What the hell? Is he flirting with me? Taking the piss? I don’t remember this from my etiquette lessons, but that doesn’t mean a thing, except that my memory is awful, and damn it, now I’m blushing.
Tristan grins at me with a wicked gleam in his scarlet eyes. “It was a pleasure.”
“Thank you,” I stammer. Okay, I think he is just a player. But surely Rhydian will not be impressed?
Tristan walks away whistling, and I shut the door. Phew! Despite everything, I feel far safer in here than anywhere else in the palace and I have no idea what to make of that.
A quick glance around shows me that the rooms are empty. A wave of disappointment washes over me. It has to be at the prospect of being bored. Nothing else makes any sense.
My gaze falls on a piece of furniture I don’t recognise. Is it new? I drift over to it. It is a large oak bookcase, and all the books are in English. The top shelf is stuffed with classics. Moby Dick. Catcher in the Rye. Pride and Prejudice. The middle shelf has Stephen King and JoeAbercombie. I see some Brandon Sanderson. The lower shelves are all romance books.
I run my fingers over them as if I can’t believe what I am seeing. Rhydian let me call my mum. He left me alone all night. He allowed me to sleep in. He gave me a cushion to sit on and gave his permission for me to visit Dyfri. And now, he has given me a whole bookcase of books. Because I said I hate being bored. I can see how a tablet or television would be out of the question, too much contact with the outside world. But books cannot do any harm.
I chuckle and pick up a Sarah J Maas book. “Alright, you moody bastard. Apology accepted.”
Chapter twelve
The door opens, throwing me out of the book I was reading and dumping me unceremoniously back into reality.
I blink up at Rhydian. He is brooding in the doorway again. He is good at it. And it does suit him.
I’m sprawled out on the chaise lounge again, in a position that probably looks bizarre and uncomfortable. I’m mostly on my back, holding the book above my face. I can almost hear one of my childhood teachers berating me for my inability to sit like a normal person.
But Rhydian doesn’t berate me. He doesn’t say anything at all. He simply strides in, and the door swings quietly shut behind him.
Pinky and her friends appear and start setting the table with dinner. My stomach rumbles and I sit up. The table is already set with a dizzying array of delicious looking food.
Rhydian takes a seat. I drift towards the other chair.
“No.” His sharp voice stops me in my tracks.
Am I not allowed to eat? Please tell me that is not the case. Please. I’m starving. I didn’t think he was this cruel and I haven’t even done anything wrong. Not that I know of.
He gestures to his lap and my eyebrows rise. “You want me to sit on your lap?”
An impatient look crosses his face. My heart rate increases and my feet hurry over to him. He spreads his legs and creates a space on the chair. I slide in as gracefully as I can. His firm chest brushes against my back. I swallow, but he ignores me and piles his plate high with food instead.
“Eat,” he orders.
Okay then. I reach forward and pick up an empty plate and start loading it. Rhydian is a tall bastard, so this is actually working surprisingly well. I fit in front of him just fine and we can both reach the food without jabbing each other with elbows.
The first bite of some type of roasted meat has me moaning softly in delight. Fey really can cook. It is a foodies paradise here.
We eat in relative silence, save for my occasional moans of appreciation. I don’t know why I’m sitting in his lap, but whatever. It could be a fey thing I haven’t been taught yet. Or one of Rhydian’s kinks. I’m not sure I care. I’m playing along with being amiable and this is more than bearable.
“How is Dyfri?” he says.
Interesting. Does he actually care after all, or is he simply making small talk?
“He seems fine.”
Rhydian huffs and reaches for a small bread roll. The sound and the gesture are very much conveying, ‘I told you so.’
“I’m sure he only seems fine because he is bottling everything up!” I snap.
“He is fey. And a prince,” says Rhydian. “He has to.”
It is my turn to huff as I reach for more food. Though I’m touched that Rhydian is confessing that he himself is an uptight, emotionless bastard. Even if he is pretending to be talking about his brother.
