Llywelyn nods regally. But I’m close enough to see the tears welling up in his eyes.
“Llywelyn needs his rest!” I snap.
“Of course!” agrees Tristan hastily, and he grabs his pet’s arm and turns him around.
“If you died, I never would have forgiven you!” scolds Ollie with passion as he whacks his prince on the back.
Then they are through the door and out of sight. But Tristan’s deep voice carries.
“I know, my love,” he says patiently.
I turn to Llywelyn with a grin and startle when I find him staring at me intensely. Then it hits me. We are finally, truly alone. For the first time since he came back to life. There have been odd moments here and there, but this feels different. No one is due for hours and I don’t think Tae is going to let any more stray callers in. We really are alone.
I swallow and squeeze his hand.
“You don’t love me,” he says softly.
The quietly spoken words hit me like a sledgehammer. Rendering me incapable of thought.
“What? Yes I do!” I somehow manage to splutter. Where has this come from? What is going on? How can he believe such a thing?
“You don’t. You can’t. You don’t even know me. Not the real me,” he says sadly.
His golden eyes look away, taking their dazzling brightness and leaving me cold.
I let the words settle for a moment. I sit with them as they start to make sense. He is feeling insecure. Unconfident. And that’s fine. It is almost to be expected. He has been through a lot.
Llywelyn tentatively returns his gaze, and I look deep into his eyes. I can see his love for me. But I know how to look. I also have the advantage of hearing him say it with his dying breath. Deathbed confessions ring true.
It’s not the same as me flinging it at him while he was mortally injured in my arms. He could be putting it down to stupid things people say in the heat of the moment.
Llywelyn needs my reassurance.
“Then show me who you are,” I say gently. I hope he can see in my eyes that there is nothing he can say that is going to change the way I feel about him.
“It seems, with the whole dying thing, that it is time for a confession,” he says warily.
I nod and wait patiently for him to continue.
Llywelyn takes a deep breath. “I don’t want the throne. I’ve never wanted it.”
My mind goes perfectly white. Blank. Empty. As devoid of thoughts as a patch of freshly fallen snow.
I can’t see him now. His head is bowed. His fingers fidgeting in the bedcovers.
Carefully, my fingers fit under his chin and I tilt his face towards me so I can search his eyes for the truth. He meets my gaze reluctantly.
He licks his lips. “When your people approached me, I thought it was a good idea to keep them busy. Waste their time. Stop them from working on another, more fruitful, plan.”
Long moments pass. Seconds, minutes, centuries, I have no idea. Eventually, the power of speech returns to me.
“Keep your enemies close,” I croak
Llywelyn winces. “Precisely. I’ve... I’ve been playing you. I was never going to let you succeed.”
More silence. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I cough and try again.
