Dyfri scowls. “If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.” His dark eyes turn to Llywelyn, who is still wheezing, before flicking back to Selwyn. “And I won’t bring you back.”
Tears are rolling down my cheeks. My heart is hammering like crazy. I’m shaking like a newborn foal.
Llywelyn stares at me with golden eyes. He looks a little confused and disorientated at first, but then he focuses on me and his eyes glow and he smiles. It’s him, it’s really him.
Somehow, he is here. He came back to me. Dyfri brought him back. It is beyond a miracle. The fey truly can do anything and I will be forever grateful.
I cradle Llywelyn’s face. I want to hug him, but he has just been shot in the chest. So instead, I pepper him with kisses, getting my tears all over him. He doesn’t seem to mind.
I’m never going to let him go again. Ever. Next time, if he can’t come back to me… I will go to him.
Chapter thirty-five
Llywelyn looks tiny, tucked up in the middle of his enormous bed. He is dwarfed by pillows and quilts. Pale in the mid-morning light. He looks frail, but not at all bad for someone who died yesterday. I need to hang onto that.
Amongst all the visitors, there has been a flurry of healers coming and going. Every single one of them has stated confidence that Llywelyn will make a full recovery, as long as he rests.
Our little story that I pulled the bullet out and then Dyfri and Selwyn used their magic to heal him, is holding up. So far, no one has questioned it.
Everything is fine. I can stop fretting. I can stop sitting here by his bedside, holding his hand. But I don’t want to. I’m still far too strung out to sleep, and there’s no way I’m going as far as the shower, where the water will mask all sounds of another attack.
So I’m staying by his side. For as long as it takes.
Right now, Tae is showing a pair of healers out, and we might actually get a few moments alone. That would be lovely.
However, my hopes are dashed when I hear raised voices coming from the sitting room.
“Show your teeth all you like, little dude. I’m coming in!”
There is a rustle of movement and then Ollie strides into the bedchamber with Tae all but hanging off his arm.
Ollie’s green eyes are wide and frantic. The look of a man who hasn’t slept.
“Finally!” he exclaims. “I’ve been trying to get in since yesterday!”
I give Llywelyn a quick look. Does he want me to get rid of his brother’s pet? Llywelyn’s expression is calm. Mildly curious, if anything. So I stay in my place by his side. Content to let the events unfold.
Tae also sees Llywelyn’s expression, and he releases Ollie with a little growl before stomping off to the sitting room.
Ollie takes a deep breath. “I can sense threats, but I couldn’t move fast enough to do anything.” He pauses and his bright eyes water. “Thank you for saving Tristan.”
Llywelyn blinks. He gives a slight nod of his head.
Ollie exhales, all in a rush. “Thank you so very much. I suspected that you weren’t really an asshole. I should have listened to my instincts. He cut off your hair, and you still saved him!”
He wipes his eyes angrily. “Thank you. Really, truly thank you. And I know what thanks mean. I’m saying thank you in a fey way!”
Of course. Giving thanks is an admission that a debt is owed. It is more or less giving a favour.
Suddenly, Tristan bursts into the room at such a speed his red hair is flying out behind him.
“Ollie!” he says, then his feet grind to a halt and his ruby eyes fix on Llywelyn.
The room falls silent. Expectant and heavy. As if time itself is holding its breath. Tension thickens the air.
Slowly, Tristan flows into a graceful bow. Waist deep. The lowest a prince should ever go. As he bows, he keeps his eyes fixed on his brother.
“You have my deepest thanks, Brother.”
