Well, fuck him. Llywelyn looks unsurprised, so I’m not going to allow my faint flame of hope to go out. My boy might have other tricks up his sleeve.
Llywelyn speaks clearly. His voice ringing out, enabling everyone to hear.
“The killing was justified. Earl Aydanogi turned his back on me. He presented an insult. He was spreading false rumours.”
A heavy silence falls. My lungs have stopped working. Time has frozen.
Rhydian nods thoughtfully. My heart picks up a crazy rhythm. “The rumours were a grave insult.”
Whispers and exclamations echo around the throne room. Bouncing off all the grey stone. My little flame of hope burns a little brighter. Maybe everything will be okay? Rhydian will judge that the killing was justified and all of this will be over. We will be able to go back to our rooms.
And I can start plotting on how to keep Llywelyn safe from both The Agency and Iestyn.
I grimace. For fuck’s sake, Ethan. I tell myself. One huge problem at a time, please. I would like to keep some of my sanity.
“I wish to speak!” calls out a female voice.
I crane my neck. It is Lady Braith, one of Prys’s friends from that ill-fated card game. I frown as she makes her way up towards the dais. She stops just before it and gives Rhydian a bow.
He gestures for her to continue.
“Prys’s words were not rumours. They were the truth.”
The crowd erupts. Noise and chaos. It is overwhelming.
Rhydian’s amber eyes narrow. “How dare you.”
He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t raise his voice, yet somehow, everyone hears him and the throne falls silent immediately.
Lady Braith licks her lips. “I dare because it is the truth. I swear by the goddess.”
Like a pendulum, all the attention swings to Llywelyn. He flinches ever so slightly, but otherwise bears it well.
“Do you deny?” Rhydian asks.
“I deny,” replies Llywelyn, with his head held high.
“If I may, your Majesty,” interjects Lady Braith. “This matter is easy to solve.” The pendulum swings back to her. “Order Prince Llywelyn to strip. He can prove he is not an omega by showing us his body.”
My brain whites out. All I can hear is the frantic beating of my heart. All I can see is the defeated set to Llywelyn’s shoulders.
“Do you wish to strip?” asks Rhydian, his face carefully, terribly blank.
Llywelyn looks down at the floor. “No,” he says softly.
I tune out the crowd’s reaction. The only thing that matters is Llywelyn. He is sad, scared, and dejected. A mere three steps away, but I can’t pull him into my arms, hold him tight and tell him that everything is going to be okay. I hate this. This is the single most awful moment of my life.
Rhydian starts speaking again, and I force myself to listen.
“Earl Aydanogi turned his back on you. That was his only insult?”
Llywelyn nods. Then he croaks out a tiny, “Yes.” All his haughty, arrogant demeanour is gone. The world is seeing him exposed and I hate it. I should be the only person who ever gets to see this side of him.
A jangle of silver bracelets catch my attention. Mabon is dabbing at his eyes with a white handkerchief. My heart sinks even further. All the other princes’ faces are blank, emotionless. Are they really not going to do anything?
I look at Dyfri. He revealed his necromancy powers to save Llywelyn. Surely he is going to intervene? But his face is just as statue like as the other princes.
He doesn’t know that Llywelyn saved him from his uncle, the cruel Unseelie king. I swallow thickly. Perhaps that is something he should never know.
