“How about some soup?” suggests Tristan.
Dully, I watch as he ladles a creamy thick soup out of a tureen and into a fancy china bowl. He places it in front of me. It smells good, but it is not awakening my hunger.
Suddenly, Tristan is pulling up a chair to sit beside me. He dips a silver spoon into the soup and brings it towards my lips. My eyes meet his. I haven’t got the energy to fight him and I don’t care enough to try. I open my mouth.
His eyes flash with something that looks like pain, but he gently spoon feeds me the soup.
“Tristan, you are very late for the meeting,” says a snide voice.
Tristan swears and swivels around to face the door. His blond haired brother has let himself in and is now standing there with a disdainful expression on his ethereally beautiful face.
“I can’t go, Llywelyn. There is something wrong with my pet,” Tristan says.
There is? That’s news to me. I feel fine, well actually, I don’t feel anything. But surely that is good? I’m not in pain or scared or cold, so that means everything is good, doesn’t it?
Llywelyn sniffs. “It is probably just sulking.”
“No!” yells Tristan, making me flinch. “Ollie is not just sulking!”
Llywelyn drifts closer and peers at me. Then he shrugs. “Maybe you broke it.”
Tristan makes a whimpering noise. It sounds an awful lot like distress and despair. I watch as Llywelyn hears it and his golden eyes light up. Tristan is staring at me, so I think he missed his brother’s reaction.
“Llywelyn, could you please lead the meeting today?” asks Tristan as he continues to stare directly at me.
“I suppose I could,” sighs Llywelyn heavily, but his eyes are practically glowing with glee.
He turns and hurries quickly away, as if he is worried that Tristan is going to change his mind. What a creep. It makes me glad I’m an only child. And not a prince. I mean, all the fancy stuff is nice and all, but it seems to come with a lot of bullshit.
“Ollie?”
I blink at Tristan. Why is he calling me Ollie all of a sudden? It is usually Little Pet or Nisny. Have I fucked up and pissed him off so much that terms of endearment have been revoked?
“I said, what would you like to do now?”
I look down at the bowl of soup. It is empty. I don’t remember eating it all. That’s strange. Why am I so spaced out? Is it because he took my magic?
“I know!” Tristan exclaims suddenly. “Television! Humans love television!”
He lifts me off the chair and up into a bridal carry. I’m pretty sure that usually I’d object very strongly to being carried around, but I can’t for the life of me remember why. It is nice. And a lot less effort than walking.
He places me on a plump sofa. It is not the one he tied me to yesterday. That one seems to have vanished.
My gaze drifts to the fireplace directly in front of me. The wall above it is empty. There is no TV in sight. I’m so confused. What happened to watching TV?
Suddenly, the blank wall comes alive with the Netflix homescreen. That’s a strange use of magic. But a useful one, I guess.
Tristan sits beside me and presses a remote control into my hand. I stare at it. Oh. Silly me. It is a projector, not magic. That makes a lot more sense.
“What do you want to watch?” he asks.
I shrug. Deciding is too hard right now. I’ll happily stare at whatever.
His hand gently moves over mine, and he presses the play button. My eyes fix on the moving pictures on the wall, but my mind drifts away.
“Tristan! You should have sent for me. I have a human. I know all about them!”
Tristan’s purple haired brother is standing in front of the TV. His nearly naked human is behind him.
