He draws in several jagged breaths in sharp succession. Then he closes his eyes as if in great pain.
“I am the one who arranged for Dyfri to be made a rhocyn.”
Chapter seventeen
Llywelyn’s words bounce around my head with no meaning. They echo in my thoughts. Repeating and repeating without making any sense.
‘I am the one who arranged for Dyfri to be made a rhocyn.’
He can’t mean what I think he means. I must be misunderstanding. There has to be some mistake. Maybe my translator is glitching?
I look into his eyes and am met with an ocean of profound guilt. Waves of dark horror and shame.
My stomach heaves. It is true. No matter what he thinks of it now, regardless of his regret, it is true. He arranged for his own brother to be publicly raped.
I turn away and put my back to Llywelyn. I can’t look at him anymore. Having to breathe the same air is bad enough.
My first impressions of Llywelyn were correct. He is a nasty, vile, piece of shit. But then I went and let my dick sway me. He has a nice tight hole, and I enjoyed it, but that clearly is his only redeeming feature.
I feel betrayed. I was starting to like him. I thought he was secretly sweet, and his douchebag persona was merely an act that enabled him to survive court. But he was playing me and I fell for it and I hate how much that hurts. It feels like this bastard lurking behind me, murdered the lonely, frightened boy I was growing close to.
I can feel Prince Llywelyn hovering by my back. A dark, looming shadow of immoral self-serving ambition. It is setting my teeth on edge.
“Sit down!” I snarl.
The rustle of silks as he immediately complies is not as satisfying as it should be. I ignore it and take the few remaining steps to the drinks cabinet. I pour myself a glass of something ruby-coloured and down it in one. It burns down my throat and I welcome the pain.
With unsteady hands, I refill my glass and then fill a second glass. I walk over to the sofa where Llywelyn is sitting and thrust one of the drinks at him. He takes it silently.
I step away and sit on the settee that is facing him. I can’t bear to be any closer. As it is, I want to peel off every inch of my skin that ever touched this asshole, so that I am no longer contaminated.
“Explain!” I snap.
I know how rhocyns are made. If a person is challenged to a duel and loses, the victor can choose to unbind their hair and then rape them in front of all the witnesses. The victim can then never tie their hair up again. A permanent reminder of what happened. And until recently, they had to say yes to anyone who wanted to fuck them.
Now it seems the letter of the law has been changed, but not the spirit.
I don’t need to know that. I understand the logistics. What I need to know is the details of why and how Llywelyn got someone to do that to his brother.
“Everything. From the beginning,” I clarify.
Llywelyn flinches at my tone. Good. He is going to be doing far more than flinching by the time I’m done with him.
He licks his lips. “My lover…was a court adviser.”
I glare at him and wait for him to continue.
“He told me things. Things that no one else knew.” Llywelyn falls silent.
“Such as?” I demand angrily. I really don’t have the patience to deal with his reluctance to talk.
He flinches again and hurriedly resumes talking. “The king and queen were still trying to negotiate a peace treaty with the Unseelie Court.” He pauses and golden eyes flash at me. “Dyfri’s mother was an Unseelie princess, but that didn’t work out and she was sent home.”
I nod at him to continue. He is getting the hang of explaining things now. Thank fuck.
Llywelyn sucks in a breath. “The Unseelie King wanted Dyfri as his consort.” He shudders. “His own nephew, and Dyfri wasn’t even of age yet.”
My eyebrows rise. Of all the things that had run through my mind, none of them had come anywhere near this.
