I take my place, standing by Dad’s side, just as the double doors on the far side of the room open, and the fey entourage enters.
I recognise Crown Prince Rhydian Y Mabinogi immediately. Tall, strikingly handsome, with long pale hair and the proud antlers of a stag.
Dad bows and elbows me. Hastily, I awkwardly bow too. As I straighten, I find Prince Rhydian’s amber eyes blazing right into me. From barely an inch away.
I bite back my yelp and meet his gaze as best I can.
“You are Jack Caxton?” he snaps in a low voice meant for my ears only.
“Yes?” I say, somehow managing to make it sound like a question.
“No. This will not do. You must leave,” orders the prince in the same quiet, yet deadly tone.
I force a swallow down my throat. I’m not that ugly, am I?
I turn to Dad for guidance. I think he is close enough to have heard what the prince said, though I’m pretty sure no one else would have.
But now the double doors are opening again, and the press we brought with us are going wild. Cameras are flashing. The YouTubers are talking excitedly into their GoPros.
Amidst all the chaos, Prince Dyfri glides serenely into the room. My breath stutters. Oh my fucking god, he is a million times more gorgeous in real life. His dark eyes seem to find me immediately, and a strange expression flows over his beautiful face. Something akin to dread. My stomach twists.
Our respective entourages move, drag us both along helplessly like driftwood on the tide, and suddenly we are standing next to one another in the middle of the room.
I blink, and suddenly the crowds have stepped back and are pretending to drink and mingle and acting as if they are not staring at us. It is a thin veneer of privacy.
“You’re Jack Caxton?” whispers Prince Dyfri, echoing his brother’s words.
“Yes. Sorry.”
Shit, now I’m apologising instead of questioning my own name. I have no idea if this is an improvement or a step backwards.
“You’re tall.”
“Six foot seven,” I supply automatically as I brace myself for questions such as ‘how’s the weather up there?’
But they don’t come. Dyfri’s dark eyes just take a long, lingering sweep of my body. He’s not exactly short, but he is all slender. Willowy and graceful. All the things I am not.
“I used to play professional rugby,” I offer.
Dyfri stares at me blankly. Crap. Fey probably don’t have Rugby.
“It’s a sport. With a ball. Lots of pushing and shoving.” Oh lord, what is this nonsense coming out of my mouth? “My shoulders are twenty-one inches.” Okay, I need to shut up now. Like right now. Several minutes ago would have been better, but right now is going to have to do.
“Are you fully human?” Dyfri asks.
I feel my eyebrows rise. “As far as I know?” Oh gosh, back with the sounding-like-a-question.
There is a drink in my hand, and I have no idea how it got there. But I’m very glad that it’s here because now I can gulp it down while an uncomfortable silence stretches and stretches.
And stretches some more.
“I guess you saw that photo of me at the state banquet!” I blurt. “I’m sitting down in that, and the black tux makes me look smaller. And the lighting is flattering too. Probably the only good photo of me in existence. Of course, it helps that it was taken before I broke my nose.”
Dyfri is staring at me. I might be paranoid, but I swear he is giving me a look of profound disappointment.
“Dad tries to keep me out of the public eye,” I explain, completely unnecessarily because I’m pretty sure Prince Dyfri has already figured out why that is a good idea.
This is a disaster. This marriage is going to be a nightmare. He is out of my league. He’s a dangerous spy. He thinks I’m ugly, and if I don’t manage to shut up soon, he is going to know for sure that I’m stupid as well.
