Page 30

Chapter thirty

G ah! My hair is a mess. I really shouldn’t have kept putting off taking care of it. Now I will never get these knots out.

I glare at my reflection in the mirror of Llywelyn’s dressing table. A dishevelled mess of a man glares back at me.

I suspect I’m not only annoyed about my hair. I’m frustrated that Iestyn isn’t anywhere I can find him and kill him. The things Llywelyn told me are going to give me nightmares. Just from hearing about them. No wonder Llywelyn can’t sleep at night.

A glimmer of white and gold behind me makes my heart flutter. Llywelyn walks into the room and glides up to me. He gently takes the wide-toothed comb from my fingers and takes over detangling my hair.

His touch is careful, yet confident. Practised and at ease. I’m in good hands. My shoulders slump and I sigh.

He leans forward and picks up one of the bottles of oil. As he pours it onto my hair, the sweet smell fills the air.

“Your hair is so beautiful,” he says.

I snort. Right now, I look like a wild man. My curly shoulder length hair is in sections, with half roughly combed out and frizzy, and the other half a crazy tangled mess.

“It is beautiful,” he insists.

It is a good thing I’m not insecure about my masculinity. I can’t say I’m free of all toxic traits, but I don’t mind being called beautiful.

“So is yours,” I say .

Llywelyn’s fingers stop working for the briefest of moments. “It’s short.”

“It’s still gorgeous. It is like spun sunlight.”

I watch his frown in the mirror and fight the urge to kiss it away. There will be plenty of time for that later.

I lean back in the chair and relax to the sensation of Llywelyn’s fingers in my hair. I could get used to this. Images of doing this by a fire in a tiny stone cottage in the middle of nowhere, dance through my mind. I sternly chase them away. That future is not possible. It is not the path I have chosen. Maybe in another life, a new reincarnation, Llywelyn and I will meet again and be destined for peace.

“There,” says Llywelyn. “All done.”

My eyes flicker open. Did I doze off? I admire my reflection. Neat and tidy hair. Thank goodness.

I’m just about to reach for my hair tie and scoop up my hair into a bun when Llywelyn’s fingers start moving again. I freeze as I watch him weave a plait into my hair.

I don’t even want to breathe. Braids, plaits and twists are special to the fey. They are not mere ornamentation. Each one means something. It’s part of why having short hair, or being a rhocyn, is so awful. There is no way to display your victories, accomplishments, family bonds, wealth, or social status.

Llywelyn finishes my braid and our eyes meet in the mirror. I swallow dryly.

“What does this one mean?” I ask.

He gives me a shy look. “That you have someone’s heart.”

My heart thumps. It swells. My eyes are watering. My mouth opens, even though I’m floundering for what to say. But then the door slams open behind us and Mabon strolls in.

“Loo-loo! There you are!” he calls loudly.

He walks up to us. His purple eyes fix on my new braid and he coos. “Oh! How lovely!”

“Did you want something?” snaps Llywelyn.

“To have tea with my favourite brother, of course!” gushes Mabon.

I stand up and turn to face the princes. Llywelyn narrows his eyes at his brother.

Mabon sighs dramatically. “And to find out about this business with Prys.”

Llywelyn scowls, but he leads us to the sitting room and over to the table by the window. The afternoon light is dim enough to be late evening. The rain clouds are thick, and raindrops are running down the glass in pretty patterns.

Tae appears and starts setting out a fancy bone china tea set.

“And I’m also here to teach you how to please your pet!” Mabon says brightly.

I’m so glad Tae hasn’t poured the tea yet. If I was drinking it, I would have just spat it out everywhere.

“I don’t need lessons,” Llywelyn says coldly.

Mabon picks up the teapot and fills Llywelyn’s cup. Llywelyn blinks in surprise. My brows furrow in confusion for a moment, then I remember. Tea pouring is a status thing. The person with the lowest status pours the tea. I guess with Mabon being older and not a resyn, he just made a very kind gesture.

“You are new to humans and to bottoming,” Mabon says conversationally as he pours himself a cup.

It’s interesting that he believes that. Llywelyn’s past truly is a well kept secret. Mabon leans over and fills my teacup. My eyebrows rise and my lungs inhale sharply. I don’t think I’ve ever been so flattered.

Llywelyn sits up straight. “What has Selwyn been saying?”

