Fey Regency (Fey Lords #3)

21. Chapter 21

Chapter twenty-one

I ’m going to a ball. Me. Ollie Evans. It doesn’t make any sense. Any moment now, I’m going to wake up in a hospital bed and discover that all of this has been nothing more than a coma dream.

My chest tightens painfully. Could Tristan really just be a figment of my imagination? What an awful thought. I can’t bear it. Someone that vibrant has to be real.

I suck in a breath. I need to pull myself together. Of course he is real. The fey are real. Buckingham Palace is real. I really am going to a ball. It is all fine.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Then I pinch myself. Ouch. Yes, it is all real. I’m being ridiculous.

My gaze tracks over my fancy robes. I can’t quite figure out how these are fancier than what Tristan usually dresses me in, they just are. Something about the cut and the quality of the silk. It is all very swishy. And the verdant green really does match my eyes. Tristan does it better, but man, I can really rock this look. It suits me.

My hair is looking good too. It has grown a bit and is nearing my shoulders. It looks golden against the green of my robes. And it has gone all glossy. Fey shampoo really must be something.

I inspect my reflection once more. Everything looks good. More than good. So why on earth am I so nervous? It is just a bunch of fey, and Tristan is going to be there, by my side. Hells, he is probably going to be holding my leash.

A wave of doubt washes over me. Perhaps I shouldn’t give in to being paraded around? So what if I agreed to be his pet and vessel, and hanging around his rooms all the time is incredibly boring? I have principles. I think.

I sigh heavily. Who am I kidding? I’ve never had principles. Going to this stupid ball makes sense, I’m just nervous and being a baby about it.

The door opens and Tristan prowls in and walks up behind me. Our eyes meet in the mirror. His long flame red hair is in two long plaits and damn, does it look good. It is giving viking vibes.

“You look good, little Nisny,” he rumbles.

I have no idea what to say to that, so I say nothing. However, I am stupidly, ridiculously pleased, and it is so infuriating.

“I know you wear it loose, because that is the human style, and it means nothing. But it irks me,” he says.

What is he on about now?

His warm fingers brush through my hair and begin weaving a plait into it. Ah, okay, that’s what he is rambling on about. I have noticed that fey like their fancy plaits. If he wants to give me one, that is fine by me.

He gives me two. One twisting back from each temple and pulling my hair away from my face. There is still plenty of hair falling free to my shoulders, but I can no longer hide in it. It no longer obscures my strange, too angular features.

In the mirror, Tristan is grinning proudly, so I guess I can live with my new hairdo. Lord knows I’ve suffered worse.

“Ready?” asks Tristan, offering his hand.

I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logically, I know I am still in some part of Buckingham Palace, but it doesn’t feel like it at all. It doesn’t look like it either.

There is thick moss along the walls. Gnarly trees too. High up amongst the chandeliers, sparkly things hang in the air like stars stolen from the sky.

Along one edge of the enormous room, a stream is burbling. It appears out of nowhere and disappears into a wall. Its banks are covered with lush grass, toadstools and actual toads.

Fireflies are flittering everywhere. Discordantly moving in time to the strange, eerie music that is all harp sounds and wistful flute notes. I cannot see where it is coming from. And then, if all of that wasn’t bad enough, there are all the fey themselves. People that are definitely not human. Some have wings, some have horns, some are strange colours. Others look half tree or half animal. It is a lot.

It is making me very glad that Tristan is right next to me. My silver leash is looped casually over his wrist, and bizarrely, it is a huge comfort. It feels like we are connected, touching each other. As sappy as it is, if it is giving me the strength to get through this, then so be it.

“I don’t know who he thinks he is fooling,” comments Tristan.

I follow his gaze and find Mabon twirling around the dancefloor with a fey woman who I don’t recognise.

“Mabon used to wear his hair so scandalously that all of court would talk about it. Now he wears it like a devout wife. And he never takes anyone to his bed anymore. How he thinks people don’t know he is in love with his pet, is beyond me.”

I look over at Blake, who is half naked as usual. The mountain of a man is watching Mabon intently, but he doesn’t seem to be seething with jealousy. Unlike a certain someone.

“Jealous?” I ask Tristan. This bitterness is not like him.

He huffs and downs his strangely coloured drink. “Mabon was blessed with all the beauty.”

My eyebrows rise. Mabon is beautiful. Strikingly so. But Tristan is handsome, and that is hotter, if you ask me.

“You’re pretty too,” I say.

His ruby red eyes light up. “You think so?”

“Stop fishing for compliments!” I snap.

