Mabon’s nimble fingers distract me as they pick up a bunch of grapes and place them on a small gold saucer. He slides it in front of me and then takes a plate for himself. His attention seems fully focussed on the fey who has spoken, and the fact he is feeding me without thinking about it, is strangely warming. It’s not a calculated move, it’s an instinctual one.
Conversation starts to flow and despite the translator, I’m soon lost. They are talking about people and places I have never heard of. But I’m fairly certain it’s all idle court gossip and petty shit. Nothing useful, so I’m not going to feel too bad for not being able to keep up.
Watching Mabon, however, is a revelation. He has the room metaphorically eating out of his hand. He seems so invested and interested in what these people are saying. So full of empathy and sympathy.
The little fox. He is good at this. He is a competent prince. There is clearly a lot more to him than some flighty, pouty, pretty boy.
I nibble on my grapes and watch him at work.
I’ve been underestimating my enemy.
Chapter eight
Inever thought I’d be relieved to be in Mabon’s bedroom, but after that breakfast and being publicly displayed, this feels wonderful. Like privacy and safety.
I learned little at breakfast. Except that Mabon is far more than he seems. And I finally figured out that my earring is a translator. But that knowledge, combined with experiencing my first public outing, means it was useful. It wasn’t a waste of time. So I shouldn’t be this glad that it is over. It’s not as if I’m going to gather useful information in this bedroom.
A dull thud echoes out as Mabon drops my leash. The most ominous noise I have ever heard. The sound reverberates around my brain and rewrites my mood. My relief vanishes. As does my sense of safety and privacy.
Mabon dropping my leash is a simple gesture. One that should be meaningless. Nevertheless, all the hairs on the back of my neck rise. They stand to attention. My intuition is screaming that I’m suddenly in mortal danger.
I eye Mabon warily. He stalks towards me with all the grace of a predator. I back up until my legs hit the bed.
Suddenly, I’m falling backwards. My back hits the mattress and I bounce a little. Mabon is on top of me, pinning my arms above my head. How did this happen? How is he so fast?
His wonderful scent washes over me. Vanilla? Watermelon? Cookies? What the hell is it, and why is it so good?
His dazzling purple eyes are sparkling. He is a warm, soft weight on top of me. The grip on my wrists is gentle, yet I have the distinct impression that I’m not going anywhere. My heart is hammering uselessly against my ribs.
“Are you consenting now?” Mabon asks excitedly.
I try to swallow, but it gets stuck in my throat, so I shake my head instead.
Mabon frowns, his soft looking lips puffing out in a pretty little pout.
“But you know me now. And I’ve been nice to you!”
What the hell do I say to that? I barely know him, and keeping someone prisoner isn’t nice. How do I explain to this crazy person who is holding me down, that I don’t want to be ravished? Especially when parts of me do want exactly that.
He huffs. “I’m still beautiful.”
“Yes, you are!” I squeak, because it’s probably a good idea to try not to offend him too much.
A beautiful smile spreads across his face. It hypnotises me. His frigging dimples are going to be the death of me.
“So, why can’t I ride you?”
Oh lord. The images that are running riot in my mind right now. My subconscious is a dirty, filthy, and very horny beast. And now it has started, it won’t stop.
Mabon wriggles on top of me and grinds into my erection. There is only a thin piece of silk protecting me, and it is not at all enough to save me.
“Mister Dinky wants to!” he says triumphantly.
I groan helplessly. Then splutter, “I like girls!”
Mabon goes still. He tilts his head. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“I…only like girls.”
