He turns and leaves without another word. Llywelyn stares after him while biting his bottom lip.
I stare at him in suspicion. He almost seems like a decent person. He was nice to his brother. Perfectly civil. Or was it all simply an act? Or is it because now he is a resyn and nobody talks to him, he is so desperate for company that he has learnt to play nice?
I let out a sigh. So very many questions. My head is swimming with them all.
Golden eyes turn to me. He points at the chair his brother just vacated.
“Sit. Eat.”
I glare at him. There is no need to talk to me like that when we are alone.
My stomach rumbles. Fine. I will give the princeling the benefit of the doubt. Walls have ears and all that. I don’t know who might be listening. This is his world and as much as I hate the fact, he understands it far more than I do.
I haul myself to my feet and sit in the chair. There is an abundance of food left. I take an empty plate and start piling it with a selection of goodies.
I can feel Llywelyn’s eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I still haven’t processed what happened earlier, and it is making me all kinds of confused.
“When you have finished eating, you need to undress,” he says.
I hide my jolt of surprise, and I don’t look up. I just keep piling fruit on my plate. Undress? Does he want a second round? Did helike my cock that much? I know my cock liked being inside him. Very much so. So much so that it is swelling in hope at the mere suggestion of another go.
“Why?” I ask, and thank fuck, I sound perfectly calm.
Llywelyn sniffs. “Because I am taking you out again, and this time you need to be naked.”
My plate hits the tablecloth with a dull thud. A few grapes roll off. Luckily, my now lax fingers were only an inch or two from the surface of the table, so the plate didn’t have far to fall.
My eyes snap up to meet the prince’s steady gaze.
What the actual fuck?
Chapter six
Naked wrestling. wrestling with no clothes on. Bare-arsed nude wrestling in a shallow pit while fey lounge around on cushions, smoking hookah pipes and placing bets.
That’s what I am about to be doing, according to Llywelyn. Why on earth did I agree to this?
So what if it is a normal activity for pets? I’m sure there is a way out of it. Normal is not the same as expected. It doesn’t necessarily mean it is an obligation.
I have a horrible sinking feeling that I agreed because I am feeling guilty as hell about fucking the prince. Even though I think he enjoyed it.
I run my hand over my face. I need to stop that train of thought right now. It leads nowhere. I do not have enough information to draw a conclusion. Unless I talk to Llywelyn, and he tells the truth, I will never know how he feels about the events of this morning.
This morning.
Damnation. That was only this morning. I’ve been in my new post not even 24 hours and I’m fucking up. Quite literally.
Deep breath. Concentrate, Ethan. You can’t fall apart in the middle of a mission. Stop fretting. Look around. Observe. Learn.
I’m in a small holding cell that appears to be carved out of dirt. Llywelyn led me here on my leash, then he unclipped it, and a fey guard locked the barred gate behind him.
Thick wooden bars form one wall of my cell. The three other walls are bare Earth. clay soil. I’m guessing it’s London’s natural ground, but I’m no expert.
I’m going to go with the assumption that the fey have merely carved a hole in the foundations of Buckingham Palace, and they chose wooden bars because they don’t like iron.
It’s warm in here even though I’m only wearing Llywelyn’s collar, so there must be a heat source even though I can’t hear or see it.
Wait, can I hear footsteps approaching? Yes, I can. Oh for crap’s sake, I have such a strong urge to cover my junk with my hands. But Ethan, the man-bun wearing, yoga-pant loving, namaste dude, is proud of his body and embraces nudity as being natural. And he would be totally fine with being ruthlessly manscaped.
