottage in the woods would be. It is also far more refined.

With a grimace, I chase that errant thought away. Damn Selwyn for putting ideas in my head .

“Prys is an asshole,” Jamie says suddenly. “He needs to go.”

My attention snaps fully back to the here and now, but I’m careful not to let my body language give that away. As far as anyone watching can tell, I’m simply calmly eating my lunch.

“I agree,” says Selwyn.

All eyes turn to him.

“Why?” asks Mabon as he delicately nibbles on a slice of cheese.

Selwyn takes an unhurried sip of his pale wine. “He got Llywelyn drunk and made a wager he knew our brother would lose.”

Llywelyn bristles. Like the tide, all the attention in the room turns to him. What the hell is Selwyn playing at? This is not his story to tell. And far more importantly, how the hell does Selwyn know this? He intervened when Prys was slobbering over Llywelyn, days after the card game. I babbled a lot of stuff to Selwyn. But not this story. I don’t know how he knows this.

“The wager was lewd,” continues Selwyn. “The loser would spread for the others at the card table.”

Someone gasps. Llywelyn shoots Selwyn a truly furious glare. I feel like doing the same. I thought Selwyn was on our side. I thought he cared for Llywelyn. Why is he stabbing him in the back like this? What is there to gain?

He is definitely up to no good, because if his aim is to rally his brothers to neuter Prys for Llywelyn’s sake, there are better ways. Kinder ways. And Selwyn is no blundering fool. He damn well knows this.

“What a jerk!” exclaims Jamie. “Prys really does need to go!”

Rhydian sits up straighter. “I forbid you from making any move against Earl Prys.”

The order rings out, stern and commanding. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. The decree seems to carve itself into the air, potent and binding.

Jamie rolls his eyes and leans forward to select another cracker. Completely and utterly unbothered by his husband’s order .

I lift a small cheese puff pastry to my mouth to hide my smirk. It seems the big, bad, scary fey crown prince cannot control his tiny human.

“Stop worrying about me. I got rid of Iestyn, didn’t I?” says Jamie.

The puff pastry is sucked into my throat with my sharp inhale. I cough and choke and splutter while blindly trying to reach for my glass of water.

Iestyn. Did he just fucking say Iestyn? The evil court vizier who Jamie duelled and banished, is the same fucking man who groomed Llywelyn? The same man who plotted for Dyfri to be made a rhocyn. The same man Llywelyn gave his last pet to only for it to be killed?

What the actual fuck?

Everyone is looking at me. Blake gets up, presumably to see if I need the Heimlich manoeuvre. I manage to wave him away as I wash down the last of the pastry with a big gulp of water.

“Who is Iestyn?” I say innocently as well as breathlessly.

Tristan frowns. “He is an alltuid. His name should not be spoken.”

“Sorry,” I wheeze.

“He was an evil piece of shit who was trying to cause Rhydian’s downfall, so I challenged him to a duel and won. So I banished him,” Jamie says proudly.

My gaze wants to snap to Llywelyn. It really, really does. My eyeballs are twitching as I fight to keep them on Jamie. Iestyn was plotting to overthrow Rhydian. This is something I should have known. Something Llywelyn should have told me.

I can sense Llywelyn’s quiet discomfort and unease. This little fucking shit. I can’t wait to get him alone.

“You had the element of surprise, Jamie,” says Dyfri. “One trick up your sleeve. Now that you’ve played it, it won’t work again. Any opponent will be prepared. ”

Jamie pouts and pours himself another drink. “Can’t you poison him?”

Dyfri rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Because that wouldn’t look at all suspicious.”

He is right. Everyone at court knows what happened at the banquet. Even people who were not there. And everyone knows that Dyfri is a poison master.

The conversation drifts on to other things. I can’t follow it at all. This revelation about Iestyn has floored me. My mind is floundering.

In a stupor, I somehow get through the rest of the lunch. I’m still in a daze as Llywelyn and I walk back to his rooms. It is not until the door clicks softly shut behind us, that my brain comes back online.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say softly, but there is danger laced around every word.

Llywelyn turns around to face me. “Tell you what?”

“About Iestyn.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. It sounds colder and far more deadly.

Llywelyn blinks. “What is there to tell?”

I draw in a slow, deep breath. “Iestyn was your lover and he tried to overthrow Rhydian, and Jamie banished him. Iestyn is the alltuid that killed your last pet.”

I watch as Llywelyn’s already pale face drains of all colour. “How did you…”

“You cry out his name when you have screaming nightmares,” I bark out and Llywelyn flinches. But I’m not finished yet.

“You get drunk and offer your ass to me while calling me by his name,” I seethe.

Llywelyn’s expression turns statue-like. Devoid of all life. But his golden eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

Has he been working with Iestyn all along? Have I been a chess piece and not a player? Or am I simply Iestyn’s replacement? Llywelyn’s first lover couldn’t give him the throne he craves, so he has moved onto me?

I was already going to help him. For the sake of humankind and to follow my orders. He didn’t need to seduce me to secure my motivation.

Is this omega bonding stuff nonsense? Designed to appeal to my ego? Is Selwyn in on it? So many tangled possibilities and plots.

“What other secrets do you have?” I snap.

Llywelyn stares at me wide-eyed. “None.”

He is lying. I can see it in every line of his body. He is carved from deception and untruths.

“Liar!” I spit vehemently.

He steps backwards, away from me. There is fear in his eyes and I hate it. Despite everything. Right now I don’t know if up is still up or if grass is really green. I don’t know if anything I know about Llywelyn is true. But I still hate seeing him scared.

I draw in a shuddering breath as I run my hand over my face. Calm. I need calm. If I’m overreacting and all Llywelyn has hidden from me is Iestyn’s name and that he is the alltuid, then I’ll never forgive myself for scaring Llywelyn.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know everything,” I try.

Llywelyn straightens his shoulders. “You do know everything.”

He holds my gaze and I try to peer into his soul, but all I see are secrets and lies. Shadows and plots. I can’t see him at all.

“You are going to tell me everything, right now. Or I’m going to go have a little chat with Dyfri,” I say calmly.

Llywelyn’s eyes widen. Then they narrow. He moves so fast it is a blur. Far too fast for any human, and it kicks my primordial brain into absolute terror.

I see the glint of a dagger. My mind is not quick enough, but my body remembers. Muscle memory from hours and hours of training. I try to dodge, but he is too damn quick. As well as frighteningly strong .

Before I really know what is happening, I’m pinned against the wall and he is holding a dagger to my throat. His eyes are dark and all I can see in them is my death.

Fuck.