Page 5

Chapter five

I ’ve been standing here, mentally spiralling, all alone in Llywelyn’s bedchamber for ages. Is he not coming back?

I take a deep breath and run my hand over my face. I mean, I guess I can’t blame him. Not after that.

My gaze goes to the bed, to the very spot he bent over, as if I’m going to see an echo of what just happened, some kind of ghostly replay. But my eyes see nothing. My mind, however, is very happy to give me a full and vivid rerun.

I wince and look away from the bed, even though it does nothing to stop my memories from playing. Sickeningly, my cock begins to stir. Some twisted part of myself really enjoyed behaving like an animal.

What the fuck is wrong with me? How did that just happen? Why did I do that?

I’m not the kind of person who behaves like that. I’m really not. So there has to be an explanation. I just need to figure it out.

Maybe the infamous depravity and cruelty of the fey court has somehow seeped into me? Perhaps Llywelyn put a spell on me or drugged me? Though, what would be the motive? Surely he can’t have been craving a hate fuck that badly?

I suck in a breath. Is the answer simply that I am the one who wanted a hate fuck that badly? I do hate the arrogant tosser, that’s true enough. But do I want him?

A montage of images flow through my mind. Hair like spun sunlight. Exotic amber eyes. Flawless skin the colour of freshly fallen snow. Pale pink pouty lips. A long lithe body. Regal antlers and pointy ears, both striking and compelling because they are so very exceptional, so very otherworldly. And god, that ass. Even Michelangelo could not carve better if he had the finest marble.

I groan and pull at my hair. Fucking hell. Prince Llywelyn is hot. So, very, very hot. This is awful.

It seems likely that there is no great mystery, no devious plot. I probably just wanted to hate fuck him. But why did he let me? Why did I allow myself to lose control?

And where the fuck has he gone?

Growling to myself, I stalk out of the bedroom and go in search of him. I find him in the sixth room I check, and he is not alone. He is fully dressed and having breakfast in a cosy dining room, with a young fey man with midnight dark hair that falls loose all the way to his waist.

Wearing your hair untied is sacrilege to the fey. Shocking, shameful and lewd. Nobody does it in public by choice. It is akin to being naked. Therefore, this man must be a rhocyn, a disgrace amongst his people. And with his dark hair and eyes, I’m pretty sure this is Prince Dyfri Y Mhorriganogi. Llywelyn’s youngest brother.

Dark eyes sweep over me as he takes me in. Assessing my hairless chest and my pyjama trousers. I see the bright blaze of his keen intelligence. This is a man to be wary of.

He turns his attention back to his brother and pops a grape in his mouth with nonchalant ease.

“This is the human you risked Rhydian’s ire for?” he says idly.

Llywelyn doesn’t look at me. He simply shrugs and pours himself some more tea. The tea set is exquisite. Carved from pure jade, if I’m not mistaken. And all the small plates the dizzying selection of fruit and cheeses are on look like solid silver etched with swirling patterns.

Dyfri sips his own drink. “He looks more Mabon’s type than yours.”

“I fancied a change,” Llywelyn says with an icy calm .

Guilt coils in my gut. I just subjected him to a brutal hate fuck, and here he is having to cover for my ass.

Llywelyn, still without looking at me, snaps his fingers and points at his feet. Annoyance flares within me, but I ignore it and sit cross-legged on the floor by his feet. I have a role to play and I am a professional.

“His training is coming along well,” says Dyfri.

A small, lazy smirk spreads across Llywelyn’s face. “Thank you.”

Dyfri glances down at me briefly before looking back at his brother. “It seems he is naturally docile like Jamie, and not feisty like Ollie.”

“He has his moments,” says Llywelyn quietly.

My lungs constrict and my heart stutters out of rhythm for a moment. But I push all my emotions down. They are not relevant. I have to concentrate. Listen and learn. Feelings are for civilians.

My mind pulls up the relevant information. Jamie is the Crown Prince Rhydian’s husband. Ollie is the pet of Prince Tristan. Both were claimed like I have been. Jamie needs to be dealt with, he is loyal to his husband, the man I am here to help overthrow.

Ollie, on the other hand, is an unknown. My briefing said a wildcard, unpredictable. I need more intel before anything is decided.

