Fey Regency (Fey Lords #3)

10. Chapter 10

Chapter ten

T oday’s lunch is cheese. So much cheese. So many different types. I’ve tried them all and I have no idea which one is my favourite, so I’m going to have to try them all again.

Tristan wandered off to the next room with his phone ages ago. So it is not like I have to hide how much I’m enjoying this cheese fest. Sucks for him, though. There is not going to be much left if he doesn’t come back soon. But apparently, even princes need to work. Which is awful if you ask me.

I hum to myself as I cut into the brie type soft cheese that I want to try more of. As I slide the slice onto my plate, I glance up and yelp.

There is a strange fey standing right next to the lunch table. And he doesn’t look at all happy to see me. His arms are crossed over his chest and his expression is thoroughly scornful.

His silk robes are all shades of black and grey, with splashes of blood red trimming here and there. His hair is magnificent. Raven dark. Thick and glossy and falling loose and free all the way to his slender waist. His eyes are midnight black. Skin as pale as pearl. His nose, chin, jawline and cheekbones are all perfect. He is utterly gorgeous. Beautiful. Ethereal.

My stomach twists uncomfortably and my throat tightens. Is he one of Tristan’s lovers? Is that why he is glaring at me? Oh my stars, I’m going to be sick. There is no way I could ever hope to compete with him. I’ve always loved Dolly Partan’s song, Jolene. Now I can really relate to it. I can feel the sentiment in my bones, and it is an awful feeling.

Tristan strides into the room and his face lights up.

“Brother!” he exclaims happily.

Oh thank heavens. I don’t think I’ve ever been more relieved in my entire life. I’m pretty much trembling with it. This is another one of Tristan’s brothers. Fabulous news for me, but it clearly means, unlike Tristan, the king and queen did not have enough work to do. They had to have been doing nothing but lounging around and making babies, for years. And years.

“I am not a pet trainer,” snaps this new brother, in Fey.

Tristan merely smiles warmly. “I don’t want you to train him. Where is the fun in that?”

The dark-haired fey narrows his eyes. After a few moments, he seems satisfied. “I’m busy. Stop sending for me,” he says as he pulls a vial of green liquid out of his robes.

“What…” Tristan starts to ask, but he is interrupted.

“Truth serum,” snips his brother.

Tristan’s eyes widen, almost comically so. “How did you…”

Once again, he is interrupted.

“If you don’t want me to train him, then this is the only other reason you’d send for me. ”

Tristan recoils as if slapped. A strange look flows over his face. It takes me a moment to decipher it. It’s sadness. I’ve never seen the jolly bastard sad before. I’m not sure that I like it.

“Dyfri, I invite you to things,” Tristan says softly.

His brother raises one dark eyebrow and manages to look even more unimpressed than he was a moment ago.

Tristan starts babbling. “Yesterday was merely for the gossips and fishwives. I wanted news of my pet to spread everywhere. It wasn’t a fun gathering. Osian ended up here, and they said vile things about him.”

Dyfri gives a mocking little gasp and clutches his hand to his chest dramatically. “Oh no! I couldn’t have coped with that, because no one has ever said anything mean to me before.”

I almost want to applaud. I have never heard such sarcasm in my life. His words are dripping with so much scorn, I’m surprised there isn’t goo splatting on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” says Tristan meekly.

Wow. He is capable of apologies. That’s good to note. It is definitely a redeeming feature and potentially something to look forward to forcing from him.

Dyfri rolls his eyes. “Just dose him and get on with it.”

Tristan takes the vial and steps towards me. I start to scramble back and then freeze. Shit. I’m not supposed to have understood a word of their conversation. I’m not supposed to know that it is a truth serum.

But, he is prowling towards me with a tiny glass bottle filled with slightly glowing green gloop. So I think trying to escape is not going to give the game away .

I make a run for it, but Tristan catches me easily. He grabs my arm, pulls me close, squishes my cheeks together to force my mouth open, and pours the minty liquid in.

He releases me, and I cough and splutter. Holy smokes! How is he so fast? And so strong? How the fuck did he do that to me so quickly? I didn’t even have time to fight or even struggle. It is outrageous.

I’m wheezing and hyperventilating and clutching at my neck, but it is slowly becoming apparent that my throat is not burning and nothing terrible is happening. In fact, I don’t think anything at all is happening.

Sheepishly, I stop my dramatics and glare at Dyfri. What kind of trick is this? What is he playing at?

He meets my glare coldly. Completely unmoved. I may as well be pulling faces at a gargoyle. What a little shit he is.

