Page 39

Chapter thirty-nine

I ’m damn proud that I can help with Llywelyn’s laces. Not so very long ago, fey clothing was a complete mystery to me. Now look at me, standing behind Llywelyn, diligently working on the laces of his fanciest court robes. I am nothing, if not a fast learner.

While I’m threading and pulling, he is staring at himself in the mirror and fiddling with his hair.

The sight of it is breaking my heart. His hair is still short, and I know he hates it. He is about to stand in the throne room, on trial in front of all his peers, whilst being the fey equivalent of naked.

I wish there was something I could do. He wove a braid into my hair this morning, after our long vigil in the window seat. I wish I could return it.

He also gave me a beautiful gold necklace. I can feel its weight far more than I can feel my collar. I’m aware of this necklace, in ways I’ve never been aware of the collar. This necklace means more, signifies more. It is a gift. A token of love. My collar has only ever been a prop.

Yet strangely, I’m loath to lose it. I want nothing more than to come back to these rooms this evening still wearing it. With Llywelyn safe and sound by my side.

Suddenly, Llywelyn speaks. “Prys said he sends his regards.”

My stomach churns. Here it is. The subject we have been avoiding. The subject I never want to think about. Iestyn. He whose name should never be spoken, for so very many reasons.

Mutely, I finish tying off his laces .

“I thought he was gone, forever,” Llywelyn says softly. “But he is still pulling the strings. He is everywhere. There is no escape.”

I take a careful breath and try to calm my wildly beating heart. “I thought you loved him?”

Llywelyn’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. “I have learnt what true love is.”

Oh my poor heart. It’s done for now. It can’t possibly survive this. Nobody could.

A door slams and the sound of marching feet fill the air. I hear Tae hissing and then six guards march right into our bedchamber. They line up sharply by the door, creating a tunnel of intimidating men. I eye the spears and the leather armour warily. They look like they mean business. Hopefully, this is all merely ceremonial.

Llywelyn wilts. He seems to grow smaller. Docilely, he walks through the line of guards. They turn with a snap of their heels and march neatly beside him.

I hurry after them. As the unfriendly entourage reaches the entrance to Llywelyn’s rooms, he freezes suddenly .

“Wait!” he exclaims.

The guards all impatiently pause as one, but it doesn’t look like they are going to wait for long.

I can see Llywelyn’s panic, but I cannot decipher the cause. Then it clicks. His antlers. He is trying to manifest them.

I step up close to him. He is trembling with the effort of attempting to display his horns. I place my hands on his shoulders and turn him around to face me. I press my forehead against his.

“I love you,” I whisper softly.

Then I kiss him.

He kisses me back with hunger. Reluctantly, I pull away. Then I grin as I see his glorious antlers on proud display.

He takes a shuddering breath, flashes me a weak smile, and then turns around. He strides out with the guards and I fall in step behind him.

We parade through court and arrive far too soon at a packed throne room. The crowd parts to give Llywelyn and his guards a clear expanse of flagstones to stand in.

Llywelyn looks up at his oldest brother, sitting on the impressive throne, his consort by his side, and the other princes standing on a lower dais, framing the royal couple.

Three days ago, Llywelyn was standing on that dais while Selwyn’s betrothed was presented to court. It is shocking to think how much has changed in so short a time.

Llywelyn bows low to his brother. An expectant hush falls.

“To enable this trial to proceed, the accused’s resyn status is temporarily revoked,” Rhydian announces.

The crowd murmurs. Llywelyn bows his head in acknowledgement.

“Prince Llywelyn Y Mabinogi, you are accused of dishonourably killing Earl Prys Y Aydanogi. What is your defence?”

Llywelyn draws himself up to his full height. He tilts his chin up and stiffens his shoulders. My chest puffs out in pride. There’s my boy. Facing all these hostile glares and still standing tall.

“I was a resyn at the time of the presentation. Nobody should have seen anything.”

Scandalised gasps and murmurs fill the air. A smile teases at my lips. Clever boy. He wouldn’t tell me what his line of defence was going to be. Now I’ve heard it, I’m feeling the faintest flickering of hope. It is exactly the sort of twisting cunning the fey adore.

Rhydian frowns. “That is not an admissible line of defence.”

Well, fuck him. Llywelyn looks unsurprised, so I’m not going to allow my faint flame of hope to go out. My boy might have other tricks up his sleeve.

Llywelyn speaks clearly. His voice ringing out, enabling everyone to hear.

“The killing was justified. Earl Aydanogi turned his back on me. He presented an insult. He was spreading false rumours. ”

A heavy silence falls. My lungs have stopped working. Time has frozen.

Rhydian nods thoughtfully. My heart picks up a crazy rhythm. “The rumours were a grave insult.”

Whispers and exclamations echo around the throne room. Bouncing off all the grey stone. My little flame of hope burns a little brighter. Maybe everything will be okay? Rhydian will judge that the killing was justified and all of this will be over. We will be able to go back to our rooms.

And I can start plotting on how to keep Llywelyn safe from both The Agency and Iestyn.

I grimace. For fuck’s sake, Ethan. I tell myself. One huge problem at a time, please. I would like to keep some of my sanity.

“I wish to speak!” calls out a female voice.

I crane my neck. It is Lady Braith, one of Prys’s friends from that ill-fated card game. I frown as she makes her way up towards the dais. She stops just before it and gives Rhydian a bow.

He gestures for her to continue.

“Prys’s words were not rumours. They were the truth.”

The crowd erupts. Noise and chaos. It is overwhelming.

Rhydian’s amber eyes narrow. “How dare you.”

He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t raise his voice, yet somehow, everyone hears him and the throne falls silent immediately.

Lady Braith licks her lips. “I dare because it is the truth. I swear by the goddess.”

