Oh sweet goddess. I know exactly what he is looking at. It is the picture of him. I drew him sitting on the edge of a bed of rumpled sheets. Lounging back on his elbows.With most of his shirt buttons undone, revealing a very well-defined chest.
I’d probably be in trouble if Mother saw it. But this is worse. Far worse. The ground needs to open up and swallow me down. And my cheeks need to stop burning hot enough to make flames. Oh my. I’m going to be sick.
Selwyn pulls his gaze from the drawing to look at me. Whatever he was going to say is interrupted by a servant arriving with tea.
Thank heavens for small mercies. No, actually, this isn’t a small mercy, it is an enormous one. An incredible reprieve that I will forever be grateful for.
I hurry over to the table. Selwyn snaps my sketchbook shut and sets it carefully down on the small ornate side table next to the settee. Then he comes and joins me.
Tea. It’s just tea. I can do this. The fey have a ton more etiquette around it, but at the end of the day it is still tea. Teapot. Cups and saucers. Strainer. Milk. Honey. Sugar.
It’s a custom that British nobles share with the fey. Though actually, if we are descendants of the fey, then perhaps it is something we inherited from them?
Regardless, I am capable of pouring tea and making small talk.
I take a steadying breath and pick up the pretty silver teapot. I fill Prince Selwyn’s cup first, and then my own. Keeping my movements fluid and graceful.
Apparently, allowing the sleeve of your robe to slide down and flash your wrist, is flirtatious. But I have no idea how to do that with any subtly, so concentrating on not spilling the tea is going to have to do.
I place the teapot down. I offer Selwyn milk and honey. He declines both. Which is a bummer because accordingto fey etiquette, if I wish to show respect and obedience, I now can’t have any either.
The silence is stretching. Uncomfortably so. I am the host, I need to say something.
“I’m sorry to hear about your brother,” I blurt.
Damnit. So much for small talk. What have I done? I’m probably not even supposed to know this yet. Prince Selwyn is quite likely here to tell me the news and what he expects of me now.
Selwyn picks up his teacup and raises an eyebrow at me. “Why are you sorry?”
Crap. I have really put my foot in it, haven’t I? Is saying sorry an admission of guilt amongst the fey? It wouldn’t surprise me.
“Well… um…I thought it was sad,” I splutter uselessly. “You might miss him.”
Selwyn stares at me as if I am crazy. “He killed someone dishonourably.”
His eyes are narrow. His expression is twisted in to shock and disgust. But it is a mask. A carefully constructed one, but a mask nonetheless. One that I can see right through.
He is upset. Deeply so. But he doesn’t want me to know that. He certainly won’t want me to know I can read him. He seems to find the fact that I can see his wolf displeasing enough.
I lift my shaking cup to my lips and manage a tiny sip. “A few days earlier, he saved your brother’s life.”
A gentle statement of support should be an acceptable offering. I saw him drop to his knees and try to save his brother’s life. He has to be aware that I know he cares, at leasta little.
Selwyn’s cup returns to its saucer with a clink. “Are you implying the two events are related?”
Oh hell. I’m terrible at this. All I have done is make him suspicious of me again. I’m really starting to understand the whole, vessels should be seen and not heard, rule. It’s time I started sticking to it. I just need to try to dig myself out of this hole first.
“I do not know. All I do know is that Prince Llywelyn may have had his reasons.”
Oh lord. What am I talking about? He doesn’t want to hear my opinions. A simple apology would have been better. Why am I waffling?
Selwyn picks up his cup. He slowly brings it to his lips. He takes a sip. All while his mahogany eyes bore into me.
“Perhaps you are not as empty-headed as you look.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Selwyn blinks and puts his cup down. “You shouldn’t do that.”