As I stare at him. Something about his presence itches at me. He is not like the other fey. He feels different. Seeing him stand next to Tristan, the difference is unmistakable. Tristan is flame. Dyfri is shadow.

Granny’s stories swirl through my mind. In her tales, there were two types of fey. Two courts. Night and day. Summer and winter. Dark and light.

“Are you Unseelie?” I ask.

He raises an eyebrow again, a mocking, condescending look, but something flashes in his dark eyes. Something that makes me shudder.

“It’s working,” he says to Tristan.

Oh my stars. It is working. I would never normally blurt shit like that. It is an inane question. But it was on my mind, so it spilled out of my mouth. How horrid.

And pointless. If I had used a brain cell, I would have known the answer. He can’t be Unseelie. He is Tristan’s brother.

“Where did you get the dagger from?” Tristan asks me.

Strange emo guy. Claimed he was a necromancer and a werewolf.

The words flow across my mind, but they stick in my throat. They won’t come out. It is the most peculiar sensation.

Dyfri gives me a suspicious look. “What is your name?”

My throat unlocks. “Oleander Evans, but everyone calls me Ollie. My mum only named me Oleander because she is a crazy hippy. I haven’t heard from her in years. As far as I know, she is living in a commune in Morocco. As for my sperm giver, not even my mother knows. It is like that film, Mamma Mia! But with more guys as the potential fathers, and they are all gross.”

Holy smokes. I don’t like this. I’m not chatty or forthcoming. I’ve never been an over-sharer. But now words are pouring freely from me.

“What do you think of Tristan’s cock?” asks Dyfri with a small smirk.

“Oh it is lovely!” I hear myself say. “I want to see it. It feels enormous, which is a bit terrifying and I’m worried about being able to take it, but I really want to try.”

Oh. My. God. I’m not sure I even knew I had all those filthy thoughts about Tristan’s cock, and now I have spilled them out into the world and my cheeks feel as if they are literally on fire.

Tristan looks absolutely delighted. He is positively glowing with glee. It is sickening.

Dyfri snorts in amusement. “The serum is working. ”

Yeah. No shit Sherlock Holmes. The nerve of this little weasel.

“You had a fey dagger. It is how you broke through Tristan’s wards. Where did you find it?”

My mouth opens to tell him all about the guy approaching me in the alley, but once again the words stick. My throat freezes. I can’t make a sound.

Dyfri tilts his head. “He is under a geas. Whoever gave him the dagger is a powerful sorcerer. Maybe one of the dragon riders?”

Tristan sighs. “Alright. Thank you for helping, Dyfri.”

He moves forward and the world spins. Except it is not only because I am lightheaded. My prince has scooped me up into a bridal carry and is taking me somewhere.

“Oh I love it when you carry me!” I exclaim. “Being pressed against your manly chest is divine.”

Tristan chuckles as he walks and the vibrations from it tingle through me. I wriggle in delight and press myself closer. But his arms lower and he places me gently on the bed. The furs are soft but I’d much rather be in his arms.

I look up at him. “I really, really want you to kiss me.”

Oh bloody hell. I didn’t even know that until I said it. But I am quite right. It is a marvellous idea. When he kissed me by the bath, it was shocking, overwhelming, and very, very nice. I think at the time I thought I hated it, but I can’t remember why I ever believed that.

Tristan smiles softly, a fond look in his ruby eyes. “You are going to have a nap and sleep the serum off.”

My lips move. Oh no. I think I’m pouting. I don’t pout. This is awful.

“Kiss me first!” I whine .

Please just kill me now. Somebody. Anybody. I can not possibly be expected to survive this humiliation.

“You are not in your right mind,” says Tristan kindly. “I’ve learnt all about consent.”

My pout intensifies. “It is a truth serum. I am speaking the truth!”

He tenderly brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “Sometimes we are not ready for the truth.”

My pout turns into a frown. Motherfucker. Why does he have to be so nice? And why does he have to say sappy shit that makes me go all swoony?

Tristan chuckles again.

Oh, fuck my life. I said all of that out loud, didn’t I? This truth serum is the absolute worst.

He leans down and brushes his lips gently over my forehead. “Have a lovely nap, little nisny.”

I watch helplessly as he walks away and draws the curtains, casting the room into shadow.

It is toasty and warm in here, and the furs are so very soft. My belly is full of cheese. Damn it. Maybe a nap isn’t a terrible idea. I yawn as he walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

I’ll just have to get my revenge when I wake up. Nap first. Chaos later. It is a marvellous plan. Might even be the best one I have ever had.

I yawn again, close my eyes and let sleep take me.