My gaze falls on Selwyn’s boy-bride-to-be. Standing quietly in the opposite corner. Being similarly ignored. Maybe I should get Llywelyn to approach him? No, that is a terrible idea. It is an awful social faux pas to acknowledge a resyn. I can’t inflict that on the poor innocent kid.
Abruptly, out of nowhere, Tae appears. He hurries up to Llywelyn and tugs on his sleeve. Llywelyn bends down and Tae whispers in his ear before fluttering off in a hurry.
Llywelyn straightens. His face is utterly blank. I sidle closer. “What did he say?”
“Prys is about to challenge Tristan to a duel,” Llywelyn whispers.
It’s a struggle to keep my face neutral. “That’s good, isn’t it? Tristan will whoop his ass.”
The red-haired prince is like a force of nature. Invincible and strong. He defeated Llywelyn. I can’t imagine the confident, jock-like Tristan losing at anything.
“No, Prys is far stronger.”
Before I’ve even had a chance to digest that piece of information, Llywelyn is moving. Striding across the throne room, all but dragging me behind him on my leash.
He marches right up to Prys.
“I need to talk to you!”
Prys’s little gaggle of admirers look uncomfortable and conflicted. A dirty resyn is daring to talk, yet on the other hand, this is prime juicy gossip.
Prys claims Llywelyn’s elbow and leads him a few steps away. His admirers watch with longing in their eyes, but none are brave enough to follow.
“I know your plan. Do not do this,” Llywelyn orders in his very best haughty tone.
Prys smiles. “I’m willing to do this to take care of you. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
Llywelyn draws himself up to his full height, but before he can speak, Prys cuts in.
“It was a clever move, taking that bullet for your brother. Now no one is going to suspect you of a thing. Now I can give you the throne you deserve and no one will ever know. It will be our little secret.”
His smile twists into something truly malevolent. He takes Llywelyn’s hand and brings it to his thin lips.
Llywelyn looks frozen, immobile. Good. I don’t want him to do anything stupid.
Prys drops Llywelyn’s hand. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Iestyn sends his regards.”
Prys winks. He turns sharply on his heels, giving Llywelyn his back. I gasp at the insult of the gesture. The sheer nerve and cruelty. Nobody heard the words. Everyone saw the action.
Then I watch in a daze as the blue-haired earl strides away. Towards Tristan who is laughing with a group of people while Ollie rolls his eyes.
My mind is wheeling. Floundering. I’m supposed to be quick, but this is a lot. No wonder poor Llywelyn looks thunderstruck. He looks like he has been slapped. Suddenly, he rouses himself with a jerky movement. Then he is running forward. I stumble after him. I see the gleam of a dagger, but there is no time to do anything.
With a shriek, Llywelyn launches forward. The dagger flashes, then it sinks into Prys’s back. The earl falls forward, landing on his face on the floor.
Llywelyn follows him down, straddling his back. He yanks the dagger out and stabs it into Prys’s flesh. Again and again. Sapphire blue blood is spraying everywhere.
Llywelyn lifts the dagger above his head with both hands and brings it down with all his strength. He keeps on going. Prys’s back is starting to look like blue pulp.
Llywelyn isn’t stopping.
Dimly, I’m aware of the circle formed around us. Of all of court watching. But they could be galaxies away for all I care.
I step forward and grab Llywelyn’s slender waist. I haul him off Prys’s body and set him on his feet, away from the corpse.
“Enough!” I say sternly.
Llywelyn glares at me with blazing eyes. His pale skin is splattered with blue.
