“Won’t your parents be angry?” I ask.
Rhydian lifts his head and stares at me. His brows scrunch in confusion. “Why?”
I open my mouth and then shut it again. Fidelity is clearly not a thing the fey understand and it seems like parents and sons sharing lovers isn’t taboo either.
“Nevermind,” I sigh. “Just a human thing.”
“Are the dragon riders human?” I quickly ask before Rhydian makes me try to explain morals and ethics to him.
“Yes,” says Rhydian.
“Wow!” I say. That throws up so very many more questions, but my mouth blurts out, “They are so hot.” As if that is the most pressing concern.
Rhydian frowns. “They aremarried.”
“Oh,” I reply as I fight my blush. I didn’t even mean to comment on their appearance, and now Rhydian is berating me for it.
“Married to each other,” clarifies Rhydian.
I feel my eyebrows shoot up. Three-way marriages? That’s interesting. And why is Rhydian still frowning? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was jealous, but surely if fey don’t have fidelity, they can’t have jealousy, because that wouldn’t make any sense at all. Or would it? Damn it! Fey truly are so confusing!
And add in the fact that I’ve just discovered that my world had dragons in it before the fey arrived, and I’m feeling a wobbly mess of discombobulation.
Rhydian’s expression turns thoughtful and his gaze drifts away from me, and towards where the dragon riders were sitting.
“The blond one, Mordecai, was prophesied to stop us,” says Rhydian. “He was supposed to sacrifice the red one and close all the portals between our realms forever. But he chose not to. He chose love. He gave up his world for love.”
Rhydian’s eyes are gleaming. His thoughts have clearly taken him far, far away. He doesn’t sound as if he thinks the rider made a stupid choice. Rhydian sounds intrigued. Fascinated.
His expression reminds me of when he watched me pleasuring myself. Or when he first slipped a finger inside of me, knowing he was the first to ever do so.
And now I’m blushing. Luckily, Rhydian isn’t paying me the slightest bit of attention. He is too lost in his thoughts.
Why is he so engrossed by the rider’s decision? I think it is an extremely romantic and swoony story. Is that why Rhydian is so interested? Is love another thing that humans have and fey do not?
But that can’t be right. On my first night here, we talked about love. He defined it because we didn’t think our translators were working. And during our carriage ride, he said love was the loftiest of all dreams.
So Rhydian does know what it is.
But that doesn’t mean he has ever felt it. He told me as much on my first night here. But I had been talking about romantic love. I’ve never had that. But I love my mum. I loved my cat, Mr Tiddles, and cried my eyes out when he died.
What if Rhydian had meant he had never felt love at all? For anyone, in any way? It is an awful thought, but it explains why he is so intrigued by it.
Oh my. I think I have figured it out. Rhydian is fascinated by the dragon rider’s decision because he wants to know how it feels to love someone so intensely that you’d burn the world for them.
Rhydian wants to fall in love.
Chapter twenty-two
Ithink I might actually prefer being alone in our rooms than accompanying Rhydian to events, despite all the whining I’ve done about it. Fey are terrifying and bewildering and I still don’t know all the rules for being a pet. And since my lessons with Dyfri have been cut short, I’ll never know.
The only thing I can do is trail after Rhydian, keep my head down and hope for the best. I don’t even know what to call this gathering. I think a cocktail party would be the nearest human equivalent. It is late evening, the lights in the ballroom are low. Fey are milling around, congregating into small groups and chatting.
A lone harpist is playing in the far corner. Huge cushions are scattered around the edge of the room, forming semi-circles around several different hookah pipes. There are also tables laden with bowls of liquid, ladles and glasses, just like fruit punch being served at a prom, but I highly doubt the brightly coloured, and in some cases, luminous drinks are punch.
Rhydian isn’t drinking any. Or joining any groups reclining on cushions by hookahs. He is politely mingling with his court. Everyone who sees him bows or curtsies.It is making me uneasy. I always seem to forget how important Rhydian is, and that is probably not a good thing.
My gaze falls on a group of fey women on the cushions surrounding an ornate silver hookah pipe. They aren’t smoking it. They are busy doing other things. To each other. I hastily snatch my gaze away. Okay, this really isn’t a cocktail party.
