“Bathe quickly, I have a breakfast engagement,” he says and then strides away.
I stare at the door he disappeared through. Well, okay then. Presumably this breakfast engagement involves me, otherwise the speed of my bathing would be irrelevant.
Cold air bites at me as I get out of bed. I shiver and hurry naked to my bathroom, where I quickly sink into the blissful, warm water. Despite everything, I feel surprisingly good. Well rested and refreshed. Seems not only did I pass out, I also slept like a baby.
Pinky appears at the edge of the bath and immediately starts brandishing the shampoo in her threatening manner.
Fine, when Rhydian said quickly, he really meant it. I wonder what is so important about this meeting?
All of Rhydian’s brothers are here, but no one else. Not even any servants. The long table is covered with brimming bowls of fruits and silver plates of cheese. Hardly any of the starch white linen tablecloth is visible.
Nobody is doing more than picking at their breakfast. I thought I’d gleaned that Iestyn was going to be here, but that can’t be right. As far as I can tell, this man is a royal advisor. What kind of advisor keeps six princes waiting?
None of this makes any sense, but what the hell do I know about courts and royalty? I know nothing about human ones, so it is presumptuous to think I can understandfey ones.
None of the princes are grumbling. They are all just waiting patiently, so I should too. Which is fine. If it wasn’t so goddamn boring. Sitting still in silence is my idea of hell.
Llywelyn has brought his pet with him. The winged creature is kneeling on the floor with his head down. He looks utterly dejected, but unharmed. Which is a relief. However, staring at him is not very entertaining at all. And I get the very distinct impression that I am not allowed to talk to him.
Perhaps looking out of the window will keep me occupied. Heaven knows there are enough of them. Nine. All extremely tall and arched. It is grey and overcast today. On a sunny day, this room must dazzle. High ceilings, marble fireplaces and all.
The windows look out onto ornate gardens. The grass is looking a little shaggy and the flowerbeds unkempt. Have the gardeners all been murdered? An icy feeling trickles down my spine.
No, that can’t be right. I’m probably just being dramatic. Earth has been conquered by fey, and fey are creatures of the wild woods. Toadstools and mushroom rings and all that. The garden could be going wild, because they want it to. They desire to return the tamed parts of the world to nature’s waiting arms.
I like that explanation far better than the murder one. No idea if it is true or not, but I think for the sake of my sanity, I’m going to believe that it is.
The doors at the very end of this long room open and a taller than usual fey steps in. He doesn’t have any antlers, but his deep green hair is up in an elaborate array of twists and braids that give the impression of horns.
His emerald, sage, and mint coloured robes fall all the way to the floor, covering his feet and making it seem as if he is floating. His face is pale and narrow. All of him is just a little too long and a little too thin. It is the creepiest thing I have ever seen.
He glides up the table, towards Rhydian. As he gets closer, he smiles, but it is not reflected in his malachite eyes. His cheekbones are high and his jawline well defined. If he were human, he wouldn’t be any older than late twenties. He is beautiful, like a snake or a poisonous flower.
I swear all the princes have sat up a little straighter in their chairs. So I don’t think I am overreacting.
I quickly look away from the advisor, and concentrate on not shuddering. He sits next to Rhydian, on the other side from me, and it is far too close for comfort. The danger has awoken my primal senses and they are screaming at me to be as motionless and silent as possible, to evade detection by the predator.
“A tylwyth as a pet? How novel,” says Iestyn.
His voice is melodic and rich. Pleasing to the ear. Too pleasing. It is uncanny.
“It amuses me,” shrugs Llywelyn.
Iestyn smiles a little too broadly, showing a little too many pointed white teeth. “No doubt. What skills do you gain from it?”
Llywelyn’s eyes widen. “None that I have noticed.”
What on earth are they talking about? It has to be some creepy and unsettling fey thing. Probably involving magic and other uncanny things.
“Does that work with tylwyth?” asks Tristan with a furrowed brow.
Iestyn slowly steeples his fingers. “Bedding someone to absorb their skills is fallible, otherwise half of court would excel at potions.”
His cold green eyes stare pointedly at Dyfri. Everyone follows his gaze. Dyfri flinches ever so slightly and lowers his head. The room falls silent.
I grind my teeth. This Iestyn is a complete and utter bastard. Nevermind the horrendous implication that fey fuck people to steal their powers.
“But it is fun to try,” Iestyn drawls.
