Seething, I leave the room, careful to make my body language meek and cowed. As soon as I step out of the breakfast room and into the sitting room, I am accosted by two humans.
I exaggerate my flinch and widen my eyes in surprise.
“Hi! I’m Jamie,” says one of the humans brightly.
I don’t think I need my training to figure out that this must be James Broadwith, illegitimate eldest child of media tycoon Graham Grantham. The first human to be taken as a pet by the fey. Claimed by the crown prince himself. And now, as far as anyone can tell, married. Very happily married.
How anyone can fall in love with their captor is beyond me, but apparently it happens. As for Rhydian falling for his pet, that is not surprising.
This young man smiling warmly at me is gorgeous. Pretty as a picture. All gleaming hair and large, kind eyes. A proper little sweetie.
I press my palms together and bow low. “Namaste.”
Jamie’s eyes widen with surprise. Then he hastily copies my bow. “Namaste.”
Yep. Definitely a little sweetie.
I turn to his companion, an absolute giant of a man who is mostly naked.
“Namaste,” I say solemnly as I bow again.
The hulk clumsily repeats my greeting, both the gesture and the word. His olive complexion flushes. Another adorable soul. He must be Blake, the human claimed by Prince Mabon.
My eyes narrow as I try to read him more intently. My briefing said that Blake had been a leader of the civilian Resistance movement, but after his capture, he appears to have switched allegiance to the fey. He seems too nice to be a traitor. I wonder if he is more devious and cunning than he looks? He could be playing the long game and actually still on our side. Or he could have simply been swayed by the opportunity to regularly fuck Prince Mabon. The lilac haired prince is certainly beautiful. I can see how some would be tempted.
Whatever his motives, Blake’s open and honest seeming face is giving nothing away. I’ll have to keep my eye on him and hope that time will tell.
“Come! Let’s have tea. We want to hear all about how Llywelyn has been treating you.”
Jamie leads me over to a table by the window that has been set with a silver tea set. I take my seat while frantically trying to gather my thoughts and figure out what angle I need to take.
Do I claim cruelty and garner pity? Nothing loosens tongues like a good dose of pity. But if I overdo it, they might intervene even more than they are doing now and I could find myself whisked away from Llywelyn. Which wouldn’t help the mission at all.
On the other hand, saying it has been sunshine and roses and I’m falling in love or lust like these two have, is probably deeply unbelievable given the nature of Llywelyn’s character.
As for the truth, well, that can never be uttered. As much as I would like to vent about how much I hate the little shithead and how conflicted I feel about fucking him and how infuriated I am that he was unmoved by my highly skilled hand job.
Jamie pours tea with the easy proficiency of someone accustomed to fancy tea sets. He is definitely at home here. His entire body language is relaxed and happy. There is a little bit oftension in his shoulders, but that’s likely because he is worried about me and not sure what he can do to help.
“Thank you,” I murmur as I pick up my cup.
Blake takes a sip of his tea. He seems content to let Jamie take the lead in this intervention. Maybe the big guy really does like being bossed around.
“So,” says Jamie as he looks right at me with concerned filled eyes. “Tell us everything.”
I take in a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
Chapter nine
Afew minutes after Jamie and Blake leave, Llywelyn strides into the sitting room. He goes straight to a decoratively carved drinks cabinet and pours himself a glass of the honey-coloured liquid he seems to prefer. He tips his head back and downs it in one.
My mind balks at the sight. Even though I have seen Llywelyn do this before. For some reason, this time it is hitting differently. It is such a very human reaction to having to deal with family. Everything in Llywelyn’s movements seems so very human right now. The way he hurried across the room. The tension in his shoulders. The fluid ease with which he downed his drink, clearly a well practiced and familiar gesture even though I have only witnessed it a couple of times.
I can’t believe that the fey are so very similar to us. It is a disconcerting thought. I want it to be wrong. The fey are aliens. Invaders and enemies. I don’t want there to be any similarities between us. I don’t want him to need a stiff drink after arguing with his family.
Llywelyn’s gaze flicks to the tea set on the table. “How was your interrogation?”
“Fine. How was yours?”