Like a pendulum, all the attention swings to Llywelyn. He flinches ever so slightly, but otherwise bears it well.

“Do you deny?” Rhydian asks.

“I deny,” replies Llywelyn, with his head held high.

“If I may, your Majesty,” interjects Lady Braith. “This matter is easy to solve.” The pendulum swings back to her. “Order Prince Llywelyn to strip. He can prove he is not an omega by showing us his body. ”

My brain whites out. All I can hear is the frantic beating of my heart. All I can see is the defeated set to Llywelyn’s shoulders.

“Do you wish to strip?” asks Rhydian, his face carefully, terribly blank.

Llywelyn looks down at the floor. “No,” he says softly.

I tune out the crowd’s reaction. The only thing that matters is Llywelyn. He is sad, scared, and dejected. A mere three steps away, but I can’t pull him into my arms, hold him tight and tell him that everything is going to be okay. I hate this. This is the single most awful moment of my life.

Rhydian starts speaking again, and I force myself to listen.

“Earl Aydanogi turned his back on you. That was his only insult?”

Llywelyn nods. Then he croaks out a tiny, “Yes.” All his haughty, arrogant demeanour is gone. The world is seeing him exposed and I hate it. I should be the only person who ever gets to see this side of him.

A jangle of silver bracelets catch my attention. Mabon is dabbing at his eyes with a white handkerchief. My heart sinks even further. All the other princes’ faces are blank, emotionless. Are they really not going to do anything?

I look at Dyfri. He revealed his necromancy powers to save Llywelyn. Surely he is going to intervene? But his face is just as statue like as the other princes.

He doesn’t know that Llywelyn saved him from his uncle, the cruel Unseelie king. I swallow thickly. Perhaps that is something he should never know.

I try Tristan. He has no idea that all of this is for his sake. He is oblivious that his brother killed Prys to save him. But he does know that Llywelyn took a bullet for him. Surely the red-haired prince feels some loyalty? He gave Llywelyn his thanks. But now he is not even meeting my gaze. He is staring sternly out at the crowd, as if this was just another boring social function .

There is no point in looking at Rhydian. He doesn’t know all the things Llywelyn has done for him. He is utterly unaware that his younger brother has been keeping human agents from dethroning him. By distracting them. By inviting them into his home and into his bed.

An image flashes. I think it’s from the first time Llywelyn had a screaming nightmare. I can see his wide, terrified eyes. At the time, I dismissed the idea that he was scared of me.

I know better now. I was a dangerous stranger. An agent he needed to play. He had given me his body as part of the game. And then he had a terrible nightmare about his abuser, only to wake up in the dark with me looming over him.

He did all that for the man now sternly judging him.

I think I’m going to be sick.

If I thought for one minute that spewing all over the flagstones would help, I wouldn’t try to fight it. But it would probably only result in me being dragged out of the throne room, and that’s the last thing I want.

Rhydian lifts his hand, and the room falls deathly silent. I swallow and it sounds loud enough for everyone to hear.

“The killing was honourless.”

Nobody is surprised. Everyone is waiting with bated breath to hear the interesting part, Llywelyn’s punishment. Even the air has fallen still. Gravity thickens, as if it too has paused.

“The sentence for honourless killing is bound in our oldest laws.”

Rhydian pauses, and I could scream. Just get it over with, please. Do not prolong this agony. I cannot stand it.

“The sentence is execution.”

My knees forget how to hold me up. I stagger and one of the guards catches me. There is a roaring sound in my ears, drowning out everything else.

Execution. Rhydian said execution .

Through my haze, I can tell that Llywelyn is not surprised. Sad and defeated. Scared. But not shocked.

He knew.

He knew, and he didn’t tell me. He let me enjoy the last three days we had together. I spent them worried, of course I did. But nothing like I would have been if I had known the truth.

I cast a quick glance around the room, and it becomes clear. I was wrong before. They all knew. Everyone knew, apart from me. They weren’t waiting to learn Llywelyn’s fate. The bastards were simply keen to hear Rhydian say it out loud.

My cheeks are wet, and everything is blurry. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

Someone coughs aggressively. Dazedly, I see it is Ollie. He has his arms crossed over his chest and he is glaring at Jamie.

Jamie is bright pink. He slides off his throne and clears his throat.

“As queen, I bestow my benevolence and reduce the sentence to exile.”

The crowd goes wild. Angry and gleeful all at the same time. Bloodlust denied, but thirst for scandalous events fulfilled. The talk of this will sustain them for years to come, and they know it.

Jamie ducks his head and scurries back to his throne. Rhydian places his hand over his, on the arm of his throne, and I catch the pride. My watery eyes start to clear. My tiny, stubborn flame of hope reignites.

Anything, anything at all, is better than death.

“My queen has spoken,” declares Rhydian.

The air warms. It swirls. A glowing vortex of purple and red appears in front of my eyes. My mind screams in denial. It’s a portal. I’m looking at a portal. A gateway into another realm, the way the fey strolled onto Earth and conquered it.

It’s beautiful and magical and terrifying.

The two guards nearest Llywelyn grab his arms, his entire body stiffens, but he is no match for them. I step towards him, my arms lifting, but yet again I am too slow. The portal opened up by Llywelyn’s toes. The guards only have to shove him one step. And they do.

I watch helplessly, my soul screeching in horror as they fling him into the light. He disappears. Then so does the portal. Winking out of existence as if it was never there.

I stare in horror at the spot where it was. Where Llywelyn was. He is gone. Thrown out like so much rubbish.

I don’t know where he has gone, but I know it’s not anywhere on Earth. We are no longer under the same sky. He is so far away, my human mind cannot comprehend it.

I thought exile would take time. I was thinking of an escort to the gates, the border. A slow ride into the sunset.

Not this.

Not just gone.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye.