Fey Regency (Fey Lords #3)

8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

A nother night of sleeping in a warm, dry, and comfortable bed. Another glorious bath, followed by a sumptuous breakfast.

Being a prisoner of the fey really isn’t that bad. I could very easily get used to this. It is certainly a thousand times better than being on the streets. That doesn’t mean I’m going to be pleasant about it though. I’m still going to do everything in my power to make Tristan’s life an absolute hell, because frankly, he deserves it.

I look over at the asshole. He is still writing in his damn notebook. He didn’t look at me at all during breakfast. Not even once. I’m only annoyed because it meant he missed my disgusting eating. All that wasted effort. It is infuriating. And nothing at all to do with craving his attention.

I’m sitting here at this fancy-ass breakfast table, by these enormous windows, in this absurdly posh room, and I’m being ignored.

He is just sitting there in his stupid, exotic, beautiful clothes. Writing in his stupid notebook and completely ignoring me. It is like I’m not even here.

I let out the loudest, most obnoxious burp I can manage. It hurts my throat, but finally he looks up .

“Finished?” he asks with a soft smile.

Bastard. Clearly I’m going to have to think of something more gross than burping. Maybe picking my nose and eating it. If that doesn’t do the trick, there has to be something that will piss him off. He can’t go around being all stunningly attractive and nice and making people feel things. He has to pay the price.

“Are you finished?” he repeats.

I blink as I realise I haven’t answered his question. My gaze flicks down to the table that is still laden with food. There is so much of it I can barely see the pristine white tablecloth. It is a crime to leave all this fruit and porridge, but if I eat any more, I’ll explode. Reluctantly, I nod.

He grins and snaps his notebook shut. There is something suspicious about the look in his eyes. I have a bad feeling about this.

But before I can prepare, he moves around the table and towards me, unnaturally fast. I don’t even have time to flinch before a click echoes around the room. Motherfucker. He just attached a leash to my collar.

I glare up at him in outrage. He looks down at me and smirks. I’m going to punch him. Right in his too handsome face. My hands ball into fists, but before I can swing, he is tugging on the leash and I’m pulled off my chair. I dig my heels into the carpet and grab a hold of the chain.

“Where the hell do you think you are taking me?” I snap.

“Around court. Since I never got a chance to show you off yesterday,” he answers with infinite patience and a truly filthy wink .

My cheeks heat before I’ve even fully processed the words. We didn’t end up going out because we ended up in the bath. With him between my thighs.

“Never going to happen,” I grind out between gritted teeth.

For an answer, he starts pulling me towards the door with his formidable strength. I hit the deck, but it does no good at all. Now I’m being dragged across the floor on my stomach. This fucking bastard is unbelievable.

I grab his leg in an effort to trip him up, but it doesn’t even slow him down. So I bite him. Hard. On the calf. I mostly get a mouthful of boot but the leather feels buttery soft and thin. And he has stopped walking. So I’m pretty sure he felt something.

A hand twists in my hair and yanks me to my feet. I glare up at his ruby eyes and get ready to spit.

“Fine, let’s do it your way,” he says.

Wait. What? He doesn’t sound angry. Or even annoyed. Merely resigned.

My stomach does an uncomfortable swooping thing and the bitter taste of disappointment floods my mouth. Is that all the fight he has? I thought he was made of sterner stuff and wouldn’t give in so easily. But apparently, he is just like everyone else in the world. Too weak to handle me.

His large hands rest against my chest and push me backwards. Away from the door. Dazedly, I stumble until I hit the wall. His hand moves to my shoulder and pushes me down to my knees. My mind flounders. What is he doing now? What is happening? I thought he was surrendering to me?

Another click echoes around the room, and I flinch. Oh my god! The bastard. He has chained me to a ring on the wall. Tied me down with a very short leash. It is so short I can’t move from this kneeling position.

“We will invite people to come here,” grins Tristan as a triumphant gleam flashes in his eyes.

I open my mouth to yell something in outrage, but as soon as I draw a breath, he is gone. The door swinging softly behind him. Leaving me all alone and chained to the fucking wall.

I don’t have time to seethe for long. Tristan returns quickly, with what looks like half of the court. They swarm into the room and spread. Filling it. Transforming it with their presence. Servants appear from nowhere with silver trays of drinks and snacks.

It is a flipping cocktail party. In the middle of the day. Oh my stars, he is such a bastard.

