This food is delicious. The fey certainly know how to cook, or at least their servants do. I’m eating far better as a pet than I ever did as a free man.
Across the intimate two-seater table, Mabon is eating absentmindedly while fully engrossed in the tablet he is holding in one hand. It is an incongruous sight. The ultra modern human technology in the hand of someone from literal fairy tales. iPad,dark horns, purple hair and silk robes is a strange and jarring combination.
Or maybe it’s not that odd and I’m just grumpy because I don’t like being ignored. I didn’t think I was that childish, but lately I’ve been learning a lot of different things about myself. Most of them bewildering.
Suddenly, Mabon clicks his fingers. I jump and look around for the magic, but all that happens is a pair of shadowy servants come and clear the table.
I glare at them, and then at Mabon. I hadn’t finished eating.
Finally, he puts the tablet down and looks at me. My glaring doesn’t seem to register at all. It has zero effect on him.
“I’m about to receive a guest and I want you to be on your very best behaviour,” Mabon says.
My tongue tangles on all the things I want to say and I end up silent. Staring at him impotently. He is such an insufferable, condescending asshole, and I can’t even yell at him about it.
He stands up and fusses with his hair and robes.
“Kneel,” he says without looking at me.
Sighing heavily, I slide from my chair to my knees.
He steps up to me and runs a hand through my hair. His fingers feel nice. Cool and soothing. It is taking everything I have not to lean into his touch.
“Good boy,” he beams down at me, with a flash of deadly dimples.
My heart does cartwheels and my stomach does a flip. How the hell does he do this to me? I truly don’t understand it.
A knock at the door pulls my attention away from my ruminating.
“Enter!” calls Mabon.
The door opens and the blue-haired fey who lost the duel walks in. His sapphire hair is all down and falling to just pasthis waist. He starts to bow, stops himself and drops into an awkward curtsey instead.
Why is he here? Is Mabon checking on him? Does my owner actually have a heart after all?
“You are good with languages?” asks Mabon with no further preamble.
What the fuck? Straight to business with not a whisper of sympathy or compassion?
Osian looks startled. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Mabon grins. “Excellent. I need another secretary on my staff.”
The room falls silent. Osian seems utterly taken aback and completely lost for words. Mabon waits with a patience I never would have guessed he possessed.
Eventually, Osian remembers how to talk. “I…I am a rhocyn now. I would bring shame to your household.”
Mabon waves his hand in the air, in his favourite dismissive gesture. “Nonsense,” he says sharply. “Everyone knows my brother is my dearest friend and he is a rhocyn.”
“I meant no offence!” Osian says hurriedly and his face pales.
“I know,” says Mabon, almost cheerfully.
Osian stares at him. Looking even more flummoxed than before. The silence stretches until Mabon breaks it.
“Those who followed Rhydian to these foreign shores were hoping for a different court.”
Osian licks his lips and nods. His eyes are wide and uncertain.
