“Oh,” says Tristan. His gaze turns to me, full of surprise and keen interest.
Wait? What? What on earth is Mabon babbling about? He has to be teasing Rhydian, right? There cannot be any truth to his words. That’s ludicrous. Rhydian doesn’t like me.
I look at Rhydian. He is glaring at Mabon with a ferocity I’m sure should be lethal, and his pale cheeks are tinged with pink.
Oh. Fuck.
My stomach swoops and twists. I can hear the thump of my heart, and my tea is shaking as I try to bring it to my lips. Rhydian is fond of me? What does that even mean? Does it mean fond, or you know,fond?And why do I even care? I mean, undoubtedly it could be damn useful, but that does not explain my visceral reaction to the news, or how I can’t look at him anymore because it feels as if I will fall apart if I do.
I know I want him to fuck me. He is utterly gorgeous and clearly highly skilled, so that’s not an insane wish. But I don’t like him. I can’t like him. Not like that. He hasn’t even kissed me. Though what kissing has to do with anything, I have no idea.
Oh crap, now my thoughts are spiralling into an incoherent panic. Time to take another sip of tea and calm down.
Rhydian launches into a discussion on how to prepare for Vizier Iestyn’s visit, and I couldn’t be more grateful that the conversation is moving on. Thank fuck for that.
I should pay attention. If I know the plans, I might be able to sabotage them, and, I don’t know, use the distraction for my escape.
But I can’t. My mind is refusing to work. It is fixated on the idea that Rhydian might have feelings for me.
What the fuck am I going to do?
Chapter sixteen
It’s late, and Rhydian is still not back. My eyes are too blurry to focus on this book anymore. Not that I was fully immersed in it in the first place. I’ve been too busy listening out for the sound of the main door opening for hours now.
I think it is time to give up and go to bed. Just as that thought crosses my mind, a huge yawn overtakes my body. Well, that’s settled then.
I put the book down and walk into the washroom. I do my business, brush my teeth and head for the bedroom.
It is a little bit chilly in here. March hasn’t decided if it is going to be winter or spring yet. Got to love the British weather.
Pinky appears by my elbow, and I bite back my yelp of surprise. She tugs at my robes and I let her because I still can’t figure out the blasted things by myself.
“Can we have a fire in here?” I ask.
She pauses in disrobing me, gives me a glare, and clicks her fingers. The logs in the fireplace ignite into life. There is no stopping my yelp this time.
“Thank you,” I say, but she ignores me.
She bundles up my clothes and walks away with them, leaving me standing naked in the bedroom. Well, as naked as I can be with this cockbag and collar.
She reappears mere seconds later with a porcelain washbowl, a stack of clean clothes and a towel. She places them on the dresser and leaves again. This time shutting the heavy door behind her. Fine, I get the hint.
“Thank you,” I say again, but I don’t know if she can hear me.
I walk over to the washbowl. The water is lovely and warm and fragranced with something wonderful. I wash my pits and bits by the firelight, and pat dry with the soft towel.
If Pinky was so keen for me to wash, does she know something I don’t? Is Rhydian on his way back? I stare at the door for a moment, but it remains stubborn and motionless.
Sighing, I climb into the enormous bed and collapse against the soft furs. The firelight is flickering pretty patterns onto the canopy, so I roll over onto my side so I can watch the flames directly.
The room has already heated up, and the furs are warm. Lying on top of them naked feels perfectly comfortable. I’m totally not posing for when Rhydian gets here. That would be absurd.
But I am wondering how much longer he is going to be. Fey or not, the man has to sleep sometime. And I don’t think he is so embarrassed by the confession Mabon teased out of him that he is going to avoid me all night. Is he?
My stomach twists, and my lungs do a stupid stutter. Damn it! My body is so annoying. I’m not a teenager with a crush. I’ma grown man. An adult in a very dangerous situation. I have to keep my wits about me.
Another yawn nearly splits my jaw in half. My eyelids flutter. It’s fine. I can snooze while waiting for him.
