Llywelyn’s long fingers pause and his eyes narrow. He is beautiful and intelligent, but that doesn’t allow him to get off the hook. I’m not soft.
“Because I wanted to,” he snipes haughtily while secrets flash in his eyes.
He is such a devious little shit. I think that is why I like him so much. I’ve always admired cunning. Whereas, someone honest and truthful would constantly remind me of everything I have lost. It would feel like I was sullying them with my presence. But Llywelyn matches my darkness with shadows of his own.
“How much do you owe?” I ask.
He squirms on his chair. “It’s fine. My debts do not affect the mission. You have my word on that.”
He swears to me without looking me in the eye and he thinks I’m going to buy it? I watch him for a moment, but he pretends he can’t feel the weight of my attention.
Whatever. I can let it go on this occasion. I sigh as I shove another spoonful of yoghurt into my mouth. Maybe I am getting soft.
How long is this engagement party going to go on for? I want to be in Llywelyn’s bed. More importantly, I want to be inside Llywelyn. Not stuck at this stuffy gathering.
The fey princes and a bunch of human lords and dukes. I’m not going to learn anything useful here, so I’d much rather be having fun.
I take a sip of my champagne and try to cool myself down. I haven’t been this horny in years. What has come over me? Are the fey rubbing off on me?
I hide my snort with the bubbly. I’m even thinking in crude innuendos. It’s like being a teenager again. Or in a new relationship.
I gulp down the rest of my glass. Damn it. I can be fond of Llywelyn. Super fond. I can enjoy fucking him. Even feeling protective and possessive is fine. But I can’t fall for him. I can’t.
I cannot have deep feelings for humankind’s puppet prince. The needs of billions outweigh my needs. At some point, there will be something that will be terrible for Llywelyn, but good for the human race. I have to be able to make the right decision.
I run my hand over my face and force myself to be present in the room. I make myself look at Selwyn’s intended.
The boy is standing quietly amongst the other humans. His shoulder length white hair is shining against his dark, expensive suit. He is staring at the floor, but I glimpsed his eyes earlier. A bright, startling blue. Like the Mediterranean on a summer day.
He is slender and short, beautiful and far too young. He can’t be any older than nineteen. And he is terrified. He is hiding it well, but it’s clear to see if you know where to look.
I take a deep breath. He is who I should be caring about. An innocent human. Nevermind that his family are here, offering him up to the fey like some sort of virgin sacrifice. Screw them. Even more reason why he needs protecting. Just like the entire human race.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement. One of the human guests is pulling out a gun from a leg holster.
My mind is lightening quick. It realises this is a perfect opportunity for an assassination. The fey won’t have their personal magical shields up in the palace. The guards would only have given the guests a light search.
My mind is fast, but my body is slow. Llywelyn, however, is not. He moves so fast that all I see is a blur. At first, I think he is moving away from the assassin’s firing line. Then I realise that the gun islifting towards Tristan, and Llywelyn is moving towards the line of fire.
My mind whirls again. It works while my body remains frozen. The Agency wants to get rid of Tristan. It’s all part of their master plan. Llywelyn figured this out and tried to prevent it, and failed.
The gun is silent when it fires. I see the trigger move. Then I see gold blossoming on the white robe covering Llywelyn’s chest. It reminds me of the red wine and the servant’s blood.
Blood. The gold is Llywelyn’s blood. He bleeds gold. He has been shot.
Screams and chaos erupt. Everything is motion, movement and noise. All I can see is Llywelyn slowly falling to the floor.
My body moves. My body is finally quick enough. I catch Llywelyn in my arms and lower him gently to the floor.
This is the work of The Agency. They bribed or plotted to get a member of the engagement party to shoot Tristan. To clear the path for Llywelyn to take the throne. But Llywelyn never wanted his brother killed. He only wanted him exiled.
My thoughts are hollow things in my mind. Echoing in a blank, empty space. I can sense an immense storm of torment trying to surge in and destroy me, but my walls are keeping it at bay. Keeping me numb. For now.
There is fighting and yelling all around us, but it seems so far away. There is only Llywelyn and me, and the growing, spreading, gold stain on his chest.
Suddenly, Dyfri and Selwyn are kneeling beside us. Their hands and their magic frantically examining their brother.
Llywelyn stares up at me. His golden eyes are distant. Far too distant.
