He licks his bottom lip and shakes his head.
“It was just a bad dream,” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself.
He draws in a shuddering breath and his entire body starts to tremble. Shivering as if he is lost in a snowstorm.
I could quiz him about his dream. I am certainly curious about who Iestyn is. However, I’m pretty certain Llywelyn has no idea he cried that name out loud, let alone that I heard it. So keeping that card close to my chest for now, in case I want to use it later, is a good tactical decision.
I stare down at the shaking, wide-eyed prince and resign myself to my fate. Despite the accusations, I am not a ruthless psycho. Questions can wait. For tactical reasons, as well as kind ones.
With a sigh, I lie down beside him and pull him close. I can keep him warm if nothing else. I’m not that much of a bastard.
I hold him tightly and let my body heat seep into him. Llywelyn is stiff in my arms. Unsure and still trembling. It feels like he istolerating my touch in defeated bewilderment rather than getting any comfort from it. It reminds me of when I used to volunteer at Battersea Dogs Home and stroke the rescue dogs, the ones who had never known a kind touch. They had been stiff, cautious and unsure like this. Frightened, but clearly experiencing their instincts telling them that touch should be a good thing.
I bite back my sigh. Llywelyn isn’t a shelter dog. It’s simply that I am a rubbish person to comfort him. We barely know each other and we are not exactly on good terms.
“Is there anyone I can get for you?” I ask.
“No,” he answers in a tiny voice.
I don’t believe that. Everybody has someone. Well, I don’t, but that’s beside the point. The point is, resyn or not, he is a prince. A young man who lives at court. He has grown up surrounded by hordes of people. He has to have friends.
“A friend?” I prompt. I guess family is not an option because that all appears to be a complicated, tangled mess. “Lover?” I add as a suggestion.
Though if he had a lover, I’d like to think he wouldn’t whine so much about needing to get off. And thinking about it, I haven’t seen a soul in Llywelyn’s rooms since I arrived here. Just Tae, myself and his brothers. No friends or lovers, but that might just mean he is keeping them away from me.
“No,” he repeats.
His breathing seems calmer now, and he isn’t shaking quite so much.
He sniffs. “I had a lover once, many years ago.”
A small smile of relief tugs at my lips. That’s more like it. He is clearly starting to feel better now and is trying to backtrack on letting slip that he is a sad loser.
“Many years ago?” I tease. “You’re not that old.”
Actually, I have no idea how old he is. He could be over a thousand, for all I know. But he is definitely still young and stupid.There is no doubt about it. I can feel that in my bones. Llywelyn is young for a fey and that is all that matters.
He bristles in my arms, and I want to chuckle. He is definitely feeling better.
“He saw I was mature for my age,” Llywelyn says in a haughty tone.
Wait. What the fuck did he just say? I repeat the words in my head and my blood runs cold. Well, if that doesn’t fucking ring all the alarm bells and raise every red flag.
“Did he now. Let me guess, he was much older than you and you were very young?” I say.
Llywelyn sniffs. “I wasn’t too young to have a lover!”
I take a slow, deep breath. I need to tread carefully, very carefully. He is about to clam up and I want to check my horrifying theory before his nightmare-loosened tongue tightens back up.
“Did everyone see it that way?” I say ever so carefully. Keeping my tone light, casual and not at all disapproving.
Llywelyn relaxes a little in my embrace as tension leaves his shoulders. “No one knew,” he murmurs. “It was our secret.”
Oh, my fucking god. I feel like I’ve just swallowed a gallon of ice, and now it is lying cold and unyielding in my gut. Well, that’s my theory confirmed. Shit. Llywelyn is still an asshole, but wow, he has every reason to be.
“I loved him,” he says sleepily. “With all my heart and soul. I will never love another.”
Ouch. That feels like a stab to the heart. A really painful one. What the hell is wrong with me? Yes, it is sad that Llywelyn is declaring he can never love again, and that he is not at all free from the emotional clutches of his abuser. But I don’t understand why I have reacted so viscerally?
