It is a fucking leash.
My teeth grind. A vein on my forehead pops.
Llywelyn smirks and malevolent delight lights up his amber eyes. He slinks up to me and I hold still while he clips the leash onto my collar. The gentle click makes me want to shudder, but I’m not giving this shitbag the satisfaction.
He grins at me, and leads me out of the double doors and into the fey court.
My right eye twitches, but that’s fine. I’m supposed to be a scared, innocent human. I’m simply getting into character.
I stumble behind Llywelyn’s ramrod straight back and stare wide-eyed at everything around me. I look like I’m terrified and overwhelmed, in reality, I’m taking everything in.
The prince takes me to a large room full of fey. I’ve studied maps of Buckingham Palace, but I cannot identify where I am. Nothing is exotic. This could be a ballroom or a formal dining hall. The windows look like they belong to the human palace. As do the walls, fireplaces and chandeliers. However, it just shouldn’t be here. It doesn’t belong. The fey have warped time and space simplyto give themselves an extra room. Even though the palace already has plenty of space. It makes no sense at all.
I put it aside as something to quiz Llywelyn about later. I’m here to observe people, not buildings. And there are plenty of people here. A good eighty or so. In all shapes and forms. Some are playing cards or dice, others seem to be just milling around and talking idly in small groups.
Llywelyn walks slowly around the room. I trail after him, because there is no way I am letting this leash go taut.
A fair few fey give me a curious once over, their strange eyes raking over me. Inspecting my body as if they can see through the silks. I ignore them.
Strangely, nobody appears to be paying the prince any attention at all. Their gazes slide off him as if he is not even there. No one greets him. No one bows. No one tries to talk to him.
I thought fawning over royalty was universal? Even fourth-born sons? What is going on?
I eye Llywelyn’s back suspiciously. Is he doing this on purpose, to be an ass? Is it some sort of magic invisibility cloak?
What a prat. I can’t learn much from people playing dice. I need to hear people sucking up to their prince. I need to find who can be swayed to his cause. If he wants the throne, he needs supporters amongst his own people.
I lean in closer to him and whisper without moving my lips. “Take us back to your rooms.”
His shoulders stiffen, but shockingly, he obeys. Immediately. Hurrying out of the large room as if it’s on fire.
We reach his rooms and as soon as we are through the door, he drops my leash and strides over to the drinks cabinet. I watch as he pours himself a large glass of honey-coloured liquid. He downs it in one.
“What the fuck was that about!” I snap.
He flinches and whirls to face me. “What?”
I growl. “Why was no one talking to you?”
He pales and then heats. A tinge of pale pink blooming along his extraordinary cheekbones. He drops my gaze and looks down at the floor instead.
“I am a resyn,” he mumbles.
I rise an eyebrow. “And a resyn is…?”
He swallows audibly. “A ghost. A disgrace. An outcast that can not be seen or spoken to.”
A thousand thoughts explode in my mind. All of them frantic. None of them good. This piece of information changes everything.
“The Agency was not informed of this,” I utter tonelessly.
Llywelyn lifts his gaze off of the floor to look at me. “I wasn’t a resyn when negotiations were made.”
“What happened?” I all but bark. This fucking idiot better learn how to talk. I’m not cajoling each and every sentence out of him. He has to sing and tell me everything and stop wasting my goddamn time.
His throat bobs. His fingers twitch. I hope to fucking god he is nervous, because he bloody well better be.
“I lost a duel with my brother.”
