He shrugs elegantly, and it is a good move to hide the unease written in the lines of his shoulders.
“I doubt even he can pull strings from banishment,”
Rhydian gives him a long, probing, searching look. One that not even I can fully interpret.
“Do you mean me harm, Brother?” he says softly.
Llywelyn flinches, then he bristles. “I killed a would-be poisoner of an unknown target! How do you twist that in your mind to mean that I intend you harm?”
Because Rhydian is no idiot. He is considering the same things that I did last night. Stopping the attempt doesn’t mean Llywelyn was not involved. It could even be a ploy to win Rhydian’s trust.
It is not at all surprising that Rhydian is suspicious of his brother. The man has a brain.
The confirmation of Rhydian’s intelligence changes nothing. Whatever plans we come up with, were always going to have to factor in Rhydian’s mistrust.
The Crown Prince continues to stare at his brother with a stern, imposing look. I can imagine him lowering his head and charging with his antlers.
“Do you mean me any harm, Brother?” he repeats. Enunciating each word precisely, as if it is some kind of ritual.
Llywelyn sighs heavily and dramatically. “No, of course not.”
Rhydian blinks as if surprised. One of Dyfri’s eyebrows rise. That’s interesting. They were both taken aback by Llywelyn’s answer. Even if they were convinced of his ill intent, surely they would not expect him to just suddenly confess all?
Abruptly, Rhydian nods, turns on his heels and sweeps out of the room. Dyfri follows behind him, pausing very briefly at the door to cast one quick glance over his shoulder.
As soon as they are gone, Llywelyn huffs out a sigh of relief and collapses onto a chair by the table. Tae rushes in with a laden silver serving trolley. He snatches up the poison soaked robes and swiftly begins setting the table with breakfast.
I sit down next to Llywelyn. “That’s it? No repercussions for murdering someone? No trial?”
Llywelyn lifts his golden eyes to look at me. His brow is furrowed, as if he thinks I’m crazy.
I exhale and pick up something that looks like a blueberry muffin from the plate of them that Tae just placed on the table. It seems if you are a fey prince you get to kill people. I’ll just have to console myself that he did have a reason, and it was verified before he was let off scot-free. It is not something I should be sulking about, especially since it makes my life a whole lot easier.
“Why did he ask you directly like that?” I ask. Time to stick to business. This is the stuff I need to know. The issues I should be focussing on.
Llywelyn pours himself a cup of tea. “He used magic and put power behind the words. A compulsion to speak the truth.”
I nearly choke on my muffin. “How did you resist?”
“I didn’t. I spoke the truth,” he says calmly before taking a sip of his tea.
I scowl. “Explain!”
Llywelyn’s golden eyes narrow, but he places his teacup down and takes in a breath.
“Rhydian hates being the crown prince. He’d be much happier exiled. He’d find peace living in the woods with his consort. Pursuing whatever hobbies he discovers once he has the time for them.”
That’s…that’s a very idealistic picture Llywelyn is painting. Is he delusional about this? Is this really what he tells himself in order to ease his conscience?
“I’m shallow and vain and narcissistic,” states Llywelyn. “I will love all the fawning. The curtsying and bowing. The favours and attention. Whereas Rhydian finds no joy in any of those things. To him, they are simply another burden to bear.”
Llywelyn takes a breath.
“He hates everything about being the crown prince, but he suffers it stoically out of a sense of duty.”
Llywelyn picks up his teacup.
“So I spoke the truth. I do not mean him any harm. We will both be happier once I am crown prince.”
