Fey Regency (Fey Lords #3)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

T his bastard kisses me, puts a collar around my neck, and then just walks out? How dare he!

I glare in rage at the empty spot where he was just standing. I’m all alone in a bathroom. Nothing apart from the occasional drip of water to keep me company.

I really, really don’t want to follow him like a lost puppy. But standing here in an empty bathroom feels equally pathetic. Besides, I think I can smell food.

Goddamnit! Swearing profusely under my breath, I stomp out of the ridiculously fancy bathroom in search of my prince. I don’t have to look for long or very far. I find him in the huge room I was dragged through earlier. He is posing by the marble fireplace, one arm leaning on the mantlepiece nonchalantly.

He only holds my attention for a moment, because, by the stupidly tall windows that are now showing the nighttime sky, a table has been set with a dizzying array of food. My stomach growls. I’m right with you, buddy. No arguments from me.

Wasting no more time, I hurry over to the table and grab a thick slice of honeyed glazed ham and shove it into my mouth. Flavours explode on my tongue. Oh my stars, it is delicious. As quickly as I can, I shove more and more food into my mouth. It is all supreme. The fey clearly know how to cook. That is one redeeming quality in their favour.

A noise by the fireplace has me glancing over with a snarl, but the prince is not striding over to stop me. He is just standing there with that same stupid dumbfounded expression he had earlier when I jumped into the bath. It is probably a very similar expression to the one I had after he kissed me.

Growling, I turn away from the prince and back to the food. I don’t think I can eat all of this, but I’m going to damn well try. Who knows when I’ll next get to eat?

Suddenly, the doors fling open and I look up in alarm. A fey strides in as if he owns the place. His hair is light purple and done up in a complicated looking arrangement of plaits and braids that coil around jet black horns that curl backwards.

“Tristan!” he calls loudly, even though the prince is right here. “What is this I hear about you taking a pet?”

The words wash over me, just like they did in the town square. It is like listening to someone speak very fast, in an unfamiliar accent. With some strange word choices. But it is close enough to Welsh that I can understand it. Earlier today was not a one off. I can understand Fey.

Oh my stars. The fey are going to have no idea. Not many people speak Welsh, and the fey have no reason to think I’m one of the few that do, because I’ve worked hard to lose my accent. If I keep quiet and don’t let on, I’m going to hear all sorts of things.

The purple fey waltzes over to my prince. And I finally notice the man standing behind him. How I missed him, I don’t understand. He really isn’t missable. He is huge. Tall and extremely well muscled. And mostly naked. There is only a thin strip of purple cloth hanging over his groin. The rest of him is bare. It is a lot. A lot of muscles. A lot of bronzed skin. A lot for my poor mind to try to deal with.

I’m pretty sure he is human. He looks human. Just an extraordinarily attractive one.

As my gaze roves over him, I see the purple collar around his neck. As well as the thin silver chain attached to it. It is falling free to his ankles and not being held by anyone. Nevertheless, it is not at all a comforting sight.

I grab a glass of what looks like juice and? gulp it down so that I can actually swallow my mouth full of food. Is Prince Tristan going to put a leash on me? Is this hulk of a man the epitome of what a pet is supposed to look like? Did the prince choose my short, scrawny, funny-looking ass as a joke?

I put down my empty glass and when I look up again, the purple fey is standing right next to me, staring at me intensely with his strange purple eyes. I try to hide my flinch, but it is no good.

“Where did you find him?” he asks, clearly not speaking to me, even if he was speaking English.

He is looking at me as if he is trying to memorise every detail. Like he is going to draw me or something. It is intimate and deeply uncomfortable. This man is eerily beautiful, and he is noting all my imperfections.

“He tried to kill me,” answers Tristan, sounding almost proud.

Purple eyes widen, and he steps even closer.

“Careful!” calls out Tristan. “He is a little feral.”

Feral? Fucking feral? Am I supposed to be taken prisoner and act all fucking polite? Oh my god, if I wasn’t pretending to not understand him, I’d claw his eyes out. How dare he!

I console myself by snatching another delicious pork pie type thing and shoving it into my mouth while glaring at the purple fey who is standing entirely too close to me.

“Oh! He is so pretty!” coos the purple fey.

Tristan sighs happily. “Isn’t he?”

Oh my stars. My stomach is squirming uncomfortably, but that has to be from eating quickly. What the hell is wrong with these people? I am not pretty. No one has ever thought that before. I know damn well that I’m not attractive.

“And so belligerent,” adds the purple fey.

That’s more like it. That’s a statement that actually sounds like me and is something I can fully endorse.

“I know. It’s perfect, isn’t it?” says Tristan in a tone that makes him sound like a teenage girl talking about their favourite pop star. “It makes me want to give him things. Like blow jobs and self-esteem.”

I inhale pie. It lodges in my throat. A great big chunk of it. I can’t breathe. I’m wheezing and my eyes are watering.

The human hurries over to me and slaps me on the back. Forcefully. I cough and gag, but the pie goes down. I grab some more juice and gulp it down for good measure. The two fey are chatting away as if they don’t give a shit that I nearly just choked to death in front of them.

“Thanks,” I mutter to the human as I wipe my mouth with my sleeve.

The fey are talking about someone called Rhydian and what he is going to say about Tristan taking a pet.

“It’s going to be okay,” says the human, in English, and with a deeply worried look in his eyes .

My stomach squirms again. Is being a pet so bad that he is concerned for me? Surely it can’t be that terrible? He doesn’t look beaten or miserable. And Tristan just said he wanted to give me blow jobs.

I start coughing again and grab another juice before hulk here starts whacking me again.

“They fey aren’t that bad,” he whispers. “They just struggle with some concepts. Like consent.”

My heart pounds against my rib cage and my knees begin to tremble. But I shove my stupid feelings down and regain control of myself. I don’t scare that easily.

The pet looks over his shoulder to check that the fey still aren’t paying us any attention. Then he whispers, “Tristan is alright. His main vice is chasing anything that moves.”

I suck in a shaky breath. By chase, I presume he means fuck. He is warning me that my prince is a horny man-whore. It is not exactly a shocking revelation. I have no idea why I’m feeling… whatever the hell this emotion is.

It feels a lot like a dash of excitement that my chances of getting lucky are high, but with a giant dollop of soul-crushing disappointment and dismay on the side. What is wrong with me? Sadness is an absurd reaction. I’m not stupid enough to have ever thought for one moment that the way he looked at me was anything special. I know better than that. I know how the world works.

Prince Tristan doesn’t like me , he likes the idea of a new notch on his bedpost. A conquest. The novelty of fucking the man who tried to kill him. I’m not special and I never will be .

Calling me pretty and kissing me means absolutely nothing. He didn’t claim me because he wanted me, Ollie Evans. He only wanted something new to play with.

I close my stinging eyes and suck in another breath.

“Are you okay?” asks the human.

“I’m fine!” I snap.

It’s the truth. I am fine. More than fine. I’m clean. Warm and fed. And my fey captor wants to give me blow jobs, which is a whole lot better than being tortured. So what if he doesn’t actually like me? I don’t care if I’m merely a notch on his bedpost, if I’m getting a blow job out of it. It’s fine, it’s all fine.

“Thank you very much for visiting, Brother dearest,” says Tristan, in English.

What? This purple dude is his brother? My gaze snaps to the human who is still standing next to me. Does that make us pet-cousins or something?

“But it is time for me to take my lovely new pet to bed.”

Oh. Oh fuck. Oh, double fuck.