Llywelyn steps back. Placing a distance between us. Space that fills with a cold breeze that cools my heated skin and brings me to my senses.
He is right. With a groan, I pull myself together. Dinner shouldn’t take that long. Then we can come back here and I can investigate fey horns thoroughly. Very thoroughly.
Indecent images flow through my mind all the long walk to Selwyn’s rooms. I’m only able to banish them once a servant ushers us inside, and I am met with the profusion of plants and flowers spilling everywhere in Selwyn’s rooms.
Is he innocently green fingered? Or into poisons like Dyfri?
The servant leads us to a cosy dining room, much like Llywelyn’s breakfast room. Selwyn is already seated, and he stands up politely to greet us.
There is an abundance of silverware on the table. Including several candelabras of lit candles.
Llywelyn stops in his tracks and I nearly walk into his back.
“You are engaged?” he exclaims.
Selwyn’s hand flies up to one of the many plaits twisting through his brown hair. “Ah. Yes. The engagement party is in a couple of days.”
Llywelyn says nothing. He doesn’t even move. I’m behind him, so I can’t see his expression.
Selwyn gestures towards the table. “Please, have a seat.”
Llywelyn jerks, then moves. He gracefully sits down. I gingerly take the chair next to him, and then huff a silent sigh of relief when nobody yells at me to sit on the floor. I still haven’t quite grasped the rules around when pets get chairs. However, here and now makes sense. Selwyn doesn’t know I’m a secret agent, but he knows my relationship with his brother is far more than pet and master.
“I didn’t even know you had anyone special,” says Llywelyn. He is clearly aiming for casual and nonchalant, but I can hear the petulant sulk in his voice. Along with the hurt at being excluded.
Selwyn shrugs elegantly. “I don’t. It was arranged.”
Four gnome-like servants swoop in and efficiently serve the first course. It looks delicious. Some kind of creamy soup and soft bread.
As soon as the staff leave, Llywelyn spits out, “Rhydian is marrying you off?”
He sounds really pissed off. Furious even.
But Selwyn simply smiles. “Something like that.”
“To who?” demands Llywelyn.
“A nisny vessel.”
I shake my head, but it does no good. My translator is not helping with these two words.
“What’s a nisny vessel?” I ask as I pick up my soup spoon.
“A nisny is a human with some fey ancestry,” says Llywelyn. “And a vessel is a person who has magic but cannot wield it. They need to give it to someone through sex.”
I let my surprise show. I am supposed to be a simple human man. An unwilling captive new to the strange world of the fey. So being taken aback is fine.
“Rhydian is seeking an alliance with human mages, specifically the British nobility,” says Selwyn.
What the hell? Is he saying that the British nobility are secretly mages? And if this nisny bride of his is to seal an alliance, that implies that human nobles also have fey ancestry along with their hidden magic powers.
This is a lot to take in. I’ve worked with a duke. And a couple of lords. The aristocracy has long ties with MI5 and MI6. Were they really keeping such secrets all along?
I focus on eating my soup. I can’t glare at Llywelyn right now. This bloody better be something he forgot to tell me, or that he thought was irrelevant. If I find out he has been keeping yet another thing from me, I’m seriously going to lose my shit.
Llywelyn’s spoon clangs angrily against his bowl. “Rhydian can’t just marry you off like that. It is not fair!”
I quickly shove a bread roll in my face to hide my proud grin. That’s my boy. Get Selwyn on board with your cause.
