I open my mouth to argue, but Dyfri’s voice cuts across mine, cool and utterly composed.
“How fascinating,” he says. “And what do these MPs suggest as an alternative? Dissolving the marriage? Sending me back to the fey court with my tail between my legs?”
“Some of them, yes.”
The casual way she says it makes my blood boil, but Dyfri just nods thoughtfully.
“I see. And has anyone bothered to consider what the fey court’s reaction might be to such a public rejection of their chosen representative?”
Sarah’s expression shifts slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Dyfri says, setting down his teacup with deliberate precision, “that sending me back in disgrace would be interpreted as a deliberate insult to Crown Prince Rhydian personally. After all, he chose me for this role. Rejecting me is rejecting his judgment.”
“You’re saying they’d take it badly?”
Dyfri’s smile is sharp enough to cut. “I’m saying they’d consider it an act of war.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
“You’re certain about this?” Sarah asks finally.
“Quite certain.” Dyfri leans back in his chair with predatory grace. “Fey politics are rather unforgiving when it comes to matters of honour and status. Your MPs seem to think they can treat this marriage as a political convenience to be discarded when it becomes inconvenient. They’re wrong.”
Sarah’s face has gone pale. “Christ. We need to brief the PM immediately.”
“I’d be happy to provide a more detailed analysis,” Dyfri offers with deceptive mildness. “Though I should warn you, fey diplomatic protocols are rather more complex than human ones. It might take some time to explain all the potential ramifications.”
I watch this exchange with growing admiration. Dyfri has just turned what could have been a disaster into an opportunity, making himself indispensable while subtly threatening anyone who tries to undermine our marriage.
“That would be incredibly helpful,” Sarah says, and I can practically see her recalculating the political landscape in real time. “Could you have something ready by this afternoon?”
“Of course.” Dyfri’s smile is all polite cooperation now. “Though I may need Jack’s assistance with some of the human nuances.”
“Naturally,” Sarah agrees quickly. “Whatever you need.”
After she leaves, promising to reschedule the morning’s meetings, I turn to Dyfri with something approaching awe.
“That was brilliant,” I tell him.
He shrugs with studied nonchalance. “Elementary politics, really. Though I must admit, it’s refreshing to have someone so eager to dissolve our marriage. Makes one feel truly wanted.”
“I don’t want to dissolve our marriage,” I say before I can stop myself.
The words hang in the air between us. Dyfri goes very still, his teacup halfway to his lips.
“Don’t you?” he asks quietly.
“No,” I say, and mean it completely. “Do you?”
For a moment, something vulnerable flickers across his features. Then the mask slides back into place.
“I suppose it would be rather inconvenient,” he says lightly. “I’ve only just got used to your snoring.”
It’s deflection, pure and simple, but I can see the uncertainty lurking beneath the sarcasm. The fear that maybe I’m just being polite, that maybe I don’t really want him here.
“Dyfri,” I say gently.
“We should start on that briefing,” he interrupts, standing abruptly. “The sooner we can demonstrate our value as a diplomatic unit, the sooner these tiresome calls for dissolution will disappear.”
