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Chapter thirty-four

T his has to be the best way to wake up in the morning. A pert ass grinding against my cock. And even better, it is Llywelyn’s ass.

I’m really starting to enjoy his daily morning glory problem. Without opening my eyes, I move my hand towards his cock, but then I have a better idea. My hand cups his plump pec instead. He moans and rocks faster against me. Grinning, I squeeze, stroke and pull on his nipple until he cums with a soft cry.

He rolls over immediately and his hand goes straight to my very hard cock. I groan as he gives it a firm tug. Three confident strokes and I’m done. Spurting all over my stomach.

Yep. This really is the best way to start the day.

Llywelyn gives me a soft smile, then he rolls out of bed and heads for his bathroom. I groan and stretch out on the bed before reluctantly heading for my shower.

A short while later and I’m sitting at the breakfast table with Llywelyn. Sunlight is streaming through the window, there is fresh coffee and all feels right with the world.

Llywelyn picks up a crumpet-type thing and delicately smears it with butter.

“We need to work with Prys, don’t we?” he says calmly. “Shall I pretend to fall for him?”

My clever boy. It’s enough to make my chest swell with pride. Drop dead gorgeous, sexy, submissive in bed, and smart. I’m a lucky man.

I spoon some yoghurt into my bowl and take a mouthful .

“Why did you give a favour to Selwyn to intervene with Prys and Dyfri?” I say casually.

Llywelyn’s long fingers pause and his eyes narrow. He is beautiful and intelligent, but that doesn’t allow him to get off the hook. I’m not soft.

“Because I wanted to,” he snipes haughtily while secrets flash in his eyes.

He is such a devious little shit. I think that is why I like him so much. I’ve always admired cunning. Whereas, someone honest and truthful would constantly remind me of everything I have lost. It would feel like I was sullying them with my presence. But Llywelyn matches my darkness with shadows of his own.

“How much do you owe?” I ask.

He squirms on his chair. “It’s fine. My debts do not affect the mission. You have my word on that.”

He swears to me without looking me in the eye and he thinks I’m going to buy it? I watch him for a moment, but he pretends he can’t feel the weight of my attention.

Whatever. I can let it go on this occasion. I sigh as I shove another spoonful of yoghurt into my mouth. Maybe I am getting soft.

H ow long is this engagement party going to go on for? I want to be in Llywelyn’s bed. More importantly, I want to be inside Llywelyn. Not stuck at this stuffy gathering.

The fey princes and a bunch of human lords and dukes. I’m not going to learn anything useful here, so I’d much rather be having fun.

I take a sip of my champagne and try to cool myself down. I haven’t been this horny in years. What has come over me? Are the fey rubbing off on me ?

I hide my snort with the bubbly. I’m even thinking in crude innuendos. It’s like being a teenager again. Or in a new relationship.

I gulp down the rest of my glass. Damn it. I can be fond of Llywelyn. Super fond. I can enjoy fucking him. Even feeling protective and possessive is fine. But I can’t fall for him. I can’t.

I cannot have deep feelings for humankind’s puppet prince. The needs of billions outweigh my needs. At some point, there will be something that will be terrible for Llywelyn, but good for the human race. I have to be able to make the right decision.

I run my hand over my face and force myself to be present in the room. I make myself look at Selwyn’s intended.

The boy is standing quietly amongst the other humans. His shoulder length white hair is shining against his dark, expensive suit. He is staring at the floor, but I glimpsed his eyes earlier. A bright, startling blue. Like the Mediterranean on a summer day.

He is slender and short, beautiful and far too young. He can’t be any older than nineteen. And he is terrified. He is hiding it well, but it’s clear to see if you know where to look.

I take a deep breath. He is who I should be caring about. An innocent human. Nevermind that his family are here, offering him up to the fey like some sort of virgin sacrifice. Screw them. Even more reason why he needs protecting. Just like the entire human race.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement. One of the human guests is pulling out a gun from a leg holster.

My mind is lightening quick. It realises this is a perfect opportunity for an assassination. The fey won’t have their personal magical shields up in the palace. The guards would only have given the guests a light search.

My mind is fast, but my body is slow. Llywelyn, however, is not. He moves so fast that all I see is a blur. At first, I think he is moving away from the assassin’s firing line. Then I realise that the gun is lifting towards Tristan, and Llywelyn is moving towards the line of fire.

My mind whirls again. It works while my body remains frozen. The Agency wants to get rid of Tristan. It’s all part of their master plan. Llywelyn figured this out and tried to prevent it, and failed.

The gun is silent when it fires. I see the trigger move. Then I see gold blossoming on the white robe covering Llywelyn’s chest. It reminds me of the red wine and the servant’s blood.

