“You… still love me?” he stutters as a pink blush spreads along his cheekbones.
“I love you, Prince Llywelyn Y Mabinogi,” I say solemnly. Just to be perfectly clear.
His golden eyes grow brighter. Dazzling enough to blind. Then he moves. His head lifts up, off the pillows, and his soft lips press against mine. Honey and warmth. Affection and love.
My heart thumps. It feels like it is dancing in my chest. It feels like it is pumping joy through my veins instead of love. I close my eyes, and kiss my prince.
Chapter thirty-six
Llywelyn looks adorable, sitting up in bed with a lap tray over his legs. He doesn’t look as pale as he did and he has eaten a good amount of dinner. It might be okay to trust the army of healers, who are constantly coming and going, when they say he is going to make a full recovery.
Llywelyn is poking at his dessert, but I told him to obey the healers and eat everything, so I’m fairly confident he will.
I sense movement in the doorway and I turn towards it, fully expecting it to be more healers, but it is Dyfri. Looming for a moment like a shadow. With his dark hair and black robes, he could easily pass as some sort of shadow creature.
He strolls in and stands by the bed. Staring down at Llywelyn with his arms crossed over his chest.
“You look good,” he comments dryly.
Llywelyn opens his mouth to say something, but Dyfri holds up a hand. “Do not thank me!”
Llywelyn’s eyebrows rise. Then he dips his head in an elegant gesture of agreement.
Dyfri nods, as if satisfied, and then sits on the bottom of Llywelyn’s bed. Pulling his long legs up and tucking them under his black silk robes in a cross-legged position.
“I’m assuming, since you’ve been stuck in here, you haven’t heard the rumour Prys has been spreading?” Dyfri says casually.
Llywelyn’s golden eyes turn to me, questioning. I shrug. I haven’t left his side since he died. I have heard nothing he is not privy to.
He turns his attention to his brother. “What have you heard?”
Dyfri takes a long breath. “He has been telling anyone who will listen that you are an omega. That your hole gets slick and you whine for cock. He says you entertained him and three of his friends in one evening and you couldn’t get enough. You were like a bitch in heat.”
Llywelyn’s eyes grow large. He swallows. He glances at me briefly before looking back at his brother.
“It is kind of you to let me know.”
Dyfri slides off the bed and flows to his feet. “I thought you should be aware.” He walks towards the door. Just as he steps through it, he adds casually, “Let me know if you need a hand with anything.” Then he is gone.
“Why would he do this?” says Llywelyn, and the despondency in his voice is going to break my heart.
I know he isn’t talking about Dyfri’s offer to help with revenge. That motive is clear enough.
I clear my throat. “Making you seem weak is a calculated move. Powerful people want a ruler who can’t control them. If Prys paints you as pathetic, it will make it easier to rally people to put you on the throne.”
Llywelyn says nothing. He simply pushes his spoon around his nearly empty bowl.
My own mind is whirling. If Prys knows about Llywelyn’s omega traits, then Selwyn must have told him. Backstabbing bastard that he is. But it probably means that Selwyn wants Llywelyn on the throne. For whatever dark motive stirs his rotten heart.
However, The Agency will not like this at all. They are seeking sovereignty over the fey by proxy. They want their puppet prince to have the illusion of full control. They want him to be obeyed and respected.
But once a reputation is lost, it is very hard to win back. And I get the impression that allegations of being an omega are especially destructive amongst the fey.
Fucking Prys.
Llywelyn wasn’t popular. He didn’t have any friends, but he was thought of as an arrogant jerk. Vain and self-serving. Characteristics fey admire. So once his hair grew back and losing a duel was forgotten, everything would have been fine.
Now what the fuck do I do? How do I fight this fire?
