The sound of a bottle being unstoppered reaches my ears, and my cock stirs. Flipping heck, my body parts are learning what that noise means. It is a little unsettling.
“What exactly are you going to do?” I squeak.
Tristan makes a soft sound. “I’m going to finger you until you are nice and open. Then I’m going to sit you on my cock so you can keep it nice and warm while you sit nice and still and watch your television.”
Oh bloody hell. How are his words painting such a vivid picture? It feels like the image is searing into my brain. Mycock has swelled to half-mast, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
“Then,” says Tristan. “I will play with your nipples until you cum.”
I bite my bottom lip and manage to hold back whatever depraved noise I was going to make. Tristan has a filthy, sordid mind. How does he come up with this stuff? It is a very inventive interpretation of Netflix and Chill.
And I can’t find a single thing wrong with it.
Chapter twenty-nine
Being out and about in Buckingham Palace still puts my teeth on edge, but I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding in Tristan’s rooms. Hopefully, I will get used to court, and in the future it will not be an ordeal. Until then, I will just have to suck it up.
Tristan is chatting to a group of people, and everyone is ignoring me. It is actually a relief. All I have to do is stand here. It is simple enough.
The room is huge. I think it used to be a ballroom. It has three gigantic chandeliers, and the floor is varnished wood. There is a wall of giant arched windows, which must look dazzling in the daytime. At the moment they are just dark, and it adds to the sombre atmosphere.
Nobody is dancing, and there is no music. There is nothing in here apart from tables of drinks along the side. Everyone is simply standing around in small groups and talking. Mingling, I think it is called. I cannot think of anything worse. Please don’t tell me that the whole evening is going to be like this.
Suddenly, Tristan says goodbye to his little gaggle of groupies and we walk away from them. I perk up, but it soon becomes clear that we are merely heading for a different bunch of fey.
I let out a heavy sigh. It is going to be a long, long night.
“Do you recognise the feel of anyone’s magic?” Tristan asks, without looking back at me. “From the arrow attack,” he clarifies.
My feet nearly stop walking in surprise, but I just about manage to hold it together.
“Is that why we are here?” I hiss. The bloody bastard could have warned me.
Tristan says nothing, but he is clearly waiting for an answer.
“No,” I grumble.
I seriously don’t know what he is expecting of me. All this magic shit is new. I don’t know what the hell I am doing. Surely saving his dumb life was enough? I can’t be expected to also find his wanna be assassin. We don’t even know if it was a fey that tried to kill him. Though humans don’t usually go around with bows and arrows.
But saying that, I attacked Tristan with a flipping dagger, of all things. Because that was what emo wolf boy gave me. He said bullets wouldn’t get through the shields. It needed to be something fey. So, was the arrow attack emo boy’s second attempt? He found another person to do his dirty work and gave them an archery kit?
Fucking hell. If I try to talk to Tristan about this theory, my throat will close up. So that option is a non-starter. However, if I find someone at court who feels familiar, my theory could be disproved that way. Likewise, if I search and find nothing, it is evidence that points towards emo boy being the suspect. And I’m sure Tristan will think of it by himself. All I need to do is look.
Goddamnit. I clench my fists and try to feel magic. This feels ridiculous. How am I supposed to recognise a person by their magic? It is absurd.
A shiver runs down my spine. Ok, as I was foreseeing the attack, I did have a strange sensation that reminded me of Llywelyn. But I could very well be mixing him up with the feeling of danger and threat and general hostility.
I really don’t know what I’m doing. So I am not going to drop Llywelyn’s name and potentially start a civil war or something. I don’t know shit about politics either, but I’m pretty sure one prince accusing another of trying to murder him, is not good for peace and prosperity.
So I am bloody well keeping my mouth shut.
I cast my gaze around the room, just to see if anyone draws my attention, but I see something else instead.
The empty centre of the room is shimmering. Like a heat haze. I blink, but it is still there. As I watch in shock, the rippling movement falls away, like a curtain being dropped. Revealing a low circular stage of padded red velvet.
Everyone turns towards it, and nobody seems alarmed. They were expecting this. A stage hidden by an invisibility cloak until the show was ready to begin.
My lungs tighten as I take in the sight before me. There are six young fey on the stage. Two of them are naked and bound. Two men. Both with loose hair.
