The words hit me like a physical blow. Because of course people don’t. He’s a fey prince, beautiful and powerful and probably perfectly capable of defending himself. But there’s something in the way he says it that suggests this goes deeper than tonight’s confrontation.
“Well, they should,” I say firmly. “And I will because you’re my husband. That means something.”
“Does it?” The question is barely a whisper.
“Yes,” I say, surprised by the conviction in my own voice. “It does.”
We stand there for a moment, the noise of the reception fading into background chatter. Dyfri is looking at me likehe’s seeing me for the first time, and I have the strangest feeling that something fundamental has shifted between us.
“Jack!” Dad’s voice breaks the moment. He approaches with a small group of MPs in tow, his politician’s smile firmly in place. “There you are. I’d like you to meet...”
And just like that, we’re pulled back into the carefully choreographed dance of diplomatic socialising. But as the evening progresses, I catch Dyfri glancing at me when he thinks I’m not looking, something almost like wonder in his dark eyes.
Maybe I’m not as useless at this husband thing as I thought.
Chapter eight
Dyfri
This is awful. Damn inconvenient and frustrating.
It’s early morning, and the world is quiet except for Jack snoring softly behind me. It’s enough to make me want to stab him. But then he’d just stare at me with those ridiculously big puppy eyes of his and look sad. It would be even worse than the snoring.
However, it might be better than this torment. He’s snoring, but he is also waking up and so is his cock, in that way fey and human biology seem to share.
I can sense his sleepy arousal. It is sparking over my skin, golden and bright.
He’s growing his morning glory while I’m lying here in this state. It’s terrible. An unmanageable torment.
It’s been four days since I’ve had any kind of release. Four days. That’s a feat for any fey. It might be a new record, I should note it in one of my study journals.
There isn’t a potion in the world that can completely quell the need, goddess knows I’ve tried. I’ve studied every text. Experimented with every recipe. I’ve figured out how to delay the need for longer than anyone else. But I’m not invincible.
It’s so frustrating being defeated and outdone by basic biology. But I have to admit I’ve reached the limit of what I can endure.
Four flipping days. I didn’t reach my peak on the wedding night because I was too focussed on ensuring that the healers would have the required evidence in the morning.
And I didn’t know that afterwards Jack was going to forbid me from touching him.
So here I am in this stupid predicament, while he is right here beside me. It’s beyond infuriating. Especially since I wouldn’t mind having sex with Jack. It seems as if it could be tolerable. He’s absurdly sweet despite being the size of a mountain.
A mountain of muscle. All shapely and defined. With that strange human body hair that’s oddly alluring and almost begging to have fingers run through it to explore how it feels.
Oh, sweet goddess of the night! Please stop these inappropriate thoughts from swirling in my mind!
With that prayer uttered, I slip quietly out of bed. The last thing I need is Jack waking up and asking any questions.
Silently, I leave the bedroom. I need a solution to my problem, and lying in bed will not provide one. Going back to the palace to make use of my usual means is out of the question. Going back with Mabon as an escort was risky enough. I need to think of something else.
As I step into the living room, I find a servant laying breakfast on the table by the window. This could be perfect.
He looks up at me, and I give him my best come-to-bed smile. He pales and scurries away. Leaving me alone in the empty living room.
I cross my arms over my chest. Stupid humans and their stupid fidelity, and stupid Jack and his stupid sad eyes if I played with someone else.
‘You’re my husband. That means something.’
What a stupid thing for him to say. It’s wrong for a start. I’m his consort, not his husband. Calling me his husband implies an equality that isn’t there. And secondly, there was absolutely no need to say it with such conviction. As if he believed it with his whole entire soul.
