“Your hair is so beautiful,” he says.
I snort. Right now, I look like a wild man. My curly shoulder length hair is in sections, with half roughly combed out and frizzy, and the other half a crazy tangled mess.
“It is beautiful,” he insists.
It is a good thing I’m not insecure about my masculinity. I can’t say I’m free of all toxic traits, but I don’t mind being called beautiful.
“So is yours,” I say.
Llywelyn’s fingers stop working for the briefest of moments. “It’s short.”
“It’s still gorgeous. It is like spun sunlight.”
I watch his frown in the mirror and fight the urge to kiss it away. There will be plenty of time for that later.
I lean back in the chair and relax to the sensation of Llywelyn’s fingers in my hair. I could get used to this. Images of doing this by a fire in a tiny stone cottage in the middle of nowhere, dance through my mind. I sternly chase them away. That future is not possible. It is not the path I have chosen. Maybe in another life, a new reincarnation, Llywelyn and I will meet again and be destined for peace.
“There,” says Llywelyn. “All done.”
My eyes flicker open. Did I doze off? I admire my reflection. Neat and tidy hair. Thank goodness.
I’m just about to reach for my hair tie and scoop up my hair into a bun when Llywelyn’s fingers start moving again. I freeze as I watch him weave a plait into my hair.
I don’t even want to breathe. Braids, plaits and twists are special to the fey. They are not mere ornamentation. Each one means something. It’s part of why having short hair, or being a rhocyn, is so awful. There is no way to display your victories, accomplishments, family bonds, wealth, or social status.
Llywelyn finishes my braid and our eyes meet in the mirror. I swallow dryly.
“What does this one mean?” I ask.
He gives me a shy look. “That you have someone’s heart.”
My heart thumps. It swells. My eyes are watering. My mouth opens, even though I’m floundering for what to say. But then the door slams open behind us and Mabon strolls in.
“Loo-loo! There you are!” he calls loudly.
He walks up to us. His purple eyes fix on my new braid and he coos. “Oh! How lovely!”
“Did you want something?” snapsLlywelyn.
“To have tea with my favourite brother, of course!” gushes Mabon.
I stand up and turn to face the princes. Llywelyn narrows his eyes at his brother.
Mabon sighs dramatically. “And to find out about this business with Prys.”
Llywelyn scowls, but he leads us to the sitting room and over to the table by the window. The afternoon light is dim enough to be late evening. The rain clouds are thick, and raindrops are running down the glass in pretty patterns.
Tae appears and starts setting out a fancy bone china tea set.
“And I’m also here to teach you how to please your pet!” Mabon says brightly.
I’m so glad Tae hasn’t poured the tea yet. If I was drinking it, I would have just spat it out everywhere.
“I don’t need lessons,” Llywelyn says coldly.
Mabon picks up the teapot and fills Llywelyn’s cup. Llywelyn blinks in surprise. My brows furrow in confusion for a moment, then I remember. Tea pouring is a status thing. The person with the lowest status pours the tea. I guess with Mabon being older and not a resyn, he just made a very kind gesture.
“You are new to humans and to bottoming,” Mabon says conversationally as he pours himself a cup.
