I see the worry in his beautiful eyes and suddenly it clicks. He isn’t worried about himself, he is worried about me. I’m his pet. If he is punished, he doesn’t know what my fate will be.
I reach out and place my hand on his knee. “Rhydian is the judge.”
I’m not going to spew bullshit like, ‘I can take care of myself, don’t worry about me’. Because I’m one human man. Alone in the middle of the fey court. If they decide to put me down, or give me to someone else, there is fuck all I can do about it. We both know that.
Therefore, the best way to reassure him, is to remind him his brother will not be harsh on him.
Llywelyn frowns. “He doesn’t like me. None of them do.”
He says it without self-pity. There is no whine in his voice. Just a simple statement of fact.
My chest constricts. To be disdained by your own family has to sting.
“Dyfri likes you,” I remind him.
That has to be true. Dyfri brought him back from the dead. That doesn’t strike me as something that is done idly.
Llywelyn scoffs. “Dyfri is too soft for his own good!” Then he freezes and turns back to me with wide eyes. “Don’t tell him I said that!”
A chuckle bubbles out of me. “Too soft, but you are scared of him?”
Llywelyn scowls. “You’ve met him.”
I laugh, even though he is right. Dyfri is scary and lovely. Both at the same time. I’ve never met anyone like him.
Suddenly, Llywelyn makes a pained noise and thumps his head back against the windowsill behind him. He closes his eyes and grimaces.
“I destroyed Dyfri and in return, he saved me.”
I watch, lost for words, as anguish flows across Llywelyn’s face. Then a single tear rolls down his cheek, sparkling like a diamond in the moonlight.
I lean forward and gently brush it away. “You were trying to help.”
Llywelyn opens his eyes and gives me such a sad, despondent, broken look that I nearly burst into tears of my own.
“All I ever do is make a mess of things,” he whispers.
My lungs fill with ice. It feels like a thousand tiny daggers stabbing me inside my chest. I can’t stand this. I grab him and pull him onto my lap, pressing his back firmly against my chest. I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight. Savouring the warm weight of him.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say with confidence. “As long as they don’t separate us, we can face anything. You and me together. That’s the only thing we need.”
He stiffens in my arms. He doesn’t say a word, but I hear him nonetheless. That’s exactly what he is worried about. That they are going to separate us.
I fall silent too. I simply hold him even tighter. There is nothing else I can do.
We stare out of the window together. Until long after the moon has set and the sun has risen.
Chapter thirty-nine
I’m damn proud that I can help with Llywelyn’s laces. Not so very long ago, fey clothing was a complete mystery to me. Now look at me, standing behind Llywelyn, diligently working on the laces of his fanciest court robes. I am nothing, if not a fast learner.
While I’m threading and pulling, he is staring at himself in the mirror and fiddling with his hair.
The sight of it is breaking my heart. His hair is still short, and I know he hates it. He is about to stand in the throne room, on trial in front of all his peers, whilst being the fey equivalent of naked.
I wish there was something I could do. He wove a braid into my hair this morning, after our long vigil in the window seat. I wish I could return it.
He also gave me a beautiful gold necklace. I can feel its weight far more than I can feel my collar. I’m aware of this necklace, in ways I’ve never been aware of the collar. This necklace means more, signifies more. It is a gift. A token of love. My collar has only ever been a prop.
