“Tough shit.”
I splutter at his directness and his keen hearing. Why are all fey such bastards?
Dyfri fixes me with a stern stare. “Don’t even think about trying any of your brattiness with me. Tristan asking me to train his pet is akin to bestowing his favour. I will not be giving up this advantage.”
Oh. Oh my stars. I can feel my eyes growing wide. This isn’t about me. This is about Dyfri. Tristan is helping him. The bloody bastard did listen to me after all. After pretending not to. Unbelievable.
I stare back at Dyfri’s dark eyes. I suppose I can suffer this. For him. Since it was what I was nagging Tristan about.
Wait a minute. When I first met Dyfri, he was bitching about not wanting to train me. The sly fox. Oh well, I can hardly begrudge anyone for bitching. It is my favourite pastime.
“Fine, have it your way.” I huff.
Dyfri smirks at me. Something positively gleeful is gleaming in his eyes. What the hell? My eyes narrow in suspicion. He seems far more pleased than me agreeing not to be a brat, warrants.
“Your Fey is rather good,” he remarks with a truly chilling smile.
My mouth drops open. Fuck. His whole little rant telling me not to be a brat was in Fey. As was my reply. Fucking hell.
“Don’t worry, dearest Ollie,” he says sweetly. “Your secret is safe with me.” He places his teacup down. “Unless you piss me off.”
Son of a bitch. I glare at him in impotent fury. He has me by the balls and he knows it. To think that I felt sorryfor him and wanted to help him. Asshole. That will teach me to ever be soft again. Softness is weakness, and it always blows up in your face.
“Now, let’s start with curtsies,” he says brightly, as if he hasn’t just blackmailed me.
He slides off his chair and glides to the middle of the room. Then he gives me an expectant expression. What a douchebag. Grumbling, I stomp over to join him. Fuck my life.
A few hours later, and it is very apparent that I am terrible at curtsying. I have all the grace of a drunk panda. It is incredibly frustrating.
I’m no better at etiquette either. Apparently, I have the memory and comprehension of a brain damaged goldfish.
Dyfri sighs heavily and places his hands on his hips. “You need to do better.”
I bite back the, ‘fuck you’ that is on the tip of my tongue. I am actually trying. For once in my life. And not just because he is blackmailing me.
However, if he thinks I’m being a dork on purpose, that’s potentially a lot less mortifying. Maybe I should try to give the impression that I’m being intentionally useless? It would save some slivers of my pride.
“You can’t draw unnecessary attention to yourself,” Dyfri lectures. “It increases the chances of someone deciding they want you.”
My heart pounds against my ribs. Llywelyn said something similar. It can’t be true, can it?
“Why would anyone want me?” I snap.
“To have the pleasure of breaking you in better than Tristan has,” huffs Dyfri.
My blood turns to ice, and it is a struggle to swallow. I’m not sure what expression I have on my face right now, but I’m pretty sure it is a stupid one.
Dyfri shakes his head in exasperation. “And because you are outrageously pretty, which I am sure you are well aware of.”
“I am not pretty!” I snarl reflexively. Now my stomach is doing all sorts of strange things.
Dyfri pauses. He tilts his head and regards me intently. I bristle under his scrutiny, but then his expression softens. Perceptive shit head. He has discerned that I am speaking the truth and that I genuinely don’t think I’m attractive. I truly believe that the fey simply have twisted taste.
“You are pretty here,” he says gently. “It is the mixture of human and fey.”
Exactly what Llywelyn said. Logically, I can see how it makes sense. Humans think kittens look cute. If fey feel that way about humans, then someone looking kittenish could be very attractive. Either way, logical or not, it is all deeply unsettling. Part of me has always wanted to be pretty. So this sudden, unexpected granting of my wish feels like it might be a cruel trick. Nothing more than a prank.
“You are beautiful,” says Dyfri.