Above me, the table has fallen silent. The gentle clink of teacups against saucers tells me the princes are quietly enjoying their breakfast. My stomach rumbles. Yet another thing to ignore.

I stare blankly at the folds of the pristine white tablecloth that nearly reaches the stained oak floorboards. My back is hunched and I look scared and numb. In reality, I’m taking stock of my surroundings using my peripheral vision.

Dark wood panelling on the walls. A carved stone fireplace, dark and unlit. The windows are behind the breakfast table. Tall and thin. The room itself is only slightly larger than an average living room .

All in all, it’s very English castle. But it is not a natural part of Buckingham Palace. Why has Llywelyn modelled it this way? Why not make it look like home, if you are going to make it look like anything at all?

“I dread to think what Rhydian will do if anyone else takes a human pet,” Dyfri says conversationally, breaking the silence.

Llywelyn makes a disparaging noise. “He can’t stop you. It is your right.”

A teacup clunks against a saucer. “I don’t want a pet. Let alone a human one.”

Llywelyn leans forward. “Maybe an intimidating one, to keep the suitors away?”

Dyfri laughs, the sound sharp and bitter. “There haven’t been many of those since Jamie changed the law.”

“Good,” says Llywelyn, as he leans back in his chair.

I hide my frown. I think my translator is playing up. Suitor is not the right word. It is too soft. It doesn’t fit. I’m fairly confident that the princes are talking about how rhocyn used to have to sleep with anyone who asked. Not frigging suitors.

Dyfri’s dark eyes flick down to me, and a frisson of unease races down my spine. My expression wasn’t giving anything away, was it?

He looks up at his brother, and his expression tightens slightly. “What about you, Brother? Any suitors?”

Llywelyn snorts in derision. “I am a resyn now. No one even looks at me.”

A flash of pity sparks in Dyfri’s dark eyes and then it is hidden. Interesting. My brief implied these two were not close. But perhaps there is potential here. Having Dyfri on our side would make me feel miles more confident about this mission.

I risk keeping my eyes up. I want to be able to see both of their faces.

“Your hair will grow,” Dyfri says softly .

Llywelyn winces. A look of true pain crossing over his face. “Sorry, Dyfri. I shouldn’t complain about being a resyn when…” he trails off.

Dyfri raises one perfect eyebrow. “It could be far worse and you could be a rhocyn like me?”

Llywelyn looks down at his teacup. A tinge of pink races along his cheekbones.

Abruptly, Dyfri stands. “I have to go.”

He turns and leaves without another word. Llywelyn stares after him while biting his bottom lip.

I stare at him in suspicion. He almost seems like a decent person. He was nice to his brother. Perfectly civil. Or was it all simply an act? Or is it because now he is a resyn and nobody talks to him, he is so desperate for company that he has learnt to play nice?

I let out a sigh. So very many questions. My head is swimming with them all.

Golden eyes turn to me. He points at the chair his brother just vacated.

“Sit. Eat.”

I glare at him. There is no need to talk to me like that when we are alone.

My stomach rumbles. Fine. I will give the princeling the benefit of the doubt. Walls have ears and all that. I don’t know who might be listening. This is his world and as much as I hate the fact, he understands it far more than I do.

I haul myself to my feet and sit in the chair. There is an abundance of food left. I take an empty plate and start piling it with a selection of goodies.

I can feel Llywelyn’s eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I still haven’t processed what happened earlier, and it is making me all kinds of confused.

“When you have finished eating, you need to undress,” he says.

I hide my jolt of surprise, and I don’t look up. I just keep piling fruit on my plate. Undress? Does he want a second round? Did he like my cock that much? I know my cock liked being inside him. Very much so. So much so that it is swelling in hope at the mere suggestion of another go.

“Why?” I ask, and thank fuck, I sound perfectly calm.

Llywelyn sniffs. “Because I am taking you out again, and this time you need to be naked.”

My plate hits the tablecloth with a dull thud. A few grapes roll off. Luckily, my now lax fingers were only an inch or two from the surface of the table, so the plate didn’t have far to fall.

My eyes snap up to meet the prince’s steady gaze.

What the actual fuck?