I’m staring blankly at him. I know I am, but I can’t stop it. Of all the things I thought he was going to say, this was nowhere near the list.
“You’re a prince,” I say.
Mabon rolls his eyes. “I’m not the crown prince. I’m a second son. And not even Rhydian has absolute power. No one does. No one ever has. Rulers command by agreement.”
I’m really staring now. I think my jaw might have dropped open. Mabon’s expression is calm, a little bored even, but the deep concepts he is sprouting are hurting my head.
“What does that mean?” I ask weakly.
My cheeks are heating. I feel dumb for assuming that Mabon was shallow. I thought I was better than that. He showed me at breakfast with the court that there was more to him. But I didn’t suspect this level of depth. I saw his pretty face and his camp andflirty behaviour and wrote him off as mostly a flighty air-headed person.
“People only rule and have power because other people choose to give it to them. It can be taken away at any time.”
Now I’m completely lost for words. This is far too philosophical for the middle of the night.
Mabon huffs. “Didn’t your people chop off your royal family’s heads?”
“That was the French!” I exclaim in outrage.
He waves his hand dismissively in the air. “Same thing.”
My mouth opens and shuts several times before I can get the words out. “English and French are not the same! We fought bloody wars over it, thank you very much! Us English kept our royal family right up until you lot appeared and did something with them!”
Mabon’s eyes narrow, and suddenly I remember that he is my captor. And a ruthless, psychopathic son of a bitch.
My jaw slams shut. I need to shut the fuck up right now.
I try my best wide-eyed innocent look. His brows furrow in suspicion, but he doesn’t order my execution. I guess that is a victory of sorts.
In the silence, my mind whirls. At the crux of his highly intelligent conversation, was the implication that he couldn’t stop the atrocity that I witnessed. His people are too bloodthirsty and cruel to accept an order to desist.
“Did you want to stop it?” I ask because I need to know. Is the man I’m sleeping with actually a heartless monster?
A pained look flashes deep in Mabon’s eyes. It makes my heart thump and my chest ache. I wish I had never asked.
“You don’t get to know all my secrets!”
I think he is trying to sound angry, but to my ears, he sounds upset. Distraught even.
“Now, can I play with Mister Dinky?”
My body flinches at the abrupt change of conversation. My cock starts to stir. Just like that. It doesn’t need any further encouragement. My cock is a slut. It doesn’t care about morals or that I’m still confused and partially angry.
But I’m not my cock, and I do care about those things.
“No,” I say, and it’s a fight to not frame it as a question.
He asked. This is my answer. Doesn’t mean he is going to listen to it. He could very well pin me down and play with me anyway.
Mabon exhales loudly. A noise of utter disgust and annoyance. He falls down onto the mattress flamboyantly, with far more force than his slender frame warrants. He makes another displeased sound, and rolls away from me, taking the blankets with him.
I stare at his back.
He snaps his fingers, and the room is plunged into darkness.
Carefully, I lie down. Emotions are flooding me, and the strongest one is tasting an awful lot like disappointment. And that is surprising. And shocking. What the hell is happening to me?
Is crazy contagious? Because I’m becoming every bit as unhinged as Mabon.
