The rapid-fire questions make me blink, but Dyfri’s expression softens in a way I rarely see.
Then Jamie launches himself at Dyfri, wrapping him in a tight hug, which my husband bears with stoic grace and a long-suffering sigh. But I can see the delight shining in his dark eyes.
“Hello, Jamie,” he says gently. “I’m well. Very well, actually.”
“Good, because I’ve been so worried,” Jamie says as he steps back and releases Dyfri. “And Rhydian keeps telling me I’m being ridiculous, but I can’t help it, and...” Jamie stops himself, flushing pink. “Sorry. I’m babbling. I do that when I’m nervous.”
“You’re always nervous,” Dyfri points out with fond amusement.
“I am not! Well, not always. Just... often.” Jamie’s blush deepens. “Anyway, you must be Jack!” He turns to me witha smile so bright it’s slightly overwhelming. “I’m Jamie. Rhydian’s consort. Husband. Whatever you want to call it.”
“Nice to meet you,” I manage, still trying to reconcile this cheerful, ordinary-seeming man with the imposing figure beside him.
“Tea?” Rhydian suggests, his voice carrying the sort of quiet authority that makes it less suggestion than command.
The next hour is possibly the most surreal of my life. We sit around a delicate table drinking tea from cups that probably cost more than most people’s cars, while Jamie keeps up a steady stream of friendly chatter. He asks about my family, about parliamentary customs, about how I’m finding fey food. All perfectly innocent questions delivered with such genuine warmth that I can’t help but like him.
Rhydian, meanwhile, says virtually nothing. He just watches me with those unnerving amber eyes, as if he’s cataloguing every word, every gesture, every micro-expression for later analysis.
It’s bloody terrifying.
Then I remember that this man is Dyfri’s big brother. This man allowed Dyfri to be made a rhocyn. This crown prince sitting across from me did absolutely nothing to help Dyfri for all the years that my wonderful husband suffered.
I let the full force of my fury and disgust show in my eyes. He deserves Dyfri’s betrayal.
Rhydian blinks carefully. His expression shifts ever so slightly. Some new emotion swirls in his strangely coloured eyes. I think it might be a begrudging respect.
“So what was it like, meeting Dyfri for the first time?” Jamie asks, refilling my cup with practiced ease. “I remember when I first met Rhydian, I thought I was going to die of fright. He’s very intimidating, isn’t he? All tall and brooding and...” He glances at his husband with unmistakable affection. “Well, you know.”
“It was... overwhelming,” I admit.
“I bet! Big change from playing rugby, I imagine. Speaking of which, you must miss it terribly. All that running about and...” Jamie pauses, his expression becoming slightly uncertain. “Actually, I don’t really know much about rugby. Is it the one with the funny-shaped ball?”
“That’s American football. Rugby balls are... well, they’re still oddly shaped, I suppose.”
“Right! See, I told you I don’t know anything about sports.” Jamie laughs, but there’s something slightly forced about it now. “Though I’m sure you’re much happier doing... other things. More important things. Diplomatic things.”
There’s an odd emphasis on ‘diplomatic’ that makes me wonder what exactly he knows about my role here.
“Jamie,” Dyfri says gently, and there’s a warning in his voice.
“Right, yes, sorry. I just meant... well, it must be nice having someone who understands politics and such.” Jamie fidgets with his teacup. “Someone who can... navigate complicated situations.”
Rhydian’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t speak.
“I’m still learning,” I say carefully.
“Of course you are. It takes time to adjust, doesn’t it? New place, new people, new... responsibilities.”Jamie seems to realise he’s wandering into dangerous territory and changes the subject abruptly. “Anyway, Dyfri, how are you finding married life? You seem different. Happier.”
“Do I?” Dyfri’s smile is perfectly controlled. “How gratifying.”
“You do, though. There’s something... I don’t know, more relaxed about you. Less...” Jamie glances at his own husband. “Less like you’re waiting for the next terrible thing to happen.”
The words hit closer to home than I think Jamie realises. Because Dyfri does seem more relaxed lately. More himself. But watching him now, sitting calmly under his brother’s intense scrutiny while discussing treason disguised as small talk, I’m struck by how perfectly he’s playing his role.
He gives nothing away. Not the slightest hint that he’s anything other than what he appears to be. A fey prince and younger brother dutifully fulfilling his diplomatic obligations.
Which version is real? The man who held me while I processed the horror of what he’d survived? The brilliant strategist coordinating with dangerous rebels? Or this perfectly composed diplomat who could probably lie about the weather and make it sound convincing?
