Guilt coils in my gut. I just subjected him to a brutal hate fuck, and here he is having to cover for my ass.
Llywelyn, still without looking at me, snaps his fingers and points at his feet. Annoyance flares within me, but I ignore it and sit cross-legged on the floor by his feet. I have a role to play and I am a professional.
“His training is coming along well,” says Dyfri.
A small, lazy smirk spreads across Llywelyn’s face. “Thank you.”
Dyfri glances down at me briefly before looking back at his brother. “It seems he is naturally docile like Jamie, and not feisty like Ollie.”
“He has his moments,” says Llywelyn quietly.
My lungs constrict and my heart stutters out of rhythm for a moment. But I push all my emotions down. They are not relevant. I have to concentrate. Listen and learn. Feelings are for civilians.
My mind pulls up the relevant information. Jamie is the Crown Prince Rhydian’s husband. Ollie is the pet of Prince Tristan. Both were claimed like I have been. Jamie needs to be dealt with, he is loyal to his husband, the man I am here to help overthrow.
Ollie, on the other hand, is an unknown. My briefing said a wildcard, unpredictable. I need more intel before anything is decided.
Above me, the table has fallen silent. The gentle clink of teacups against saucers tells me the princes are quietly enjoying their breakfast. My stomach rumbles. Yet another thing to ignore.
I stare blankly at the folds of the pristine white tablecloth that nearly reaches the stained oak floorboards. My back is hunched and I look scared and numb. In reality, I’m taking stock of my surroundings using my peripheral vision.
Dark wood panelling on the walls. A carved stone fireplace, dark and unlit. The windows are behind the breakfast table. Tall and thin. The room itself is only slightly larger than an average living room.
All in all, it’s very English castle. But it is not a natural part of Buckingham Palace. Why has Llywelyn modelled it this way? Why not make it look like home, if you are going to make it look like anything at all?
“I dread to think what Rhydian will do if anyone else takes a human pet,” Dyfri says conversationally, breaking the silence.
Llywelyn makes a disparaging noise. “He can’t stop you. It is your right.”
A teacup clunks against a saucer. “I don’t want a pet. Let alone a human one.”
Llywelyn leans forward. “Maybe an intimidating one, to keep the suitors away?”
Dyfri laughs, the sound sharp and bitter. “There haven’t been many of those since Jamie changed the law.”
“Good,” says Llywelyn, as he leans back in his chair.
I hide my frown. I think my translator is playing up. Suitor is not the right word. It is too soft. It doesn’t fit. I’m fairly confident that the princes are talking about how rhocyn used to have to sleep with anyone who asked. Not frigging suitors.
Dyfri’s dark eyes flick down to me, and a frisson of unease races down my spine. My expression wasn’t giving anything away, was it?
He looks up at his brother, and his expression tightens slightly. “What about you, Brother? Any suitors?”
Llywelyn snorts in derision. “I am a resyn now. No one even looks at me.”
A flash of pity sparks in Dyfri’s dark eyes and then it is hidden. Interesting. My brief implied these two were not close. But perhaps there is potential here. Having Dyfri on our side would make me feel miles more confident about this mission.
I risk keeping my eyes up. I want to be able to see both of their faces.
“Your hair will grow,” Dyfri says softly.
Llywelyn winces. A look of true pain crossing over his face. “Sorry, Dyfri. I shouldn’t complain about being a resyn when…” he trails off.
Dyfri raises one perfect eyebrow. “It could be far worse and you could be a rhocyn like me?”
Llywelyn looks down at his teacup. A tinge of pink races along his cheekbones.
Abruptly, Dyfri stands. “I have to go.”
