Page 3

Chapter three

I ’m staring at the bathroom door. The one Llywelyn just swanned out of. I can’t believe the jerk simply turned around and walked away.

He whined that I wasn’t pretty. I told him he’d have to pretend… and then he walked away. This arrogant douchebag insulted my looks, and then left. He had me stripped naked. He burned every hair follicle off of my body. He placed a golden collar around my neck and forced me to kneel naked at his feet. And then he waltzed away without a care in the world.

Now I’m grinding my teeth and clenching my fists so tightly I’m going to get a cramp. I really need to calm down. It is a good thing that the asshole left. I may very well have punched him in the face otherwise.

Suddenly, the sound of a side door softly opening has me whirling to face it. The fairy boy freezes, arms full of silken clothes.

I inhale through my nose. “Are those for me?”

He nods with his head still bowed, while his one good wing flutters.

“Thanks,” I say, and I mean it. I hate how on edge being naked is making me feel.

He darts forward, grabbing a fluffy towel from a shelf as he passes. I stand still while he flutters around me, patting me dry with gentle dabs of the towel.

Then he proceeds to dress me in fey clothes. An over abundance of complicated layers of silk. Someone has chosen burgundy trimmed with gold for me, and by the time Tinker-boy is finished, I feel like an emperor.

An emperor who can’t dress himself, because I’m going to need to see how all these layers go on and are tied, a couple more times before I can emulate it.

The fairy nervously points to my man bun and gives me a plain hairgrip. I get the hint and quickly redo my hair.

It is frigging vain of me, but I am so glad nobody has tried to take this hair away from me. God knows what I would have done.

As soon as my hair is neat and tidy, Tinker-boy flees the room before I can thank him, or ask his name. I sigh heavily. It’s fine. There is going to be plenty of time to make connections. I’m sure I’ll win the servants’ trust soon enough. There is no rush.

Right now, I need to go find Llywelyn. As much as I don’t want to.

I take one last deep breath, then I stride out of the door the prince left through a few minutes ago.

I find the asshole in a bright and sunny drawing room. Sitting by a tall window, quietly laying cards down onto a table covered with a perfectly white tablecloth. The sunlight catches the gold of his hair as it streams through the glass. The effect gives him a halo. Especially with the way it glows between his striking antlers.

I scowl. No one in the whole entire world deserves a halo less. This prince is a demon disguised as an angel.

“Let’s go!” I snap.

He looks up from his cards. His yellow eyes narrow. “Go where?”

My jaw ticks. “To show your new pet off around court.”

His eyes widen and his complexion pales. Along with a slight hitch in his breath. If he was human, I’d swear he was scared. But he is a complete tosser, and he has no reason to be scared, so I must be reading him wrong. Clearly, fey body language is not the same as human, which means I have an entirely new language of physical tells to learn. Just fucking great .

“Right now?” he says in a tone of disgust.

“I’m here to gather intelligence. I can’t do that while watching you play cards with yourself!”

The corner of the prince’s right eye twitches. Not enough to be noticeable to most people. But I’m not most people. If the prince was a human, I’d read his carefully blank expression as a mask for hurt and fear.

I bite back my sigh. All I can do is make a mental note of it. I’ll figure out the prince soon enough. For now, I’ll just have to cope with not knowing what is going on inside that pretty head of his. As unnerving as that is.

Abruptly, Llywelyn flows to his feet with an unnatural grace, and glides over to an ornate side table. He picks up a long, thin golden chain. It has a loop of dark leather on one end and a clip on the other.

It is a fucking leash.

My teeth grind. A vein on my forehead pops.

Llywelyn smirks and malevolent delight lights up his amber eyes. He slinks up to me and I hold still while he clips the leash onto my collar. The gentle click makes me want to shudder, but I’m not giving this shitbag the satisfaction.

He grins at me, and leads me out of the double doors and into the fey court.

My right eye twitches, but that’s fine. I’m supposed to be a scared, innocent human. I’m simply getting into character.

I stumble behind Llywelyn’s ramrod straight back and stare wide-eyed at everything around me. I look like I’m terrified and overwhelmed, in reality, I’m taking everything in.

