I glance around at the princes. Yeah, I think I have far more in common with Blake and Jamie than I do with these guys.
But here I am. Because I caused a fuck up that they need to try to fix.
“Pour the tea, pet,” says Mabon airily.
I startle and stare at the teapot. Me, serve the tea? Until I came here, I only ever had tea from a teabag. In a mug. I don’t know what to do with fancy loose leaf stuff and teapots.
Mabon rolls his eyes. “Tristan, your pet needs to learn more than how to ride your cock.”
Flipping heck. Why are fey like this? It really is too much. It is outrageously rude, and it is causing all sorts of enticing images to run riot in my head.
“Oh, can Blake pour tea?” Tristan says sweetly.
Mabon scowls and slumps back in his chair in defeat.
Dyfri quietly reaches for the teapot, but Rhydian places a hand on his arm and stops him. “When we are alone, you are our brother, nothing else.”
The faintest hint of colour spreads across Dyfri’s cheeks. He nods and puts his hand back down by his side.
I blink several times. Okay. Is pouring tea a status thing? Is that why I was asked to do it, because I’m the lowliest person here?
Mabon sighs dramatically and picks up the teapot. If it is such a big deal, why don’t they just get a servant to do it? Fey are such confusing bastards. It is a shame my lessons with Dyfri were cut short, I could really do with them.
I cast a quick glance at the dark-haired prince. Yep, just as I suspected. Knowing his awful past does not make him any less terrifying. If he ever forgives me enough to resume our lessons, it is going to be extremely nerve-wracking.
I shiver and pull my thoughts back to the present. Mabon is making quick work of pouring everyone a cup of tea. He gets to my cup and fills it.
“Thanks,” I say. I really wasn’t expecting him to serve me.
He flashes me a delighted, beaming grin and my heart sinks. Oh crap. Is thanking a fey as bad as making a deal with them? I swallow tightly. There is so much that I need to learn.
“Let’s get to business,” Rhydian says sternly.
It is annoying as hell seeing him sit in Tristan’s usual chair, and it is doubly annoying that he is also managing to make it seem like a throne. The pompous ass could lord it over everyone by simply walking into a room. It is insufferable. I really don’t understand why Jamie married him. They don’t seem suited at all.
“Yes, let’s,” agrees Mabon. “Is your magic stronger than Loo-loo’s?”
Rhydian frowns. “Llywelyn is not a child anymore.”
“I know. But it is so hard to believe. He was so squishy and adorable,” Mabon says.
“Now he is the disgruntled middle child,” states Dyfri.
Silence settles over the princes. A sad one. I think they are remembering small Llywelyn, and feeling wistful. I can’t imagine Llywelyn ever being cute, or young. He seems like he simply sprung out of the ground fully grown and evil. Like a lot of the fey at court. It makes me very glad that I tried to assassinate Tristan and not someone else. I lucked out there.
Tristan takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if my magic is stronger than Llywelyn’s. You all know how secretive he has been since adolescence. Who knows how his powers have grown?”
My body temperature drops several degrees. I’ve never felt so chilled in all my life. Fucking hell. I’ve been assuming Tristan would win. I thought it would be awful, but that he would win.
Hearing Tristan implying that might not be the case, is horrifying. And for once, it is not just my own ass I’m concerned about. What happens to Tristan if he loses? Does he die? Get banished?
My heart thuds against my ribs as a dark thought claws through my mind. Llywelyn would not make his own brother a rhocyn. Would he? Is that even an option when brothers duel?
“Even if you win, this is a disaster,” says Rhydian.
Well, fuck him very much. Tristan winning is clearly the far superior outcome. There is no need to be a dick about it.
“A divided royal family is a weakened royal family,” he continues.