I drop my gaze to the floor. I’m not looking at all these assholes, or giving them the satisfaction of being able to ogle me. They want to see the new pet? Well, they can see the top of my head and nothing else.

Someone nearby sniffs disdainfully. “I can’t believe that rhocyn is here. So shameless.”

“Disgusting, isn’t it?” another voice adds. “Swanning around with his hair all unbound. So brazen.”

I don’t think they are talking about me. I wonder who they are gossiping about? Damnit, one day my curiosity is going to be the death of me. But hopefully, today is not that day.

I lift my head, just enough to peek through my hair. My gaze sweeps around the room. There is only one person, apart from me, with loose hair. A fey with long sapphire blue hair. And frigging cat ears. And a tail that is swishing back and forth like an anxious feline’s .

His shoulders are hunched, and he is clutching an iPad of all things, and seems to be hurriedly writing down what a half-tree person is saying. Poor dude looks completely unoffensive. But that never stopped bitches being bitches.

I quickly look down at the floor again before anyone sees me. I really, really do not want to draw attention to myself. Even though it is probably a futile endeavour, considering Tristan brought them all here so they could gawp at me. Luckily, they are all being discreet about it. For now.

I squirm uncomfortably. It is hot in here. And these damn clothes are too tight. So much for being comfortable and soft. What’s the point in being draped in luxurious soft silk if it is giving you a wedgie?

A wedgie that is moving. Sliding insidiously along your crack. Rubbing back and forth over your hole.

My head snaps up, and my gaze unerringly finds Tristan. He is standing in the middle of the room, in the centre of a gaggle of admirers. He casually pops a blood red grape into his mouth. Then he quickly flashes me a grin and a wink.

My fist clench. Perverted son of a bitch. What the hell is wrong with him? Using magic for nefarious purposes is all kinds of wrong. Even though I couldn’t honestly say that I would be above such things.

I stifle a gasp as silk brushes over my nipples. A quick look assures me that it is only the inner layer that is moving. Nobody can see a thing. If I keep a blank expression, no one will ever know. I’m safe enough.

In bloody typical timing, a small flock of fey drift over to me and peer down. I ignore them and concentrate on ignoring the silks that are rubbing me in all the right places.

“I wonder whose get he is? ”

Thoughtful murmurs ripple around. These people are jerks. Get? I’m not some flipping offspring of a goat.

“I think it is a mongrel. I sense different bloodlines.”

Before I can stop myself, I look up. They are speaking Fey and I’m not supposed to understand, but did she really just imply that more than one of my ancestors fucked a fey? What terrible, unforgivable taste. I’m so glad I haven’t inherited it.

My gaze flicks back to Tristan. His flame red hair is gleaming in this light. Okay, maybe I have inherited the desire to be a fey fucker, a little. But I’m not going to do anything about it.

“Oh it is such a pretty little thing!” someone coos.

Oh bollocks. I quickly lower my head. But it is too late. They have seen me.

“Such large green eyes, and what a tiny waist.”

“It must struggle to take the prince’s cock.”

A babble of mocking laughter bursts out.

“I know I did,” laughs a young male voice, and it is so hard not to look up and glare daggers at whoever has spoken.

More cruel laughter peals out.

“Oh you brave thing! I didn’t even try. It was fingers and tongues only.”

A horrid, nasty, twisting emotion claws at my chest. Dark and heavy. Suffocating. Squeezing my lungs so that I can’t breathe.

I clench my fists and force my lungs to move. I know Tristan is a slut. There is no reason to give a shit about it. My captor likes to sleep around, so what?

My clothes continue to move by themselves. It really does feel like a thumb brushing over my nipple and a finger toying with my hole. Despite my stupid jealous rage, my arousal is continuing to build. I’m sporting a full on boner now, but mercifully, thanks to the way fey robes hang, nothing can be seen. All I have to do is stay quiet.

But my head is swimming. Too many emotions. Anger. Lust. Hurt. My body feels full of them. My skin stretched tight. As if I’m about to explode.

One of my gawpers takes a step towards me, I start to snarl and to get ready to bite, but my silks caress my aching cock and suddenly I’m biting back a moan instead.

I can’t see Tristan anymore because I’m surrounded by staring assholes. But even though I can’t see him, I know he is there. And I understand his message, loud and clear.

Behave, or cum in front of all these people.

I grit my teeth and lower my head, in surrender this time. Motherfucking bastard. He has me now, but I’ll make him pay later. He may have won this battle, but he hasn’t won the war.

Not by a long shot.