Fey Sovereignty Sneak Peek

*Spoilers*
​A bombshell of a reveal regarding the overarching plot of the series.

I’ve nearly survived my first banquet. Helped no doubt by the fact I’ve been given a seat beside Llywelyn and I don’t have to kneel by his feet.

He looks magnificent tonight, and it is extremely distracting. His white and gold robes are exquisite. His antlers are majestic and his golden hair is gleaming. 

He has not said a word all evening, presumably because I’m the only person who will talk to him in public. He has kept his head up and managed to look haughty and disinterested rather than miserable and alone. Even so, I’m really looking forward to throwing him on his bed, stuffing him with my cock and making him happy.

The festivities appear to be winding down, so I expect we will be leaving soon. Thankfully.

It has been an experience, I have to admit that. Hundreds of people in a huge hall in a palace. A thousand courses of delicious food. Music, fire breathers and dancers. All very medieval. It is a little overwhelming being confronted with just how much my world has been changed.

However, culture shock aside, I’m not sure I’ve learnt anything practically useful. I overheard a lot of idle gossip. Everybody seems content with Rhydian and the riches conquering a new world has given them. But then again, I’m seated four seats down from the crown prince. It is very likely people are being mindful of what they are saying.

I look down the table at Prys. He has been behaving and has given no indication that he suspects anything of me. It is too early to be sure, but it is looking like he has brushed my outburst off. He thinks I’m simply a crazy human pet.

But for the last thirty minutes, his cold blue eyes have been returning to Dyfri, again and again. And it is making me highly suspicious.

I cast a quick discreet glance over the dark-haired prince. He is leaning back in his chair, holding a silver goblet of wine near to his lips. His long, loose raven dark hair has a lustrous sheen to it. I know it being unbound represents awful things, but it looks damn good. As do the black horns that curl backwards close to his head. His dark eyes appear fixed on the dancers in the middle of the room, even though he has a slightly bored expression on his face. If he has noticed Prys’s staring, he is pretending otherwise.

Suddenly, Prys leans over the woman sitting next to him and angles his body towards Dyfri. “Rhocyn!” he calls loudly.

Dyfri’s dark eyes flash with murderous intent, and for a heart stopping moment I’m actually worried for the blue-haired creep, but by the time Dyfri has fully turned to Prys, the prince’s expression is almost sweet.

“A gold coin for your company tonight, Rhocyn,” drawls Prys. “I’ve never had an Unseelie before.”

His hand moves, and out of nowhere, a very large, very heavy gold coin appears between his fingers. Everyone nearby gasps, and I have to assume it is not at the display of magic. It has to be at the wealth on offer.

All eyes turn to Dyfri. 

The prince flashes a charming smile. “Thank you for your kind offer, Your Grace. But I’m afraid I must decline.”

Outside the circle of this little show, the feast and the dancers continue. Within, you could hear a pin drop. Everyone within earshot is captivated.

Prys’s lips lift up into a pout. “Must you decline? Is it my body or my coin that displeases you?”

Dyfri slowly and carefully puts down his goblet. “Both are very pleasing.”

Prys grins. “If that is so, Rhocyn, why risk insulting me by declining in front of all these witnesses?”

Several gasps and titters ring out. The audience is a sea of wide eyes and rapt attention. I’m just as transfixed as they are. I know rhocyn used to basically be unpaid sex workers, but I thought Jamie changed the law on that. It seems things are not so straightforward at all.

Dyfri looks around. His gaze goes first to Jamie, who has now noticed what is happening. The little human looks furious. His husband, the crown prince, is pretending to be oblivious, keeping his eyes fixed on the dancers. I can tell that under the table, he has an iron grip on Jamie’s thigh. Holding him down and telling him not to intervene.

The other princes, Tristan, Mabon and Selwyn, are sitting on the other side of the Crown Prince. They could very well not be aware of this little unfolding drama. Or they could be choosing to ignore it.

Dyfri’s midnight dark eyes turn to Llywelyn next. I don’t know why. Maybe because he is the closest? Llywelyn visibly flinches and hurriedly looks away.

Dyfri’s shoulders droop an infinitesimally small amount. I’m pretty sure only someone with my training could detect it.

He licks his lips, and then a bright smile appears on his face. “Where is the fun in appearing too eager?”

Laughter, cruel and mocking. Oozing out from several sources. It seeps into my ears like cold, cloying tar. I feel dirty. Contaminated by it. Fey are such fucking assholes.

Prys flows to his feet. The heavy gold coin gleams and then disappears, this time by sleight of hand rather than true magic. The earl’s face is all but glowing with smug, satisfied delight. It makes my stomach heave and my fists clench.

He holds out his now empty hand to Dyfri. The prince stands, his chair scraping across the flagstone floor. He glides down the table and places his hand on Prys’s offered palm. I watch them stroll out of the banquet hall together and I can’t look away.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Llywelyn jumps to his feet. He turns and starts running out of the hall, heading for a different door than his brother just used. I scurry after him before my long leash goes taut and I’m dragged along.

The hallways pass in a blur as I try to keep up with Llywelyn. We reach his rooms and he flings the door open and strides straight towards the drinks cabinet.

I jump in front of him and force him to stagger to an abrupt halt. This is turning into a ritual of ours. A routine where I physically stop him from drinking too much. I’m already tired of it.

“Drinking doesn’t solve anything,” I say sternly.

He draws himself up to his full height and his eyes blaze at me. “But it makes the pain bearable!”

He is shaking. His hands are clenched into tight fists by his side. Beneath the ferocious glare, his eyes are shimmering, like he is about to cry.

“It is not your fault,” I say softly.

“Yes it is!” he yells.

“How?” I reason. 

A few days ago, I would have sworn blind that Llywelyn didn’t care about anyone but himself. I was so very wrong. He cares deeply, he just buries it and hides it. He loves his brother and I’m so glad about that. But he can’t blame himself for this.

He draws in several jagged breaths in sharp succession. Then he closes his eyes as if in great pain.
​
“I am the one who arranged for Dyfri to be made a rhocyn.”