All eyes turn to him.
“Why?” asks Mabon as he delicately nibbles on a slice of cheese.
Selwyn takes an unhurried sip of his pale wine. “He got Llywelyn drunk and made a wager he knew our brother would lose.”
Llywelyn bristles. Like the tide, all the attention in the room turns to him. What the hell is Selwyn playing at? This is not his story to tell. And far more importantly, how the hell does Selwyn know this? He intervened when Prys was slobbering over Llywelyn, days after the card game. I babbled a lot of stuff to Selwyn. But not this story. I don’t know how he knows this.
“The wager was lewd,” continues Selwyn. “The loser would spread for the others at the card table.”
Someone gasps. Llywelyn shoots Selwyn a truly furious glare. I feel like doing the same. I thought Selwyn was on our side. I thought he cared for Llywelyn. Why is he stabbing him in the back like this? What is there to gain?
He is definitely up to no good, because if his aim is to rally his brothers to neuter Prys for Llywelyn’s sake, there are better ways. Kinder ways. And Selwyn is no blundering fool. He damn well knows this.
“What a jerk!” exclaims Jamie. “Prys really does need to go!”
Rhydian sits up straighter. “I forbid you from making any move against Earl Prys.”
The order rings out, stern and commanding. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. The decree seems to carve itself into the air, potent and binding.
Jamie rolls his eyes and leans forward to select another cracker. Completely and utterly unbothered by his husband’s order.
I lift a small cheese puff pastry to my mouth to hide my smirk. It seems the big, bad, scary fey crown prince cannot control his tiny human.
“Stop worrying about me. I got rid of Iestyn, didn’t I?” says Jamie.
The puff pastry is sucked into my throat with my sharp inhale. I cough and choke and splutter while blindly trying to reach for my glass of water.
Iestyn. Did he just fucking say Iestyn? The evil court vizier who Jamie duelled and banished, is the same fucking man who groomed Llywelyn? The same man who plotted for Dyfri to be made a rhocyn. The same man Llywelyn gave his last pet to only for it to be killed?
What the actual fuck?
Everyone is looking at me. Blake gets up, presumably to see if I need the Heimlich manoeuvre. I manage to wave him away as I wash down the last of the pastry with a big gulp of water.
“Who is Iestyn?” I say innocently as well as breathlessly.
Tristan frowns. “He is an alltuid. His name should not be spoken.”
“Sorry,” I wheeze.
“He was an evil piece of shit who was trying to cause Rhydian’s downfall, so I challenged him to a duel and won. So I banished him,” Jamie says proudly.
My gaze wants to snap to Llywelyn. It really, really does. My eyeballs are twitching as I fight to keep them on Jamie. Iestyn was plotting to overthrow Rhydian. This is something I should have known. Something Llywelyn should have told me.
I can sense Llywelyn’s quiet discomfort and unease. This little fucking shit. I can’t wait to get him alone.
“You had the element of surprise, Jamie,” says Dyfri. “One trick up your sleeve. Now that you’ve played it, it won’t work again. Any opponent will be prepared.”
Jamie pouts and pours himself another drink. “Can’t you poison him?”
Dyfri rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Because that wouldn’t look at all suspicious.”
He is right. Everyone at court knows what happened at the banquet. Even people who were not there. And everyone knows that Dyfri is a poison master.
The conversation drifts on to other things. I can’t follow it at all. This revelation about Iestyn has floored me. My mind is floundering.
In a stupor, I somehow get through the rest of the lunch. I’m still in a daze as Llywelyn and I walk back to his rooms. It is not until the door clicks softly shut behind us, that my brain comes back online.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say softly, but there is danger laced around every word.
