He keeps his gaze on the floor while tying his sash. “There was a line of omegas amongst the fey, thousands of years ago,” Llywelyn says softly.
“What’s an omega?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I’m too distracted to care.
“Males who can bear children.”
His words rattle around my head for a moment. Then my mind makes sense of them. Oh my god! What the fuck did he just say? Shit! We didn’t use protection! I gasp and take a step back.
Llywelyn lets out a low, rueful chuckle. “Do not fret. The last true omega was generations ago. But sometimes flukes happen and males are born with traits.”
He hangs his head and continues to slowly dress. Fey clothing has a stupid amount of layers, but right now I am grateful for every single one of them, and the time that they take.
I watch his body language. If he was human, I’d be one hundred per cent convinced I was observing shame.
I swallow thickly. I’m beginning to suspect that the fey aren’t so very different from humans, and that I’ve been a dickhead for refusing to acknowledge it.
“Is it a shameful thing?” I ask quietly.
Llywelyn shrugs, a sad, miserable gesture. And he is still avoiding eye contact.
“Do many people have these traits?” I try again.
“I don’t know,” he answers dryly. “It is not talked about.”
Okay, so that pretty clearly screams shameful to me. Is this why no one likes him and he doesn’t have any friends? I mean, he is an obnoxious asshole, but I’m not sure his behaviour and attitude is worse than what is expected of a fey prince. It annoys the hell out of me, but perhaps all princes do?
“Do people know you have these traits?” I ask.
He shakes his head, sending his golden hair into fluttering motion. “No, not even my brothers know.”
My eyebrows rise. Well, there goes that theory. This thing he is embarrassed about is not affecting his social standing.
I watch him as he carefully ties the laces on his voluminous sleeve. I really think I’m starting to understand why he is such a jerk. He feels other and wrong, different from everyone else. And he was fucking groomed and abused by some vile piece of shit who still has claws in him.
“Excuse me,” says Llywelyn. “Rhydian will be here soon to berate me.”
Wordlessly, I step aside. He brushes past me and I follow him out. Okay, from now on I’m going to try to treat him with a little more grace. It is the least I can do, especially after what I did to him last night.
He walks across the bedchamber, his back straightening with each step. His shoulders settle into a confident line, aided by the shoulder pads I now know are there. I glance up at his golden hair, and my heart skips a beat. His antlers are there. Looking majestic. They weren’t there a moment ago, when he was naked in the dressing room.
Llywelyn flings open the door to his sitting room and strides in. I’m only a little surprised to see that Rhydian is already here. This time, he is accompanied only by Dyfri.
The dark-haired prince is leaning over the table and peering at Llywelyn’s discarded red-stained robes that have been spread out on the tabletop. He sprinkles a green powder on the stain and then watches intently as a soft hazy smoke rises from the substance.
“Poison,” he states. “From several different mushrooms.”
Llywelyn nods sharply, as if satisfied. “I told you!”
Wait. When did he tell his brothers anything? My mind frantically scrambles over the timeline of events. Hmm, he could have sent a note either when I was in the shower last night or this morning while I was sleeping.
“Who was the target?” asks Rhydian.
Llywelyn pouts and crosses his arms over his chest. “How am I supposed to know?”
Rhydian’s topaz coloured eyes narrow and the princes glare at each other. Dyfri observes them with a vaguely amused smile on his face.
Eventually, Rhydian breaks the tense silence. “The servant used to be part of the alltudid’s household.”
Tension stiffens Llywelyn’s posture. A minute amount. I can only see it because I’m highly trained and I’m getting to know him well.
