The thought makes me push harder, running faster than I probably should after weeks of inactivity. But I need the outlet, need to burn off the restless energy that comes from wanting to protect someone who’s already survived the worst and come out the other side brilliant and strong and absolutely remarkable.
My skin prickles suddenly, that instinctive awareness that tells me I’m being watched. I glance around, expecting to see one of the security team or maybe a staff member doing an early morning check, but the gym appears empty. The weight machines stand silent in the fluorescent lighting, and even the ventilation system seems quieter than usual.
Then I look over my shoulder.
A figure is standing by the weight rack, and I nearly jump out of my skin. My foot catches wrong on the treadmill belt and I stumble, grabbing the handrails to keep from falling flat on my face as I frantically hit the emergency stop button.
“Bloody hell!” I gasp, yanking off my headphones and staring at the unexpected visitor.
Prince Mabon stands there in all his otherworldly beauty, just as striking as when I’d found him having tea with Dyfri days ago. His purple hair falls in elaborate braids that seem to shimmer, and the dark horns that curl backwards from his temples are catching the fluorescent lighting. His amethyst eyes seem to glitter as he studies me with the same unsettling directness I remember from our previous encounter. He’s dressed in flowing robes of purple silk, and the delicate silver bracelets that cover his wrists are sparkling.
“What are you doing here?” I manage, still catching my breath and feeling increasingly self-conscious about my sweat-soaked state.
“Looking for my brother,” he says in that melodious voice, tilting his head with graceful curiosity that reminds me uncomfortably of a cat watching a mouse.
His eyes are gleaming softly with something that looks like appreciation, and suddenly I feel far too exposed in my sleeveless tee shirt and workout shorts. The way he’s looking at me makes my skin crawl, like I’m being appraised for some purpose I definitely don’t want to know about.
“He’s upstairs, in our flat,” I say, climbing off the treadmill on unsteady legs and reaching for my towel.
Mabon wrinkles his dainty nose with the sort of delicate disdain that only royalty can manage. “No, he isn’t.”
A chill runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the air conditioning. “What do you mean, no he isn’t?”
“I mean, he’s not there. I checked.” Mabon’s purple eyes continue their hungry assessment of me, and there’s something in his gaze that makes me deeply uncomfortable.
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” I hear myself say weakly.
Where is Dyfri? And why is his brother here looking for him? More importantly, how did Mabon get into Downing Street without setting off every security alarm in the building? I know he can portal into our flat with no repercussions, but the knowledge he can also freely swan around the hub of human government, is deeply disconcerting.
“Right,” I say, grabbing a towel and trying to think. I can’t let a fey prince wander around Downing Streetunsupervised. Security would have a collective heart attack. “Why don’t you come upstairs and wait for him? I can make tea.”
Mabon nods graciously, as if I’ve suggested something perfectly reasonable rather than offering to host an interdimensional royal in my living room while I’m covered in sweat and wearing gym shorts that have definitely seen better days.
The trip upstairs is awkward, with Mabon gliding along beside me with that otherworldly grace while I try to think of appropriate small talk. What do you say to your husband’s brother when you’ve only met him once before, and that encounter had involved discussions about collars and sexual topics I’m still trying to forget? The memory of that conversation makes me want to sink through the floor.
“Nice weather we’re having?” I attempt weakly.
Mabon looks at me like I’ve said something profoundly stupid, which I suppose I have. “All weather is nice.”
Right. Fair point. Of course a fey prince wouldn’t be interested in mundane human small talk about the weather.
By the time we reach the flat, I’m already regretting this decision. I gesture Mabon toward the living room while I disappear into the kitchen, frantically trying to remember if I know anything about proper tea service for fey guests.
“You are not as handsome as my pet,” Mabon announces from the sofa when I return with a tea tray that I hope meets royal standards.
I nearly drop the tray, my hands suddenly clumsy with shock. “Sorry?”
“My pet. Blake. He’s much prettier than you, and his muscles are better defined.” Mabon accepts his cup with the sort of graceful indifference that suggests he’s used to being waited on by people far more qualified than me, then gives me another appraising look, one that makes me want to put on several more layers of clothing. “Though I suppose you’re adequate. You’d look much better all oiled up.”
My jaw drops open, heat flooding my face. “I... what?”
“Are you treating my little brother well?” Mabon asks suddenly, completely ignoring my shock as he sips his tea delicately, his little finger extended in a gesture of perfect refinement.
“Yes!” The word comes out strangled, my voice cracking slightly. “Of course I am.”
Mabon looks suspicious, tilting his head like a beautiful, predatory bird studying its next meal. “Hmm. He must be scared of you, though. You are all big and burly like him.”
He waves his free hand over my body in a dismissive gesture that makes his many silver bracelets jangle like tiny bells, and something cold settles in my stomach.
