Tristan shifts uncomfortably. “Yes.”
“And peopledon’t?They just let people suffer?”
“Yes,” says Tristan quietly.
Oh my holy stars. I can’t believe what I am hearing. No, I can believe it, these are fey, after all. It is just that I don’t want to believe it.
My mind whirls. Images flash. Things begin to click into place. Tristan braiding my loose hair tonight because it irked him. Dyfri’s gorgeousloosedark hair, and his reaction tonight.
“Is Dyfri a rhocyn?” I hiss.
Tristan closes his eyes briefly. “Yes.”
Outrage flows through my veins. “That’s your brother! Why don’t you help him?”
“I can’t claim him precisely because he is my brother, claiming is like a marriage. I’ve offered to bribe or blackmail someone into doing it, but Dyfri is… very prickly about the subject.”
I’m lost for words. Completely and utterly lost for words. I thought I was getting a feel for this place, for Tristan, but the truth is that I know nothing at all.
Except for one thing. This place is awful.
Chapter twenty-two
I’m trembling with anger as I stomp my way from the ballroom to Tristan’s rooms. Tristan is walking beside me, but he is wisely not saying a word. If he tried to speak, I’d punch him.
Part of me knows there is something going on with my rage. Some issue or hang-up that has been well and truly awoken. Because I barely know Dyfri, so I can’t genuinely be this incensed on his behalf. But I’m not a flipping therapist, so I’m not going to be able to figure out what my problem is. And I don’t need to know. I can just seethe without analysing it.
We reach Tristan’s rooms and he drops my leash. My feet thud on the floor as I storm to my room. I slam the door shut behind me. The noise and violence is satisfying for one single heart beat before Tristan ruins it by calmly opening the door and stepping inside.
I place my hands on my hips and glare at him with my full ferocity.
He stares back at me serenely. “Do you need a blow job?”
My mouth opens. It closes. It opens again. This fucking man is unbelievable. My thoughts are scattered and my cock is twitching hopefully.
“I do not need a blow job!” I yell.
Tristan tilts his head to the side. “You are very grumpy.”
“Because you and this place are both vile!”
Tristan winces ever so slightly, a faintest of movement around his eyes, but I see it. He looks hurt. Wounded, even.
Seriously? That is one of his buttons? Me not liking him? And for fuck’s sake, I’ve finally found a sore point, but for some unfathomable reason, I don’t want to press it. This is all kinds of messed up.
I suck in a breath. It’s time to move the conversation on and steer away from these uncomfortable waters.
“I yelled at Dyfri for not having your back, but all along, you never had his! In the worst possible way.”
Shit. This isn’t safer waters at all. I’ve thrown an anchor in and stuck myself in the path of the storm. Seems I am capable of wanting to hurt Tristan after all.
He slowly crosses his arms over his chest. “It is not my doing. I am not the reason Dyfri is a rhocyn.”
“You haven’t done anything about it!” I spit. I can’t believe he is going with the whole ‘It’s not my fault.’ It is stupid, childish, and quite frankly, utterly beneath him.
“What would you have me do?” he says. “I’m a prince, not a god.”
My fists clench. I really hope he is not as calm as he seems. Acting cool is one thing, being a cold emotionless bastard, is quite another.