Blood. The gold is Llywelyn’s blood. He bleeds gold. He has been shot.

Screams and chaos erupt. Everything is motion, movement and noise. All I can see is Llywelyn slowly falling to the floor.

My body moves. My body is finally quick enough. I catch Llywelyn in my arms and lower him gently to the floor.

This is the work of The Agency. They bribed or plotted to get a member of the engagement party to shoot Tristan. To clear the path for Llywelyn to take the throne. But Llywelyn never wanted his brother killed. He only wanted him exiled.

My thoughts are hollow things in my mind. Echoing in a blank, empty space. I can sense an immense storm of torment trying to surge in and destroy me, but my walls are keeping it at bay. Keeping me numb. For now.

There is fighting and yelling all around us, but it seems so far away. There is only Llywelyn and me, and the growing, spreading, gold stain on his chest.

Suddenly, Dyfri and Selwyn are kneeling beside us. Their hands and their magic frantically examining their brother.

Llywelyn stares up at me. His golden eyes are distant. Far too distant.

Dimly I hear Selwyn talking about iron and bullets and not knowing what to do. I see the moment Llywelyn hears his fate. He doesn’t look sad or scared. He looks relieved. Tired. Weary. Resigned. Ready to go .

My heart slams against my ribcage. Shock floods my veins. This cannot be happening. I thought his brothers would save him. The fey can hang stars on the ceiling. They can walk through portals and invade worlds. They can do anything.

“You can’t die!” I splutter in outrage.

He smiles weakly. The faintest movement at the corner of his too-pale lips.

“Why not?” he rasps.

A broken, awful sound fills the air. A wounded animal in distress. My lungs reverberate with it. I’m making it. The wail is coming from me. I didn’t even know I could make a noise like this.

Llywelyn is dying in my arms.

I’m never going to get the chance to fully find out who he is under all the layers of everything he pretends to be.

I will not grow old with him.

There will never be a cottage in the woods.

“Because I love you!” I weep.

All my denial has shattered under the overwhelming weight of my anguish. I sob as my love for him floods me, and I feel it in all its terrible glory for the very first time.

Llywelyn’s smile grows. He beams. His face and eyes light up like the sun god he is. It is dazzling. It is blinding. It is the first time I’ve ever seen him happy.

“I love you too,” he breathes out on a soft exhale.

He doesn’t breathe again.

The light in his eyes fades. Like the setting of the sun. All that was golden is now dark. Llywelyn is growing cold in my arms. He is far too still. His unseeing eyes are grey and not gold.

“Llywelyn?” I croak. “Sweetheart? Loo-loo?”

He doesn’t respond.

He can’t be gone.

A terrible, tormented howl pours out of me. My chest hurts so much I can’t breathe. I think my heart has stopped beating. My blood is congealing in my veins, turning as heavy as lead .

“Fuck this!” snaps Dyfri. “Selwyn, put up a concealment spell.”

Something shimmers over us. A bubble around the four of us. Cutting out the outside world.

Dyfri takes a deep breath. His eyes close.

I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t care. I can feel my soul breaking, shattering into a thousand jagged pieces. All I can do is cry and make sounds like a tortured animal.

Everything is agony. Blinding and all-consuming. Tearing me apart. Destroying the very fabric of my being.

Suddenly, my arms move. Llywelyn jerks. Warmth rushes back into him. He coughs and splutters, and then his eyes open.

My lungs suck in a serrated breath. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. An icy shiver races down my spine.

He was dead. I know he was. I know death. I’ve seen enough of it. Caused enough of it. Llywelyn was dead. I was not mistaken.

I stare at Dyfri just as Selwyn does. There are no words. No thoughts. Only incomprehension.

“Necromancy?” hisses Selwyn. His voice full of shock, horror and awe.

Dyfri scowls. “If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.” His dark eyes turn to Llywelyn, who is still wheezing, before flicking back to Selwyn. “And I won’t bring you back.”

Tears are rolling down my cheeks. My heart is hammering like crazy. I’m shaking like a newborn foal.

Llywelyn stares at me with golden eyes. He looks a little confused and disorientated at first, but then he focuses on me and his eyes glow and he smiles. It’s him, it’s really him.

Somehow, he is here. He came back to me. Dyfri brought him back. It is beyond a miracle. The fey truly can do anything and I will be forever grateful.

I cradle Llywelyn’s face. I want to hug him, but he has just been shot in the chest. So instead, I pepper him with kisses, getting my tears all over him. He doesn’t seem to mind .

I’m never going to let him go again. Ever. Next time, if he can’t come back to me… I will go to him.