He studies me for a long moment, those dark eyes searching my face for something I’m not sure I can give him.
“Very well,” he says finally. “But I want to see the kitchens first.”
“The kitchens?”
“I’m going to be living here, so I need to know if the food is going to be as disappointing as everything else.”
Despite everything, I laugh. I can’t help it. “You know we have professional chefs, right? Proper ones.”
“I like to see how my food is prepared,” he says simply. “Trust issues.”
And just like that, we’re back to the careful distance. But at least he’s still here. At least he’s willing to let me show him around.
“Kitchen tour it is,” I say, standing up. “Fair warning though, the head chef is protective of his territory. He might try to stab you with a wooden spoon if you criticise his technique.”
“I look forward to it,” Dyfri says dryly. “It will be just like home.”
The way he says ‘home’ makes it sound like the most unpleasant place on earth. Which, given what I witnessed at the wedding reception, might not be far from the truth.
As we head towards the door, I catch myself stealing glances at him. The glamour really is incredible. If I hadn’t seen him yesterday, I’d never guess he wasn’t human. He moves differently though. More carefully. Like he’s conscious of taking up space in a way he wasn’t before.
“Does it feel strange?” I ask as we walk down the corridor. “Looking human, I mean.”
“Everything feels strange,” he says quietly. Then, after a pause he adds, “But some kinds of strange are better than others.”
I want to ask what he means by that, but something in his expression warns me off. Instead, I just nod and lead him towards the kitchens, wondering how long it’s going to take before we stop feeling like strangers.
Wondering if we ever will.
Chapter five
By the time we sit down for dinner with my parents, I’m starting to think I’ve married a completely different person than the one I had breakfast with this morning.
The dining room Dad’s chosen for tonight is one of the formal ones, all mahogany and crystal and the sort of intimidating grandeur that makes you feel like you should be using your best manners. Servers in crisp uniforms glide around the table with practiced efficiency, presenting each course with the kind of ceremony usually reserved for state occasions.
Which, I suppose, this is.
I can spot at least three security personnel lurking in strategic corners, trying to look invisible and failing spectacularly. At least one of them has to be MI5, tasked with keeping an eye on our new fey houseguest and trying to learn useful secrets. I wonder if Dyfri knows. I wonder if he cares.
But if he does know, he’s giving absolutely no indication of it. Instead, he’s being... charming. Devastatingly, impossibly charming.
“The gardens here are quite something,” he’s saying to Mum, his voice warm with what sounds like genuineappreciation. “I noticed the rose garden particularly. The variety you have must take considerable expertise to maintain.”
Mum practically glows. “Oh, well, we do have wonderful groundskeepers. Though I must confess, I’ve been known to sneak out there myself when no one’s looking. There’s something so peaceful about roses, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” Dyfri agrees, cutting his lamb with elegant precision. “There’s a particular variety that grows in the old gardens at... well, where I used to live. The scent is incredible, especially in the evening. Almost intoxicating.”
“You must tell me the name,” Mum says eagerly. “Perhaps we could have some planted here.”
Dyfri’s smile is soft, almost wistful. “I’m afraid they’re rather particular about soil conditions. Very difficult to transplant. However, my brother Selwyn is talented with plants, I’m sure he’ll know something that would work.”
The way he says it makes it sound like he’s talking about more than just flowers.
Dad, meanwhile, is completely under his spell. Dyfri has somehow steered the conversation through topics ranging from architecture to literature to economic policy, displaying a breadth of knowledge that would put most Oxford professors to shame. And he’s doing it all with a kind of understated wit that has Dad actually laughing.
I haven’t seen Dad laugh like this in months.
“The trade implications alone are fascinating,” Dyfri is saying, gesturing gracefully with his wine glass. “Though I suspect the real challenge will be in the cultural exchange.Humans and fey have very different approaches to... well, everything really.”
