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Chapter thirty-three

L eaving our rooms feels awful. I’m walking behind Llywelyn while fully sulking like a child. I’ve caught his aversion to leaving his sanctuary. But it is Beltaine. A big celebration in the fey calendar and we can’t stay hiding.

As I walk through the palace, my mind is still lingering. It’s still in bed with Llywelyn. Stroking his antlers while he blows me and cums all over himself. My focus is fixated on pondering what positions will enable me to rail him hard while pulling on his antlers.

It is the only thing I want to be doing. I don’t want to go to a party. I have no interest in plotting and scheming and spying. And I especially have no wish to be working on a way to approach Prys with the offer of an alliance.

A shiver races down my spine. I use the chill to force my mind to concentrate. I need clarity. Here and now are the only things that matter. One step at a time.

The crowds thicken as we get closer to our destination. I watch people’s eyes slide off Llywelyn and it makes me want to throw things. He is still their prince. He deserves better.

The hallway merges into a tunnel carved of stone. My heart rate increases as my mind rejects what it is seeing.

Llywelyn doesn’t pause, and in the midst of a small crowd, we swarm through the tunnel and out into a space that shouldn’t exist. It feels vast, even though I can see the shimmering, transparent outlines of walls. Walls that look like Buckingham Palace. Through them, is a dark endless wood. It is as if we are half in Buckingham Palace and half somewhere else.

The floor is green grass and moss. Toadstools and rocks. A forest floor.

In the middle of the room that is not a room, is a full-sized stone circle of grey sarsen. Standing proud in the middle of a clearing in the not-woods.

I look up and all I can see is a starry sky where the ceiling should be. I bite back my petrified whimper. The fey are so immensely powerful. No wonder they conquered us almost idly. We can never defeat them. We can barely comprehend them.

Llywelyn as our benevolent puppet prince, really is the best we can hope for.

I watch in a daze as fey whoop and trill. They light flaming torches and fill the stone circle with sinuous dancing. Drums beat and fiddles play.

Time passes and slowly I realise that I’m standing slightly behind Llywelyn as he stands in a semi-circle with his brothers. A proud line of royalty standing just outside of the stone circle. Magnanimously observing the celebrations. Aloof and separate.

Llywelyn really looks like a sun-god. A golden prince. All white and gold with impressive antlers. Dangerous, powerful and ethereal.

Even I am struggling to believe that an hour ago he was on his knees for me. Taking my cock and whimpering. Cumming hands-free, just from blowing me and my hold on his antlers.

With a great deal of effort, I pull my gaze away from my prince and look out at the festivities.

My eyebrows rise. People aren’t just dancing anymore. A fair few have paired off and are turning things into an orgy. It seems the fey really know how to party.

I cast a quiet glance around the princes. Their expressions haven’t changed at all. Even Jamie, Blake and Ollie look unphased. I guess they have been at court long enough to have become accustomed to public sex and debauchery. I wonder how long it will take me?

As I turn back to the jubilant celebrations, I notice Mabon tapping his foot in time to the music. Out of all the brothers, he is the one I can picture wishing to join in. Even though Llywelyn claims that Mabon is madly in love with Blake.

My gaze flicks to Blake. He isn’t watching the orgy. He is watching Mabon. With such a soft and adoring look in his eyes, it makes my heart flutter.

I’ve never been in love. I’ve never been interested in it before. But now I’m wondering what it would be like. It sounds scary and wonderful all at the same time.

My thoughts are scattered by Prys dancing breathlessly up to us. His sapphire hair is softly curling and gently gleaming, sparkling with a thousand small diamonds. His dark eyes are glinting with mischief. He is an attractive bastard, I have to give him that. As much as I hate to admit it.

He looks at Llywelyn. Right in the eyes. For far longer than anyone in public ever does. Llywelyn’s back stiffens. Then Prys’s dark gaze slides off him and settles on Dyfri.

“Join me, Rhocyn! Let us give our seed to the goddess!”

Dyfri smiles sweetly. “You flatter me, your Grace. But I’m not one for dancing.”

