Iestyn fucked Llywelyn up. In more ways than one. He groomed him and abused him and gave him totally the wrong ideas about how sex should be. And I bet it was that bastard that made him so uncomfortable about his omega traits.
He is the reason the Unseelie King found Llywelyn to be skittish.
But why do all that if your end goal is altruistic and you want to save someone from a cruel person’s bed? Could this king really be worse than Iestyn? Would Llywelyn have suffered greater evil under the king’s hand?
A cold shudder runs down my spine as I knock back my third drink and slam the empty glass down on the cabinet.
A soft sniffle reaches my ears. I whirl around. Llywelyn is still curled up small. His face buried in his knees. But now he is crying.
My feet rush over to him, and they are right. Just like my heart is. Whatever the fuck is going on, I know one thing. None of this is Llywelyn’s fault. He is a chess piece, not a player. A victim, not a villain.
But he is never going to believe me.
Chapter eighteen
Llywelyn’s study is cosy and quiet. I’m so glad he has let me use it. This huge mahogany desk is perfect for spreading out all my notes and making my version of a murder board. Seeing everything lain out, certainly helps with clarity.
I stare at all the pieces of paper. Drawings and writing combined. The fey court is complicated, not that I was expecting anything less.
However, my eyes keep returning to the left-hand side of the desk. The space I’m using to ponder the enigma that is Iestyn. And I really don’t know if I should be devoting this much time to him.
On one hand, he clearly is a master player. I’m wary to make any move that he might already be planning for. And this Unseelie King sounds dangerous. There would be no point in putting Llywelyn on the throne, only to be toppled the next day.
On the other hand, Llywelyn talks about Iestyn in the past tense and I get the distinct impression he is no longer around. Either here or back in the fey lands. And it is impossible to untangle my emotions from all of this. I’ve always despised abusers, and Llywelyn… well, my feelings for him are a complicated mess.
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. I should ask Llywelyn to tell me exactly where Iestyn is, even though I know I will not get a straight answer. Llywelyn doesn’t even know that I know Iestyn’s name, and something is telling me to keep that secret close to my chest.
I run my hands over my face. Okay, time for a break. I’ll pop to the loo and then see if Tae has left any snacks out.
My feet take me through a couple of rooms, heading for the small bathroom adjacent to Llywelyn’s bedchamber that I have adopted as my own.
As I step into the bedchamber, I startle. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in it. But Llywelyn is standing on the far side of the bed, a silhouette against the bright window. He is motionless. Holding a pair of what looks like my pyjama trousers to his nose, and inhaling deeply with his eyes closed.
I stare in complete bewilderment. The sunlight is making his golden hair gleam brightly. He looks ethereally beautiful, while sniffing my dirty laundry. It is incongruous. As well as confusing.
Suddenly he startles. His eyes snap open and the pyjama trousers disappear behind his back. He stares at me wide-eyed. He has to know I saw everything?
He swallows audibly. “I…um… your scent is very pleasing.”
“Okay,” I say as I nod slowly. Even though I’m not sure if it is. Is this normal fey behaviour? I have no idea. Maybe I should find someone to ask. For all I know, Llywelyn could be crazy, and everything I am learning from him is deeply unhinged.
With that sobering thought, I turn and walk into the bathroom. I do my business, wash and dry my hands. When I open the door, I’m surprised to see Llywelyn waiting for me. I thought he would have taken the opportunity to run away.
He licks his very pink lips. “May I sit in with you? I won’t make a sound, or disturb you.”
My brow furrows. “You just want to sit and watch me work?”
He nods enthusiastically. There is an odd brightness to his eyes that I’m not sure should be there. Has he been drinking again? Or smoking?
The silent, imploring plea in his gorgeous eyes makes my heart go all strange and fluttery. I swallow dryly.
“Okay,” I say, because it can’t do any harm.
His whole face lights up. Like I have just given him a precious gift. It is hard to tear my gaze away. It is damn nice to be stared at adoringly. I could lap it up all day.
Reluctantly, I look away and start striding towards the study. Llywelyn follows close behind. What has got into him? He is acting as if he can’t bear to be apart from me.
My stomach flips itself over into a painful knot. He cried quietly for hours last night while I held him. He cried about the awful thing he believes he did to his brother. He cried about his own awful night with the Unseelie King. At least, I hope that some of his tears were for himself.
