The camp was brimming with activity. Every tent had its own banner to mark a noble house—and soon, those nobles would be arriving at the gates of Annwvyn. The royal tent of Dyfed was larger than the house Pryderi had grown up in. When they reached it, Cigfa gave Pryderi a merry little bow. “Good luck, my prince.”
Pryderi returned the bow with far less grace. Taking a steadying breath, he stepped into the royal tent. Old tapestries gilded the walls, and candles burned merrily. A table, laden with bottles of wine and plates of dried fruits and cheese, sat untouched. An overlarge chair—the makeshift throne for Dyfed’s king—sat at the head of the table. Pryderi expected to see his father there, his warm face creased with years of responsibility.
But it was not a human that resided in that chair.
Pryderi stiffened, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest. At once, he realized his mistake. Cigfa had told him that he’d been summoned by a king… but she neglected to mention which one.
King Arawn, ruler over the tylwyth teg and the otherlands, sat before him.
Assumptions would kill him as surely as any blade, Pryderi thought. Particularly in Annwvyn, where words were true, dangerous, and ever-binding.
It was said that the Otherking wore a crown of bones, that he possessed all the beauty of the otherfolk and all the mercilessness of a monster. He had red hair, golden eyes, and a wolf’s prideful countenance. Time could not touch him; he stood amid the ebb and flow of the world like an unchanging mountain. Pryderi knew better than to believe all the rumors. But the first time Pryderi had met King Arawn, he had seen that bone crown. It was no mere tale.
But for all the terror he instilled, Arawn had impeccable manners. “Heir of Dyfed,” said King Arawn, inclining his head politely.
Pryderi realized his mistake and hastily dropped into a bow. “King Arawn. It is an honor.”
Arawn chuckled. His voice was warm and rich as spiced wine. “I’m sure that is why you paled when you saw me.”
Pryderi bit back a denial. The king would sense the untruth.
“Apologies,” he said, keeping his head bowed. “I intended no offense. I expected a different king.”
“Ah, I see.” There was a rustle of fabric, and Pryderi looked up. Arawn had stood, one hand resting indolently on the back of the throne. He was a head taller than most men, with shoulders as broad as an oak. His crown was nowhere to be seen, but an old sword rested on the table.
“You wished to speak with me?” said Pryderi.
“I wished to take your measure before the Hunt.” A human might have softened the words with a bit of flattery, but the folk did not bother. It was almost reassuring. In his father’s court, Pryderihad come to expect the elegant dance of conversation, the half lies and insinuations. The otherfolk were dangerous, but none of them could lie. Not with their words.
Pryderi spread his arms. “Go on, then. I’ve disappointed lesser men. I might as well disappoint a great one.”
That earned him a full-bodied laugh. Arawn stepped around the chair, circling Pryderi. “You have your father’s charm.”
“At least I possess something of his,” said Pryderi wryly.
“Not his tact, though,” Arawn added, his eyes warm. He reached for a bottle of wine. He poured two cups, offering one to Pryderi.
Pryderi took the drink with a nod of thanks. “I favor my mother in looks,” he said. “Or so all the servants say when they think I cannot hear them.”
In truth, Pryderi was not sure if he believed it. His birth mother, the queen, had welcomed him home with shaking hands and sobs, with whispered apologies and a desperation that made him want to pull away. She always seemed to want something from him—some nameless thing he could not give. It made him feel impossibly guilty.
Arawn let out a breath. “Unfortunate what happened to her.”
Pryderi drank to drown out his reply.Unfortunatewould not have been his choice of words. She had been imprisoned for nearly fifteen years for a crime she had never committed.
“Tell me,” said Arawn, refilling Pryderi’s cup. “What do you make of my kingdom?”
Pryderi said, “I have seen very little. But what I have seen is beautiful, Your Majesty. Your people have made me welcome. Cigfa has done a fine job keeping me out of trouble.”
“Now there is your father’s tact,” replied Arawn. “It only took a little wine to draw it out.”
Pryderi snorted. “My father’s advisers will be thrilled to know that I should be attending council meetings with a cup in hand.”
Arawn threw back his head and laughed again. “You remind me a little of myself when I was young. Hard as untempered metal. You will settle, young prince. A few years and the role will not seem so daunting. In the meantime, enjoy yourself. Your burdens will only grow heavier—but you will grow with them.”
Pryderi blinked in surprise. He had imagined King Arawn had always ruled in Annwvyn. But there was a wistful remembrance in the king’s voice.
“That is a relief to hear,” said Pryderi. “I was not raised to rule.”
