“Now can we go?” says Llywelyn.
I can’t tell if his robes are now red with blood, as well as the wine. Either way, he has managed to not get any on his face.
I nod numbly.
Getting out of here seems like a very good idea.
Chapter ten
As I step into Llywelyn’s rooms, my mind starts to function again. I staggered away from the ballroom and the scene of the murder, blindly following Llywelyn, but now finally the shock is wearing off.
Llywelyn strides towards the drinks cabinet, but I jump in front of him, blocking his way and forcing him to stop in his tracks.
“You’ve had enough to drink, don’t you think?” I tell him.
His golden eyes fill with outrage.
“Or do you murder innocent people when you’re sober, too?” I snap.
Llywelyn’s golden eyes narrow and fill with affront. “He wasn’t innocent!”
I raise an eyebrow, cross my arms over my chest and settle in for the wait. This little twat is going to tell me everything, even if he doesn’t want to.
The prince’s gaze sweeps over my stance and my expression. His lips curl in disgruntled annoyance, and his dainty nose twitches.
“The wine was poisoned,” he huffs in reluctant defeat.
“How did you know?”
Llywelyn’s scowl intensifies. “It is one of my skills. I have the ability to sense poison. I wasn’t sure until I felt it on my skin.”
My jaw twitches as I battle to keep my expression stern yet neutral. Llywelyn surprised me by walking right into the servant like that. He is a graceful asshole, and he didn’t seem that drunk. Therefore, this story of his has some plausibility.
“You should have kept him alive for questioning,” I say.
Llywelyn bristles. “So torture is acceptable, but a clean death is not?” His chin tilts up haughtily and his eyes blaze.
Despite my best intentions, I glare back at him. Like we are two kids in the playground having a standoff. I thought I was better than this. I believed I was better than sinking down to his level, but clearly not. Prince Llywelyn Y Mabinogi has the ability to get under my skin and rile my soul in a way that no one has ever done before and I have no idea what to do about it.
I inhale sharply through my nose and force myself to focus.
“The poison wasn’t for you, so why do you care?” I challenge.
The servant had been walking past us. Not slowing or stopping. Definitely not trying to get Llywelyn’s attention. His tray of drinks was not even Llywelyn’s favourite tipple. He likes that honey-coloured stuff. The would-be poisoner was carrying wine.
Llywelyn deflates a little and shrugs. “I wasn’t going to take the risk,” he mumbles.
My eyes narrow as my mind continues to work. The servant was scurrying towards Jamie and Blake. But they were both drinking water.
Drinking water while standing near the East door. The door closest to Rhydian’s rooms. The door the crown prince would be most likely to stride through, and then presumably join his husband.
I don’t know if Rhydian drinks, and if he does, I have no idea what his favourite is. But I’m wondering if it is red wine.
I stare at the prince before me. Should I ask him, or would that be playing my hand? Is this a plot within a plot? Llywelyn is supposed to want his brother dead. It is the whole reason I’m here. So why stop an assassin? Does he not want anyone beating him to it? Or was the assassin Llywelyn’s, but the prince panicked and thought the attempt was too clumsy?
If that were so, why not tell me?
Llywelyn wilts under my stern, assessing glare. He drops my gaze and squirms. He is definitely not telling me everything. What a sneaky little shit.
