His brow furrows. “Humans,” he mutters. “I’m not a virgin,” he adds inexplicitly.
“What?” Oh lord am I so confused right now. What even is happening? “I mean…neither am I?”
“It seems as if half the humans who end up at the fey court are.”
“Well, that’s a statistical anomaly for sure.”
He tilts his head. “You’re not disgusted that I’m not a virgin?”
“Of course not! Holy Christ, I never would have expected you to be.”
“Then why are you so angry?” His eyes are blazing now. Hurt swirling with his fury.
My shoulders slump in defeat. It doesn’t seem as though I’m going to be able to explain this in a way that Dyfri can understand.
“I’m used to consent. Asking before touching.” I sigh. “Waking up like that was a fright. It made me feel violated.”
Dyfri’s eyes widen. The dagger disappears, and he takes a step backwards.
“I apologise. That was not my intention.”
There is sadness in his voice, real sadness. A splash of ice after the heat of his fire. Instinctively, I step towards him, wanting to offer comfort. But he dances backwards, wariness flashing in his eyes.
“Let’s make a deal,” he says hastily. “I will not touch you. You do not shout at me.”
My heart pounds. It takes up a new rhythm. I’m a big man, and I was shouting at him. Probably looming over him too.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Dyfri crosses his arms over his chest. I fully expected him to reply by snapping that I didn’t scare him, or that he doesn’t scare so easily. But he isn’t saying anything. He’s just staring at me with those impossibly dark eyes.
The sheet slips down my body, and I move to grab it. Dyfri flinches at my rapid movement. I freeze.
He’s still scared of me. I’ve frightened him. He is my husband. He is living with strangers in a strange place. Dealing with a different language, new customs and unfamiliar clothes. As well as a whole new set of morals, it seems. And I’ve gone and scared him. I’m such an oaf.
“Sorry,” I repeat uselessly.
Dyfri nods. He moves carefully past me. Walking silently to his bathroom.
I watch him go. I watch the door shut behind him. Then all the oxygen leaves my body and the gravity seems to lighten.
That was a fucking disaster. The way he flinched is going to haunt me forever.
Suddenly, a memory slams into me. Vivid and picture-perfect. Dyfri recoiling when the water spilled at dinner last night. The look of terror on his face. The image merges with the words he said just now.
That’s what I think of everyone. Because they have proven it over and over again.
I stagger over to the bed just as my knees give out. Oh gosh. I can see it now.
Dyfri has every reason to act like a black cat. He’s clearly been very badly hurt by people in ways I can’t imagine. He has been gravely let down. In all sorts of ways. People have hurt him over and over again. He practically spelled it out for me.
I don’t think his inability to grasp the concept of consent is purely a fey thing. I think it is also an experience thing. He’s never been granted it, so he doesn’t know what it is. And therefore, he doesn’t expect it from me. He is expecting the very opposite.
The cold certainty of my insight seeps into my bones. I feel sick to my stomach. I hate that he sees me that way. I hate that the people who should have loved and protected him have instead painted his worldview in such dark colours.
My hands curl into fists. People have hurt my husband, and that makes me so fucking angry.
I need to do something about it.