For fuck’s sake, I thought calling him pretty would insult him. This man is impossible.

He grins at me, but his attention is snatched away by a small hoard of people coming up to him. They all bow or curtsey and then engage him in meaningless small talk. I tune it out and watch the dancers instead.

But the conversation of another group of fey drifts over to me and ruins my peace.

“Prince Tristan’s pet really is rather alluring. ”

I grit my teeth and ignore them. They are speaking Fey and I’m not supposed to be able to understand them. I can’t even look at them without arousing suspicion.

“He would look gorgeous crying on my cock.”

I snatch a drink from the table beside me as titters and giggles fill the air. These fey are disgusting.

“Oh I agree,” says a female voice. “He was definitely made to take cock and not give it. I could quite happily peg him until he screamed.”

The drink burns down my throat. Jesus Christ, lady. Surely that is a bit much for polite company?

“His magic is lovely, too. So delicious and potent.”

A cold shiver runs down my spine. Please let these assholes shut up soon. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. If they were speaking English, I’d think they were just winding me up, but they are not, so it is all very insidious.

“I wonder if anyone will be brave enough to challenge Prince Tristan for him?”

I step closer to Tristan. It is an impulse. A compulsion. I’m powerless to stop it. Thankfully, it does make me feel better. But has it broken my cover?

Before I can peek over at the gossips, a commotion in the middle of the dancefloor catches everyone’s attention. The music stops and the room stills. A circle of people form, leaving two fey in the middle.

One I recognise. The blue-haired dude with cat ears. Osian, I think his name is. The other is a plump woman with candy floss pink hair. I don’t think I’ve seen her before, and I’m sure I would remember. She looks formidable. Scars criss-cross her skin and she holds herself like she takes no shit from anyone .

Her hand is on Osian’s shoulder. His tail is flicking like crazy. Are they going to fight? I hope not, because cat-boy won’t stand a chance.

Slowly, with great purpose, he turns around so that his back is to her. The watching crowd collectively gasps. Vague memories of turning your back on someone being an insult, are flashing through my mind. Is that what is going on?

But warrior woman does not seem offended. She simply picks up Osian’s long, loose hair and starts calmly weaving it all up into one long braid.

A soft sniff catches my attention. Mabon is dabbing at his eyes with a lace handkerchief. Beside him, Blake is bursting with happiness. I have never seen anyone look so thrilled.

Next to Blake, Dyfri is standing ramrod straight. His hands are clenched into fists by his side. His face is pale and his dark eyes wide. He looks stricken.

As I watch, he turns sharply on his heels and strides quickly out of the ballroom. A few heartbeats later, Jamie hurries after him.

Back in the middle of the room, Osian and warrior woman are now kissing. The crowd erupts into cheers and clapping and noise. The music restarts, motion resumes. All is chaos and noise.

“What the fuck is happening?” I say.

“Osian is no longer a rhocyn,” says Tristan.

I blink. I wasn’t expecting an answer. In truth, I wasn’t aware I had spoken out loud.

“What is a rhocyn?” I ask, since Tristan is answering my questions .

At Tristan’s little cocktail party, where he showed me off, people were saying nasty things about Osian and they used the rhocyn word. I know it is nothing good, but that is all I know.

Tristan gives a sad little sigh. “A rhocyn is a person with very low status at court. Possibly lower than pets. They are considered honourless. Before Jamie changed the law, they had to warm the bed of anyone who requested. Now technically they can say no, but they are still not treated well.”

I stare up at Tristan in absolute horror. “And it can be ended by someone…braiding your hair?”

Tristan shifts uncomfortably. “Yes.”

“And people don’t? They just let people suffer?”

“Yes,” says Tristan quietly.

Oh my holy stars. I can’t believe what I am hearing. No, I can believe it, these are fey, after all. It is just that I don’t want to believe it.

My mind whirls. Images flash. Things begin to click into place. Tristan braiding my loose hair tonight because it irked him. Dyfri’s gorgeous loose dark hair, and his reaction tonight.

“Is Dyfri a rhocyn?” I hiss.

Tristan closes his eyes briefly. “Yes.”

Outrage flows through my veins. “That’s your brother! Why don’t you help him?”

“I can’t claim him precisely because he is my brother, claiming is like a marriage. I’ve offered to bribe or blackmail someone into doing it, but Dyfri is… very prickly about the subject. ”

I’m lost for words. Completely and utterly lost for words. I thought I was getting a feel for this place, for Tristan, but the truth is that I know nothing at all.

Except for one thing. This place is awful.