I wince. Yeah, Selwyn was being an asshole at the family lunch, and he knows all about Llywelyn’s omega traits.

Mabon claps his hands together in glee, sending his many silver bracelets jangling. “So it is true! You are riding your magnificent pet!”

“No!” snaps Llywelyn. “I didn’t say that!”

“It is nothing to be ashamed about,” says Mabon. “Everyone knows Blake rails me every day.”

That’s a mental image that’s going to haunt me, as well as a fact that I didn’t need to know. Not that I’m at all surprised.

Llywelyn glowers. “I wouldn’t let a mere human do that to me.”

The words don’t sting. I know he is fully in his douchebag persona right now. Interestingly, Mabon doesn’t appear offended either. He is simply regarding Llywelyn with a scrutinising expression. As if he is trying to peer inside his brother and see the truth.

“Was it Dyfri who said something?” Llywelyn asks in a voice that is too small.

Mabon’s amethyst eyes widen, then he smirks.

Oh crap, I had all but forgotten about Dyfri catching us with my cock down Llywelyn’s throat.

Llywelyn’s shoulders slump and he looks down at the pristine white tablecloth.

Mabon’s expression softens. “Nobody has breathed a word. You have not been betrayed. I simply have eyes.”

Llywelyn perks up at Mabon’s reassurance. But he still looks sulky.

“Now, what’s this business with Prys?” says Mabon.

I give the lilac haired prince a suspicious look. Is he simply one of those flighty people who innocently jump from topic to topic? Or, was that all calculated to throw Llywelyn off balance?

Llywelyn picks up his cup. “It’s nothing. I can handle it.”

Mabon turns to me. “See what I have to put up with?”

I nod in commiseration, and Mabon chuckles. But then his expression turns serious and he fixes his brother with a no nonsense look.

“He wants to defeat you?”

Llywelyn carefully sips his tea. Then he nods.

He is not daft. It’s enough to make me proud. Llywelyn has drawn the same conclusion that I have recently come to. Prys doesn’t fancy him. He is not in love or lust. He is not trying to get my prince into bed for any straightforward reason. It is something far more sinister.

Mabon lets out a little growl. “Jamie is right. Prys has to go.”

Llywelyn looks up, surprise clear in his eyes. The sight of it causes a physical ache in my heart. He should not be shocked that his brother is angry on his behalf.

“Prys goes for Dyfri and you,” continues Mabon. “How dare he mess with the royal family!”

Llywelyn says nothing. He turns his attention to his tea and the plate of tiny cakes that Tae set out. Mabon doesn’t seem to mind. He simply settles in his chair and drinks his tea, allowing a companionable silence to fall.

I reach for a cake. Trying to resist is futile. The pink ones are especially delicious. It is a wonder that I haven’t put on any weight since I’ve been here.

Tae unobtrusively approaches the table and adds a jug of water and some glasses. He hurries away and Mabon watches him.

“There is a servant that Prys cast out after cutting her hand off,” Mabon says nonchalantly.

Llywelyn bristles. “I only trust Tae.”

Mabon nods thoughtfully, a flash of sympathy lighting up his purple eyes.

What is this? More secrets? Why doesn’t Llywelyn trust servants and why does Mabon know?

“This servant will know a lot about Prys,” is all Mabon says.

Llywelyn scrunches up his face like a teenager being told to tidy his room. It’s almost enough to make me laugh.

Mabon takes another sip of tea. “Having only one servant makes people talk.”

Llywelyn slams his cup down forcefully. “No!”

The table rattles and everything on it clinks. It seems like a little too much movement to be caused by Llywelyn slamming his cup down. He probably let out a little huff of magic along with his temper.

Mabon sighs as if the weight of the entire world is on his shoulders. “Fine. I guess I will take her on.”

Llywelyn casually picks up the teapot and refills Mabon’s cup and then mine, before finally topping up his own. If I didn’t know fey customs, I would be completely oblivious to the apology and the thanks in the gesture.

Mabon beams at his little brother and effortlessly moves the conversation on to less tumultuous things. He soon has Llywelyn at ease and I could kiss the purple-haired prince for that.

Llywelyn needs company. He needs connection. My prince needs his brothers. More than they know.

I hide my weary sigh by lifting my teacup up to my face. Llywelyn’s social life and relationship with his family are really the very least of my concerns.

I have to put him on the throne.

But first, I need to get rid of Prys.