He sounds so very different from when he is talking to me, that I nearly look up to check it is still him.
“I’m sure the human can find his own way back,” drawls the stranger.
His voice reminds me of oil and snakes and danger.
“I’m afraid not, Your Grace. The pet is quite dim-witted.”
I’m not even going to bristle at the insult. Dyfri can call me whatever the hell he likes if it gets him out of whatever the hell this is.
A rustle of silk and a flurry of movement has me looking up before I can stop myself. A tall, white-haired fey with no antlers has Dyfri pinned against the wall. They are not touching, but the pale fey has his hands on either side of Dyfri’s head, caging him in.
Dyfri’s dark eyes are calm as he looks up at the imposing fey.
“You think you are such a cunning little Unseelie spawn, don’t you? You think you can weave your webs of plots and your betters will be none the wiser.”
The white-haired fey leans in closer. The silver threads and clear cut jewels in his exquisite robes catch the light of the chandeliers and sparkle as if alive.
“You are not clever, little Unseelie.” The pale fey tilts his head. “But you are pretty.”
He reaches into his robes and pulls out a white satin pouch. He moves his remaining hand from imprisoning Dyfri, to open up the drawstring. Dyfri steps to the side, but the pale fey grabs his wrist and stops him from moving any further.
The creep holds up a single pin. It looks like a simple map pin to me, something to stick into a graph to mark a place. But Dyfri’s eyes flash with fear. I step forward. But in a lightning quick move, the asshole sticks the pin into Dyfri’s bare wrist. Immediately his dark eyes roll back and he collapses, but the pale fey catches him and scoops him up into a bridal carry before he hits the floor.
He grins down at the unconscious Dyfri in his arms. “I detest your mind, but I adore your body.”
I watch, dumbfounded, as he strides away with Dyfri. The long dark fall of my friend’s hair is striking against the silver clothes of his abductor. He is so utterly helpless. Vulnerable. He is being carried away from me and there is not a thing I can do about it.
But I know someone who can.
I turn and run to Rhydian’s sitting room. My feet somehow do know the way, after all.
I burst into Rhydian’s rooms and find him sitting by the fireplace in a red wingback chair, sipping something that looks like whiskey.
“Someone has abducted Dyfri!” I splutter as my lungs wheeze.
Rhydian raises one perfect eyebrow and calmly savours another mouthful of his drink.
“This white-haired creep has carried Dyfri off to…to,” I can’t even say the word.
“Dyfri probably planned it,” says Rhydian with a careless shrug.
An image flashes across my mind of the look on Dyfri’s face when he saw the pin. I grind my teeth.
“No, he did not. He was scared. The bastard drugged him with something.”
Rhydian is staring at me. His eyes are a burning amber. The flickering flames of the fire cast shadows over the sharp angles of his face. He is beautiful. Otherworldly. And a complete jerk.
The fire crackles and hisses. I am holding my breath. Waiting. Surely he is going to do something?
“If he is drugged, then he will no longer be scared.”
My mouth falls open. “How can you say that?”
Rhydian cannot be this heartless. He can’t be. No one is. There has to be more going on here, things I do not understand. The power and politics of a court. But Rhydian is a prince, the eldest prince, from what I can tell. He could intervene if he wanted to. I’m sure of it.
“He is a rhocyn, it is his place.” Rhydian’s voice is cold, his eyes uncaring. It has to be an act.
I’m striding forward. My fists are clenched by my side. “He is your brother!”
