Llywelyn is sitting serenely at the table. Neatly dressed. Hair brushed. Back straight and face carefully, terribly blank.
He sips a cup of mint tea. All the food laid out on the table looks untouched.
I slide into the chair opposite him. The silence is profound. He is simply sitting there, practically within arm’s reach, yet it is clear that he may as well be galaxies away.
Everything has changed. The closeness we were developing has gone. Llywelyn has shut me out, and I have no idea why.
With a shaking hand, I pour myself some tea, in an effort to collect my thoughts and force myself to think before I act. There is a wild panic beating through me. It is making me feel dizzy, as well as nauseous. If I let my emotions rule, right now I’d be flinging myself at Llywelyn’s feet and begging to know what I have done wrong.
“How are you feeling?” I ask quietly.
He sips his tea and doesn’t look at me. “Fine. My apologies for disturbing you.”
His words cut like knives. I wince and look away.
Is he embarrassed? Is that the problem? It is a reasonable theory. He did lose his shit last night. And while we have been growing closer and developing a tenderness between us, he might not feel comfortable enough with me to be okay about me witnessing his mental breakdown. Shit like that is probably considered a weakness amongst the fey. And he is a prince. He has always had to keep his walls up.
If this little theory of mine is right, what the hell do I do? How do I convince him that I’m not shocked or disgusted? That I don’t think any less of him?
“If you are not having any breakfast, get dressed so I can take you to the shifters.”
My fingers tighten around the teacup in my hand. He sounds so fucking cold and distant. And he is calmly agreeing to the very thing he broke down about last night. Is this him proving to me that he has pulled himself together? Or is he proving it to himself?
“Are you sure?” I ask.
His tea cup settles against the saucer with a little more force than necessary. “Yes.”
I hold in my sigh of dismay. This is a disaster. For the mission. For me. For us. I hate everything about it.
Dazedly, I go and get dressed. I’m not even pleased that I don’t need Tae’s help. Llywelyn shutting me out feels like the end of the world. There is no room in my head for thoughts of anything else. No space in my heart for any emotion other than this terrible, sinking dread.
Llywelyn needs me, I know he does. But I can’t help him if he won’t let me. And I’m not even thinking about him needing me to overthrow his brother. I’m thinking about genuine need, in the way one person needs another.
I hurry back out into the sitting room. Llywelyn is standing by the double doors that lead out of his rooms. Waiting for me. With my leash in his hand.
I rush over to him. “We don’t need to go.”
He ignores me. His pale hand lifts and clips the leash onto my collar. Then he turns away from me and faces the door.
He doesn’t move. He freezes. Then he takes a deep breath. And then another. After the third breath, I watch in awe as his antlers form. They are beautiful and magical, but watching them appear makes me suspect something.
My stomach twists into a tight knot. He told me manifesting his antlers takes effort, and that is why he doesn’t bother to do it in his rooms. And just now it looked like it was really hard for him to display them.
What if antlers take emotional stability to manifest? What if they are easy if you are happy and that is why he has always struggled with them?
Llywelyn straightens his shoulders. The double doors slam open and he strides out. I scurry after him before the leash can go taut.
The hallways pass in a blur until we emerge in an enormous room with vaulted ceilings. I’m pretty sure it is the first room Llywelyn ever brought me to. A games room, though I have no idea what the fey call it.
Tables set with cards and dice. Fey lounging around playing and talking. There are some low beds festooned with plump pillows that give me pause. Thankfully, they are empty. Perhaps it is too early for sex games, even for the fey.
Llywelyn strolls slowly around. Doing a very good impression of looking bored and disinterested. I wonder if he would love to play cards? I’ve seen him play them alone in his rooms. And it was the game of choice when I stupidly told him to invite people over. Are card games one of the things he misses from before he was a resyn?
I force a swallow down my tight throat and shake my head to clear it. I need to focus.
I cast my gaze around the crowded room. No wolf shifters in sight. No pets at all, apart from me. Did Llywelyn think they would be here? My gaze flicks uneasily to the empty beds.
Then I spot Prys. His dark blue hair is adorned with jewels today. It looks disgustingly good. He glances up and sees Llywelyn. For a heartbeat, I think the bastard is going to beckon Llywelyn over, but his eyes flicker and he looks back down at the dice table.
