Then I flail about and put up a desperate, panicked, pathetic attempt at resistance. There is nothing to be gained by prolonging this absurdity, so I let my opponent put me on my stomach, straddle me and put me in a chokehold.
This bastard isn’t gentle. He is choking me in earnest. My vision is dimming. Fuck. Maybe I’m going to have to try to do something about this? Even though all my training was about never, ever getting in a position like this in the first place, there has to be a way out.
The gong sounds again, and suddenly I can breathe. As I wheeze and gasp, a faint smattering of applause echoes around.
A silken rope, more like a fancy bell pull than anything utilitarian, is thrown down from right by Llywelyn’s feet. The prince gives me a haughty, impatient look, and I get the idea. I grab a hold of the rope and haul myself up to collapse by Llywelyn’s cushion.
He gives me a distracted pat on the head while keeping his attention glued to the pit, where my new blond friend and the older pale-blue eyed man are being led in.
Llywelyn leans forward, as if this is the match he has been waiting for. My lips curl down. What a fucking asshole.
The gong sounds, and the pit erupts into motion. My eyebrows rise. Okay, my opponentwasbeing gentle on me, after all. These not-humans are fast. Strong and vicious. It is like watching dogs fight. Or wolves.
But soon enough, as it usually does, height and muscle mass wins, and my blond friend is pinned down by the older man.
The gong sounds. More faint applause.
“Let the victor mount!” someone says.
“As you wish,” replies an older looking fey woman with neatly coiffured cherry red hair.
Other voices cheer. The crowd leans forward like one hungry, salivating beast.
A lump forms in my throat. Oh god, please let this not be what I think it is. Blond boy mentioned nothing about this.
But as I look down at the pit, I see the blond boy struggling a little and then giving up. I wince and snatch my gaze away. It seems he curtailed his information, possibly in an attempt to not scare me.
I wince again. Not watching isn’t helping me at all. I can’t escape what is happening just a few feet below me. His whimpers mingle with the older man’s snarls, and both sounds are clawing at my guts. I’m going to be sick.
Llywelyn’s expression is one of sheer avarice and glee. His golden eyes are fairly glowing with it. I look away from him too, even though there really is no escape from him.
Just what kind of man am I putting on the throne?
Chapter seven
Ican’t sleep. My mind is whirling. My insides feel itchy and even my skin is jittery. It’s like I’ve downed a jug of black coffee, but I haven’t. I haven’t had any coffee at all, only tea, and I’m pretty sure it’s not to blame for my current state.
No, this is pure… I don’t know. Stress, anxiety? A guilty conscience? The weight of the world and the future of mankind?
I take a deep breath. Beside me, Llywelyn is sleeping like a baby. Clearly, he doesn’t have a moral compass to trouble him.
It is dark and quiet. The bed is soft and warm. The atmosphere is peaceful. If I listen very carefully, I can hear the background hum of London, just on the other side of those thick velvet curtains and the pane of glass.
I’m not hungry or thirsty. I don’t need the loo. I’m not even sore from my joke of a wrestling match.
I should be able to sleep. There is nothing stopping me. My mind should be unburdened by questions.
Whether or not Llywelyn is suitable for the fey throne. If he is a worthy ally or not, is so far above my pay grade, it’s laughable. I don’t need to worry about this shit. I just need to follow orders. Like I have always done.
God knows it wouldn’t be the first time a ruler of an enemy state was replaced with someone less than virtuous.
I’m probably just selfishly unsettled because this particular unsavoury person has a frightening amount of power over me.
A cold shiver runs down my spine. Yep. Looks like I’ve found the root cause of my sleeplessness. I’m freaked out and feeling vulnerable.
I let that guy pin me down. He had me in a choke hold. And while I’m perfectly capable of not getting into that position, once I’m in it, I’m pretty sure I am screwed. Gravity is a motherfucker. Once down like that, I don’t think anybody could get back up.
I put myself in that situation because I trusted Llywelyn, while naively assuming it was just a wrestling match. In my defence, It’s not that I thought Llywelyn would stop me being killed out of the goodness of his non-existent heart. But I had faith that he needed me, and protecting me was protecting his own interests.