The prince takes me to a large room full of fey. I’ve studied maps of Buckingham Palace, but I cannot identify where I am. Nothing is exotic. This could be a ballroom or a formal dining hall. The windows look like they belong to the human palace. As do the walls, fireplaces and chandeliers. However, it just shouldn’t be here. It doesn’t belong. The fey have warped time and space simply to give themselves an extra room. Even though the palace already has plenty of space. It makes no sense at all.

I put it aside as something to quiz Llywelyn about later. I’m here to observe people, not buildings. And there are plenty of people here. A good eighty or so. In all shapes and forms. Some are playing cards or dice, others seem to be just milling around and talking idly in small groups.

Llywelyn walks slowly around the room. I trail after him, because there is no way I am letting this leash go taut.

A fair few fey give me a curious once over, their strange eyes raking over me. Inspecting my body as if they can see through the silks. I ignore them.

Strangely, nobody appears to be paying the prince any attention at all. Their gazes slide off him as if he is not even there. No one greets him. No one bows. No one tries to talk to him.

I thought fawning over royalty was universal? Even fourth-born sons? What is going on?

I eye Llywelyn’s back suspiciously. Is he doing this on purpose, to be an ass? Is it some sort of magic invisibility cloak?

What a prat. I can’t learn much from people playing dice. I need to hear people sucking up to their prince. I need to find who can be swayed to his cause. If he wants the throne, he needs supporters amongst his own people.

I lean in closer to him and whisper without moving my lips. “Take us back to your rooms.”

His shoulders stiffen, but shockingly, he obeys. Immediately. Hurrying out of the large room as if it’s on fire.

We reach his rooms and as soon as we are through the door, he drops my leash and strides over to the drinks cabinet. I watch as he pours himself a large glass of honey-coloured liquid. He downs it in one.

“What the fuck was that about!” I snap.

He flinches and whirls to face me. “What?”

I growl. “Why was no one talking to you? ”

He pales and then heats. A tinge of pale pink blooming along his extraordinary cheekbones. He drops my gaze and looks down at the floor instead.

“I am a resyn,” he mumbles.

I rise an eyebrow. “And a resyn is…?”

He swallows audibly. “A ghost. A disgrace. An outcast that can not be seen or spoken to.”

A thousand thoughts explode in my mind. All of them frantic. None of them good. This piece of information changes everything.

“The Agency was not informed of this,” I utter tonelessly.

Llywelyn lifts his gaze off of the floor to look at me. “I wasn’t a resyn when negotiations were made.”

“What happened?” I all but bark. This fucking idiot better learn how to talk. I’m not cajoling each and every sentence out of him. He has to sing and tell me everything and stop wasting my goddamn time.

His throat bobs. His fingers twitch. I hope to fucking god he is nervous, because he bloody well better be.

“I lost a duel with my brother.”

I glare at him.

He swallows and starts again. “I challenged Tristan to a duel for ownership of his pet, because his pet insulted me. I lost. Tristan decided to make a resyn of me and not banish me.”

The prince’s elegant hand runs through his hair. His gaze lowers again. “He cut off my hair,” he whispers.

I blink. And blink again. I’m seeing things. He ran his hand through his hair with no obstruction. Cold nausea rolls my stomach.

“Where are your antlers!” I snap.

I thought they were real, a natural part of him, and worse than that mistake, I did not see him take them off. I am far too observant to miss something like that. But the evidence is before my eyes. Short choppy golden hair. Pointy ears. Absolutely no horns .

He flinches slightly and then lifts up his chin. “I do not feel like manifesting them right now.”

I slowly shake my head. Visions of grabbing the prince by his slender shoulders and shaking him, are filling my mind.

“Explain,” I somehow manage to grind out.

“Only members of the royal family are allowed to display their horns. Some other fey may have them but are not permitted to wear them. However,” he pauses and shrugs. “They take energy to manifest. When in my own rooms, I choose not to.”

My eyes narrow. “You had them earlier, when you were playing cards.”

The prince’s generous lips thin into a stubborn line. Fine. Whatever. I’ll get to the bottom of it another time. In the grand scheme of things, I doubt it is important.

I take a deep breath. “How to you expect to gather enough followers to overthrow your brother, when no one will even fucking look at you!”

All his muscles twitch, his entire body leans away from me, but the prince holds his ground. It is almost impressive.

“My hair will grow,” he says haughtily.

I stare at him for long, incredulous minutes. Then I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose.

This really is the worst mission of my entire career. It is only the first day and I already can’t wait for it to be over.