By the time we excuse ourselves for the evening, my head is spinning with questions I don’t know how to ask and doubts I don’t want to acknowledge.
Standing in our bedroom, watching Dyfri remove his glamour, I’m struck by how effortless the transformation appears. He doesn’t concentrate or chant or wave his hands about. One moment he looks human, the next his features are shifting like water, revealing the sharp cheekbones and otherworldly beauty underneath. The horns materialise as if they were always there, justhidden. His skin takes on that faint luminescence that makes him look like something from a pre-Raphaelite painting.
The ease of it is almost more unsettling than the transformation itself. How many times today has he shifted between faces? How many faces does he have? How would I even know?
Is this really what he looks like? And which personality is real?
“You were brilliant tonight,” I say, because it seems like the sort of thing a husband should say. “Mum and Dad absolutely adore you.”
He glances at me in the mirror, one elegant eyebrow raised. “Did you expect otherwise?”
“I... no. I mean, I hoped...” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding like an idiot.
Dyfri turns to face me fully, and there’s something almost amused in his expression. “You’re wondering which version of me is genuine.”
The fact that he’s read me so easily is both impressive and unsettling. “Are you always this good at reading people?”
“It’s a survival skill,” he says simply, then moves past me toward the bed.
We both know we have to share it again. The fey rules that governed last night haven’t suddenly disappeared. But somehow it feels even more awkward now.
I disappear into the bathroom to change into pyjamas, taking longer than necessary in the hopes that by the time I emerge, some of this tension will have dissipated.
It hasn’t.
Dyfri is already lying down in the bed, wearing another of those elegant nightgowns, his long black hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink. The wedding plait is still there, still intact, a reminder of vows I’m not sure I understand.
I climb into my side of the bed, maintaining what feels like a canyon of distance between us.
“We need to continue sharing sleeping arrangements for a month,” Dyfri says into the darkness, his voice carefully neutral. “Fey marriage customs are quite specific about the bonding period.”
“I understand.”
“You needn’t worry about...” He pauses, and I can hear him searching for the right words. “You needn’t worry about any expectations beyond simple proximity. I have no intention of forcing you to deign to touch me again.”
The way he says ‘deign’ makes it sound like I’d be doing him some sort of favour. Like the idea of anyone wanting to touch him is so far-fetched as to be laughable.
Which is insane. He’s easily the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. If anything, I should be worried about him being repulsed by me.
A sudden thought coils through me, dark and heavy. What if I’m getting the completely wrong end of the stick? What if he said ‘deign’ like that because he has interpreted my nerves on our wedding night as disinterest? What if he thinks my attempt to be respectful was a rejection?
But I don’t know how to say any of that without sounding like a complete pillock, so I say nothing at all.
I lie here in the dark, listening to his breathing, staring at the back of his head where his hair catches the faint lightfrom the window. The wedding plait gleams silver in the moonlight.
Marriage, I think, is bloody difficult. Especially when you’re married to someone who might be playing an elaborate game you don’t understand, who panics at the sight of water for reasons you can’t fathom, and who apparently thinks sharing a bed is some sort of tremendous burden we are both nobly enduring.
Tomorrow, I decide, I’m going to try to figure out which Dyfri is real. The charming dinner companion or the defensive breakfast partner.
Though I have a sinking feeling the answer might be both.
Chapter six
Pleasure pulses through my veins, golden and glowing. It swells my lungs and passes my lips in a soft exhale.
My hips move, and dazedly I begin to wake. Slowly, reality forms around me.
It’s morning. I’m in bed, lying on my back. Dyfri is sitting cross-legged on the mattress next to me, a bored expression on his face. And his hand is stroking my cock.
