Llywelyn bristles. “I only trust Tae.”
Mabon nods thoughtfully, a flash of sympathy lighting up his purple eyes.
What is this? More secrets? Why doesn’t Llywelyn trust servants and why does Mabon know?
“This servant will know a lot about Prys,” is all Mabon says.
Llywelyn scrunches up his face like a teenager being told to tidy his room. It’s almost enough to make me laugh.
Mabon takes another sip of tea. “Having only one servant makes people talk.”
Llywelyn slams his cup down forcefully. “No!”
The table rattles and everything on it clinks. It seems like a little too much movement to be caused by Llywelyn slamming his cupdown. He probably let out a little huff of magic along with his temper.
Mabon sighs as if the weight of the entire world is on his shoulders. “Fine. I guess I will take her on.”
Llywelyn casually picks up the teapot and refills Mabon’s cup and then mine, before finally topping up his own. If I didn’t know fey customs, I would be completely oblivious to the apology and the thanks in the gesture.
Mabon beams at his little brother and effortlessly moves the conversation on to less tumultuous things. He soon has Llywelyn at ease and I could kiss the purple-haired prince for that.
Llywelyn needs company. He needs connection. My prince needs his brothers. More than they know.
I hide my weary sigh by lifting my teacup up to my face. Llywelyn’s social life and relationship with his family are really the very least of my concerns.
I have to put him on the throne.
But first, I need to get rid of Prys.
Chapter thirty-one
I’m going to go cross-eyed from staring at this murder board. It’s growing every day as I add more things to it, but nothing is becoming clearer. If anything, everything is becoming increasingly murky and tangled.
The fey are nasty snakes. Self-serving and vicious. The thought of trying to form enough of them into a cohesive group stable enough to overthrow Rhydian, is daunting to say the least.
And trying to figure out how to cause Prys’s downfall is giving me a headache. I’d love to work with Mabon on this part of my plotting. But Ethan, the hapless clueless human pet, would be no help at all. I can’t blow my cover because everything points to Mabon being fiercely loyal to Rhydian.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Behind me, the soft clack of Llywelyn’s knitting needles is a soothing sound. He is perched on the window seat, quiet and unobtrusive, yet his presence is still a comfort. It feels companionable and cosy. I really like it. It’s not something I have ever experienced with another person, where someone simply being in the same room is soothing.
Llywelyn is gifting me with companionship as well as sizzling sex. I don’t know how he does it.
My mind begins to drift down the path of recalling this morning. Waking up and exchanging blow jobs. I shake my head and force myself to focus on the here and now.
My gaze drifts across my murder board, to the section devoted to Iestyn. It is turning into some sort of sick shrine. And I’ve barely begun to untangle his very many sticky webs.
“So, Iestyn killed your former pet because it tried to kill him?” I ask. I might as well make use of Llywelyn while he is here. Even though he has to be sick of my questions.
Llywelyn’s needles fall silent.
“Was that your plan, to assassinate him?” I question as I turn around to face Llywelyn.
Golden eyes grow impossibly wide. “No!”
I frown. “So why did you give your pet to him?”
Llywelyn swallows audibly. “The alltuid asked for my pet.”
I’m a little disappointed that Llywelyn wasn’t kicking ass and attempting to kill his abuser. But as I observe Llywelyn’s too-pale face and his gentle trembling, my disappointment fades.
