“It seems you have fucked all my secrets loose.”
“What do you mean, wedding morrow healers?”
Dyfri’s expression becomes carefully blank, the mask sliding back into place. “The fey who came that morning after our wedding night. They were healers, sent to examine me and verify that the marriage had been properly consummated.”
The words hit me like ice water. I remember the morning after our wedding, the way strange fey had barged in and kicked me out, the way Dyfri had looked when they were finished with whatever they’d done. I’d thought it was some sort of blessing or ceremony. Not... this.
“They examined you.” My voice comes out flat, dangerous. “To make sure we’d had sex.”
“It’s traditional,” Dyfri says quickly, as if that somehow makes it better. “Royal marriages must be verified...”
“That’s not a tradition, that’s abuse!” I’m surprised by the fury in my own voice. “They violated you to satisfy their perverse requirements!”
Dyfri flinches as if I’ve struck him. “It’s just how things are done...”
“It’s wrong!” I’m practically shouting now, rage burning through me like wildfire. “It’s invasive and humiliating and completely unnecessary!”
Dyfri is staring at me. He looks a little taken aback and a whole lot lost. As if my anger on his behalf is something he can’t quite process. As if no one has ever been outraged for his sake before.
I take in a shuddering breath, but it does nothing to calm me. Anger and outrage are burning too brightly to be quenched. The thought of those healers putting their hands on him, examining him so intimately…
“I really can’t wait to send these bastards home!” I seethe in fury.
Dyfri blinks. His expression shifts. He looks sad. Sadder than I’ve ever seen him.
“About that,” he says quietly.
And just like that, my rage burns out, leaving nothing but a puff of emotional smoke and an icy heap of dread. I know, with terrible certainty, that he’s about to tell me something that will change everything.
Silence stretches between us, long and ending, but I dare not breathe. Dyfri is teetering on the edge of telling me something important, and I don’t want him to retreat. I can see the war playing out across his features, the desperate need to confess warring with the instinct to protect himself from more pain.
“When the portals close permanently, I’ll have a choice to make.” He says solemnly. Eyes downcast. Shoulders drooping under some invisible weight.
“A choice?”
“Whether to return to the fey realm before the portals close forever, or stay here on Earth.” His voice is carefully neutral, but I can see the pain underneath. “In the realm, I’ll be branded a traitor. Here, I’ll be a remnant of the race that subjugated your world.”
He meets my eyes, and the vulnerability there nearly undoes me.
“Which world do you think would hate me less?”
The question hits me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. I hadn’t thought about this, hadn’t considered that our alliance, our relationship, everything we’ve built might mean losing him. I’d been running on some unfounded daydream that he would stay with me, that we would build something lasting together, that the future stretched out before us bright with possibility.
But of course it’s more complicated than that. Of course there are impossible choices and political realities that I’ve been too naïve to consider.
The thought of Dyfri leaving, of facing either exile or persecution no matter what he chooses, makes something fierce and protective rise in my chest. Something that feels dangerous and desperate and entirely beyond my control.
“I hope you choose to stay,” I say, pulling him back into my arms with perhaps more force than necessary. He comes willingly, melting against me as if he needs the contact as much as I do. “We can hide somewhere if we have to. Find a place where no one knows who you are, where you can just be yourself.”
I wish humans would be grateful to Dyfri for saving them, for sacrificing everything to protect our world from his own people. But I’m not naïve enough to believe that will happen. I know they’ll just see him as fey, as one of the conquerors, regardless of what he’s done for us. The injustice of it burns like acid in my throat.
The injustice of it burns through me, along with something else. Something that feels like purpose, like I’ve finally been shown the reason I was born. Everythingelse, the politics, the privilege, the expectations, they all suddenly seem trivial compared to this burning need to protect him.
“I’ll keep you safe,” I promise, the words coming from somewhere deeper than conscious thought. “Whatever it takes, wherever we have to go. I’ll protect you.”
And I mean it with every fibre of my being. This wonderful man who has given up everything for the chance of peace, who has endured abuse and violation and endless political manipulation, who trusts me enough to be vulnerable despite it all. He deserves better than the hatred of both worlds.
If keeping him safe means disappearing from public life, walking away from politics and privilege and everything I’ve ever known, then so be it. I’ve never felt anything like this burning need to shield him from harm, and I’m quite sure I’ve found my life’s purpose.