Prys smiles. Slow and insidious. Like a magnet it somehow pulls people in. Dancers drift closer and then fall still. Panting, and gulping down water, and watching intently.

“Come now, Rhocyn. Spilling for the goddess under the Beltaine moon brings good luck and fortune. Are you saying you have enough of both?”

A giggle skips around the watching audience. Contagious and spreading.

Dyfri’s smile widens. It turns flirtatious. “I’m saying that people get what they deserve. ”

He says it so lightly that it takes my mind a moment to hear the threat. My hand flies up to my mouth to cover my snort laugh.

Prys’s dark eyes flash dangerously. I can see him calculating, assessing, planning. The watching crowd is waiting with bated breath to hear how he is going to reply.

Shit. Dyfri isn’t going to have to do this, is he? Public sex with Prys, in front of his brothers? That’s got to be traumatic. Far too similar to the event that made him a rhocyn.

I can’t figure out what Prys’s game is. Is he plotting Dyfri’s downfall? Removing a brother from the board? Or is the game to mess with Llywelyn’s head? Whatever the motive, the action is vile.

Working with this asshole is going to be the death of me. It is going to destroy my last shred of integrity.

“Wise words,” grins Prys. “All the more reason to appease the goddess, a prayer for her to be lenient in her judgment.”

Llywelyn leans closer to Selwyn. They are already standing next to each other, so the movement is subtle, but I catch it, nonetheless.

“Do something and I will owe you a favour!” Llywelyn hisses quietly.

Selwyn gives no sign that he has heard, but suddenly he steps forward, out of line and towards Prys.

“I’ll dance with you!” he says brightly. “I could do with some fun and everyone has heard that you are good at taking big cocks!”

Laughter erupts. Cruel, delighted, and mocking.

Prys’s jaw drops open and his face pales as he stares at Selwyn.

The brown-haired prince takes Prys firmly by the upper arm and starts dragging him towards the stone circle. Pry’s feet stumble over the grass and I can almost see his mind frantically whirling, desperately trying to figure out how to politely turn down a prince.

Suddenly Selwyn stops. His free hand slaps against his forehead.

“How could I forget! I’m engaged!”

The relief on Prys’s face is almost comical .

Selwyn grins. “I can introduce you to my good friend, Fionnlagh. He’ll be delighted to take my place.”

He tilts his head towards the dark woods, and there, on the very edge of the shadows, is a person who looks remarkably like one of the giant green goblins from a pornographic anime I watched once, called Goblin Cave.

A huge, green, hulking beast of a man. Wearing only a loincloth.

Prys splutters. “That’s quite alright! I’m sure I’ll find someone!” He hastily pulls his arm free and runs back into the stone circle, disappearing amongst the dancers.

Grinning, Selwyn strides back the few steps to his brothers and returns to his place. The crowd, seeing that the drama is over, all drift away.

Dyfri narrows his eyes. “I do not owe for that.”

His voice is quiet and calm. Llywelyn is standing between him and Selwyn, but his words carry effortlessly.

Selwyn nods. “No, of course not. It was a gift, to celebrate my nuptials.”

“Agreed,” says Dyfri as he crosses his arms over his chest.

I look away so nobody sees me roll my eyes. Fey. They really can be ridiculous. I know that being beholden to someone is considered awful. Even so, do they really need to be so over the top?

My guts twist uncomfortably. I shouldn’t mock what I don’t understand. I know this. I’m better than that. This could be very serious.

Llywelyn just got Selwyn to intervene on the promise of a favour. It could be something terrible. And shit, something else has just hit me. Does Llywelyn owe Selwyn for the time he barged into the impromptu tea party and drove Prys away? Or for figuring out the omega stuff? Is Llywelyn racking up debts he can never hope to pay?

A heavy sigh escapes me. I’m never going to get the hang of this shit. I’m so out of my depth. I’m lost, without even a compass.

It is so tempting just to grab Llywelyn and run. All the way out of the palace, out of the city, away from his life. Run all the way to that cottage in the woods.

It sounds better and better every day.