Selwyn shrugs while calmly dragging his spoon through his soup. “He can. I don’t mind. The boy is pretty and his magic is potent.”
Llywelyn pouts. “That’s not the point.”
“It is sweet of you to be concerned about me, Brother. But I’m fine with it.” Selwyn says with a soft smile and a gleam in his eye.
I snatch my gaze away before he sees my frown. A pretty boy who doubles as a magical battery? No, that doesn’t sound like much of a hardship. The dirty bastard.
“It’s not fair,” grumbles Llywelyn.
He pours himself a glass of white wine. My chest tightens. I really don’t want him getting drunk. But a pet wouldn’t intervene. I cast a quick glance at Selwyn. He thinks I’m his brother’s Alpha. Is it acceptable for an alpha to intervene?
Llywelyn’s words ruminate in my mind. Wait a minute. In what way is it not fair? Does Llywelyn want an arranged marriage? Fuck. What if Rhydian does that? Finds Llywelyn a husband or a wife? Though I’ve heard that the fey are keen to stick to same-sex pairings because they don’t want offspring. Not that the preference helps me. Llywelyn being given a husband would still be a disaster.
I grab a bottle of wine and slosh a generous serving into my empty glass. Then I pick it up and gulp it down. I’m being absurd. Jealous and possessive and not at all rational. I need to calm down.
“You can’t let him do this!” insists Llywelyn.
Selwyn stares at him for a moment. Then he sighs. “We are royalty, Brother. It is our fate. Our duty. Rhydian isn’t burdening me out of spite. He has similar plans for his favourite brother.”
Llywelyn coughs. He hastily grabs a napkin and covers his mouth, catching the wine he otherwise would have spat out everywhere.
“He is marrying Dyfri off?” he gasps and his horror isn’t hidden at all.
My heart picks up pace. Adrenaline rushes through my veins. I know Llywelyn’s secret. I know why this is such an emotive topic for him. But Selwyn doesn’t know, and it would be a catastrophe if Llywelyn let something slip.
“So I’ve heard,” Selwyn says calmly.
He reaches for a bread roll. I can see confusion in his eyes, but nothing too suspicious. Yet.
“He cannot do that!” Llywelyn all but yells. “Does Dyfri know?”
Llywelyn’s face is far too pale. His eyes are large and frantic.
Selwyn’s brow furrows. “Rhydian can do that, and no, Dyfri doesn’t know. So you mustn’t breathe a word.”
Llywelyn jumps to his feet, sending his chair crashing backwards. “Who! Who is Dyfri being given to?”
His hands lift up and pull on his hair. “He is a rhocyn! Who would have him?”
Selwyn stares up at his brother in alarm. His brown eyes turn to me. I shrug and only allow the prince to see my deep concern and nothing else. Selwyn turns his attention back to his brother.
“I…um.” Selwyn says before stopping and clearing his throat. “The human British Prime Minister’s son. Humans don’t care that he is a rhocyn, they don’t even know what that is.”
Llywelyn draws in a deep, shuddering breath. Then he picks up his chair and sits back down. Acting as if nothing happened. He retrieves his wineglass, brings it to his lips, and drains it in one deep swallow. Then he turns his attention to his soup.
Selwyn looks at me, and I give him a look of bewilderment. He frowns and picks up his spoon.
“I shouldn’t have told you that. It is top secret, and I paid a hefty fee for it.”
Llywelyn’s elegant hand disappears into his silk robes and reappears with a large gold coin. He silently hands it to Selwyn. Who takes it with a grin and tucks it into the pocket of his waistcoat.
I want to shake my head. That has to be the most fey exchange I have ever seen.
“I didn’t ask you here to gossip about marriages,” he says genially.
“Why am I here, then?” Llywelyn asks calmly.
Selwyn busies himself with his soup. Silence falls. Nothing apart from the sound of cutlery against crockery.
