I shake my head.
“Then you are well enough to sit.”
Fine. I carefully lower myself onto the settee next to him and manage to do so with only a faint grimace.
Dyfri takes another puff of the hookah and the water bubbles loudly.
“Are you alright?” I whisper. I don’t want Mabon to hear.
Dark eyes flash at me again. A faint blush of colour tinges his pale cheeks and he nods sharply before looking away.
I guess that will have to do. He is not exactly going to pour his heart out to me. He barely knows me and fey seem to be the exact opposite of touchy feely types.
If Dyfri is saying he is okay, I’m going to have to take him at his word. He does seem fine. He is definitely one tough cookie, and I guess last night is what he is used to.As heartbreaking as that is. There is nothing more I can do. At least, not yet.
My musing is interrupted by another fey striding in. His antlers curl back like Mabon’s, but not as tightly. His hair is blood red and in two thick braids that fall down to his waist. His cat slitted eyes are ruby bright but his expression is unthreatening.
I’m pretty sure he is another one of the brothers. A prince who was at the family lunch on my first day here.
“Oh, is this Graham Grantham’s son?” he says brightly.
“Yes,” answers Mabon with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if the subject is boring and uninteresting.
The newcomer grins at me, sits down next to Mabon and picks up a spare hookah pipe. These fey princes are so darn confusing. They say I am a pet but they seem happy to talk to me and have me sit with them. Hang out with them even. I thought Dyfri was nice because as a rhocyn he could sympathise with my plight as a pet. But now, I have no idea what is going on.
Perhaps they do truly see me as a cat or a dog. One that is allowed on the furniture. Something they are happy to have around. An animal, not a servant, slave or prisoner. A thing that is cute and unthreatening.
That actually makes a whole heap of sense. And it is very depressing. But useful. Being underestimated can be extremely useful. I’m sure of it. At least, that’s always what they say in books and movies.
The princes make idle small talk and continue to smoke. No one offers me a pipe, which is fantastic. Who knows what is in it or what it would do to humans. This way I don’t have to be rude and decline.
I listen to their conversation, but the only useful thing I learn is that the red-haired prince is called Tristan. It doesn’t seem like the princes are going to chat about anything important.
“I should get back,” I say suddenly. It has just occurred to me that I asked Rhydian if I could see Dyfri, not spend all day here. And if I’m not going to learn anything useful, there is no point in having Rhydian pissed off at me again.
“I’ll walk you back,” says Tristan as he flows to his feet. “I need to get going too.”
I look at Dyfri. Is this a good idea? Is it even allowed? Dyfri nods.
“Thank you,” I say to Tristan.
He grins at me, loops my arm into the crook of his elbow and leads me away.
“Bye!” I call over my shoulder, but I think Mabon and Dyfri are too lost in their hookah to even notice that I’m gone.
Strolling through the palace arm in arm with someone feels damn strange. But it feels safe. We pass a handful of people and they all bow and curtsy. Their very demeanour is completely different to how people behave around Dyfri. I wonder why he offered to walk me at all? He would have been far safer staying in his own rooms. A fact I know I will feel guilty about forever.
Is he treated poorly purely because he is a rhocyn, or because his mum was an Unseelie, whatever that is?
“Tristan, what is an Unseelie?” Might as well make use of a seemingly friendly face.
The red-haired prince blinks at me. Oops, my question is a bit random and out of the blue.
“This is a Seelie Court, think of it as light elves from your stories. We are summer and daylight. The Unseelie Court are our enemies and counterpoints. Winter and night. Dark elves, if you like.”
I stare at Tristan in open-mouthed horror. These guys are supposed to be thegoodguys? That does not compute at all and is quite frankly a horrifying thought. My mind balks at it and shies away from it. I wish I had never asked.
Tristan and I reach Rhydian’s rooms with no incidents. He pushes the doors open for me, and as I turn to thank him, he lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips over my knuckles.
