Which, to be fair, neither could I.
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to get my head on straight. Whatever’s developing between us, I can’t afford to read too much into it. We’re still virtual strangers, still finding our footing. This morning was... intense, yes. But it doesn’t mean we’re suddenly madly in love or anything. For him, it was probably just a necessity.
Even if the way he looked at me made me feel like I could conquer the world.
The splashing water sounds stop, and I force myself to get up and go shower and dress. By the time I’ve finished, I’ve managed to school my expression into something appropriately neutral.
Well. Mostly neutral.
By the time I make it to the dining room, I’ve almost convinced myself I can handle this like a mature adult. Dyfri is already there, perfectly composed as if nothing earth-shattering just happened between us. Immaculate in a navy jumper and grey trousers, his hair swept back in a simple ponytail with the wedding plait woven through it like a silver thread.
He glances up when I enter, and for just a moment, our eyes meet. Heat flares between us, quick and electric, before he looks away with what might be the faintest blush colouring his cheekbones.
“Morning,” I say, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile.
“Good morning,” he replies, his voice perfectly controlled. “Sleep well?”
There’s the slightest emphasis on the word ‘sleep’ that makes my pulse quicken, but his expression remains carefully neutral.
“Very well, thank you.” I pour myself coffee with hands that are definitely not shaking. “You?”
“Adequately.” He takes a precise bite of toast. “Though I confess I found myself... reflecting on the recent events.”
The way he says ‘reflecting’ makes it sound like the most scandalous activity imaginable. I have to bite back a smile.
“Which part?” I ask, settling into my chair. “The diplomatic crisis or the...”
“The diplomatic crisis, naturally,” he interrupts smoothly, though there’s a telltale tightness around his eyes that suggests he knows exactly what I was going to say. “I’ve been considering the potential ramifications of your... spirited defence of my honour.”
“Spirited defence?” I raise an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“I prefer it to ‘diplomatic catastrophe,’” he says dryly. “Though I suspect your father’s advisors may have other terms in mind.”
As if summoned by his words, there’s a sharp knock at the door. Sarah enters without waiting for permission,her usual composed demeanour slightly frayed around the edges.
“Jack, we need to talk,” she says without preamble. “Both of you, actually.”
Dyfri and I exchange glances. His expression has gone carefully blank, but I catch the slight tension in his shoulders.
“Bad news?” I ask.
“That depends on your perspective,” Sarah says, settling into one of the empty chairs. “The good news is that Lady Morwenna’s complaints about last night have been officially dismissed by the fey court as ‘personal grievances unworthy of diplomatic consideration.’”
“And the bad news?” Dyfri asks, though his tone suggests he already knows.
“The bad news is that half of Westminster thinks you’ve started a war, and the other half thinks you’ve handed the fey court ammunition to use against us in future negotiations.” Sarah’s smile is razor sharp. “Quite the achievement, really.”
I feel my jaw clench. “So we’re supposed to just sit there and let them insult...”
“You’re supposed to be a diplomat,” Sarah interrupts. “Not a knight-errant defending your husband’s honour.”
“What a shame,” Dyfri murmurs into his tea. “I’ve always wanted to be someone’s damsel in distress.”
Sarah shoots him a look that could cut glass. “This isn’t a joke, Your Highness. There are calls for an official apology. Some MPs are suggesting the marriage arrangement isn’t working if Jack can’t maintain professional detachment.”
The words hit me like a slap. “Professional detachment?”
“They think you’re compromised,” Sarah says bluntly. “Too emotional to make rational decisions about fey relations.”
