Fey Regency (Fey Lords #3)

23. Chapter 23

Chapter twenty-three

I don’t want to wake up. Not yet. But my annoying bladder is insisting. Urgh. This is terrible. I’m warm and I’m comfortable and I don’t want to move. Even though I’m face down in an ungainly sprawl and I’ve drooled all over my pillow. And everything aches and my ass is sore.

Goddamnit. Maybe waking up and moving isn’t such an awful idea after all. Tentatively, I open one eye. It is daytime, but the heavy curtains are drawn so it is shady and dark in my bedroom. Tristan is gone. There is no need to roll over and check the other side of the bed. His presence is unmissable. It burns and takes up all the space in the room. If he was here, I’d know.

He fucked me senseless and then left. I’m not sure how I feel about that. The being fucked part was fantastic, I know how I feel about that bit. But the disappearing act should surely be upsetting me? So why am I apparently completely unbothered by it?

It doesn’t seem like he has buggered off in a cold, uncaring way. More like he had shit to do and didn’t want to wake me. But that could simply be wistful thinking. I’m still feeling a little giddy and euphoric, so maybe that is influencing me. Maybe I should be upset that he is gone .

My bladder twinges painfully. Fine. I’ll get up. I can angst over whether happy hormones are addling my brain another time.

Gingerly, I heave myself out of bed. Several muscles twinge. Then as I stand upright, stuff seeps out of me. Eww! That is so very gross.

I hurry to the toilet, quickly pee and then rush into the shower and turn it on. Hot water rains down on me. The water pressure in Buckingham Palace is heavenly. Oh god, this feels good. Going for a shower was a brilliant decision. No way was I going to sit in a bath for this. I need to wash stuff off of me, not sit in it.

The divine shower gently pummels me and the heat soaks into my aching muscles. I could stay in here all day. But now that I’ve woken up, my stomach has as well. There really is no rest for the wicked.

I step out of the shower and find one of the little green goblin dudes waiting to dress me. Fine. I’m tired and could do with the help. I’m kind of getting there with fey clothes, but it is a struggle I’d rather not battle with right now.

The little guy works efficiently and silently and in no time at all, I’m dried and dressed. Great! Time for breakfast!

I stride out into the main room and sure enough, the table is set with a huge array of breakfast foods. Rain is lashing at the large windows from a grey and atmospheric sky. But inside is warm and softly lit. The whole thing is rather cosy.

My feet suddenly freeze. Dyfri is sitting in Tristan’s chair and helping himself to an almond pastry.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snap .

“Apparently, you do need training after all,” Dyfri says, and he pops the small pastry into his mouth.

It is far too early for this. I stagger over to the table and pour myself some coffee. Then I flop down into my chair, and instantly regret it. I really should have sat down gently.

Dyfri sniggers softly and I glare at him over my coffee cup. I swear I didn’t wince out loud, but whatever. I’m not embarrassed.

My eyes narrow and I scrutinise Dyfri carefully. He is busily tucking into the pastries and appears completely innocent. As if he didn’t just mock me. He also seems fine. Completely unruffled. He doesn’t look like someone who fled a ball last night because he was emotional.

My gaze shifts to his long, lovely hair. All glossy and… loose. I cough and gulp down coffee. Damnit. Now I know what it means, staring at it is making me feel all kinds of awkward. As well as absurdly glad that I couldn’t be bothered to wash my hair just now, or undo the plaits Tristan gave me last night. This ridiculous urge to lift my hand up and check the plaits are still in place, is stupidly hard to fight.

“I don’t need you to train me.” I say, mostly just for something to say because right now, any distraction will do. Anything at all.

“Tristan asked me to,” Dyfri says, and he nonchalantly pours a cup of tea from a gold teapot.

I scowl and snatch up a bacon roll. I bite into it and chew aggressively. What the hell is Tristan playing at? I thought last night was us turning a corner, but now he has pulled a stunt like this?

“I don’t want to be trained,” I mutter under my breath.

“Tough shit. ”

I splutter at his directness and his keen hearing. Why are all fey such bastards?

Dyfri fixes me with a stern stare. “Don’t even think about trying any of your brattiness with me. Tristan asking me to train his pet is akin to bestowing his favour. I will not be giving up this advantage.”

Oh. Oh my stars. I can feel my eyes growing wide. This isn’t about me. This is about Dyfri. Tristan is helping him. The bloody bastard did listen to me after all. After pretending not to. Unbelievable.

I stare back at Dyfri’s dark eyes. I suppose I can suffer this. For him. Since it was what I was nagging Tristan about.

Wait a minute. When I first met Dyfri, he was bitching about not wanting to train me. The sly fox. Oh well, I can hardly begrudge anyone for bitching. It is my favourite pastime.

“Fine, have it your way.” I huff.

Dyfri smirks at me. Something positively gleeful is gleaming in his eyes. What the hell? My eyes narrow in suspicion. He seems far more pleased than me agreeing not to be a brat, warrants.

“Your Fey is rather good,” he remarks with a truly chilling smile.

My mouth drops open. Fuck. His whole little rant telling me not to be a brat was in Fey. As was my reply. Fucking hell.

“Don’t worry, dearest Ollie,” he says sweetly. “Your secret is safe with me.” He places his teacup down. “Unless you piss me off.”

Son of a bitch. I glare at him in impotent fury. He has me by the balls and he knows it. To think that I felt sorry for him and wanted to help him. Asshole. That will teach me to ever be soft again. Softness is weakness, and it always blows up in your face.

“Now, let’s start with curtsies,” he says brightly, as if he hasn’t just blackmailed me.

He slides off his chair and glides to the middle of the room. Then he gives me an expectant expression. What a douchebag. Grumbling, I stomp over to join him. Fuck my life.

A few hours later, and it is very apparent that I am terrible at curtsying. I have all the grace of a drunk panda. It is incredibly frustrating.

I’m no better at etiquette either. Apparently, I have the memory and comprehension of a brain damaged goldfish.

Dyfri sighs heavily and places his hands on his hips. “You need to do better.”

I bite back the, ‘fuck you’ that is on the tip of my tongue. I am actually trying. For once in my life. And not just because he is blackmailing me.

However, if he thinks I’m being a dork on purpose, that’s potentially a lot less mortifying. Maybe I should try to give the impression that I’m being intentionally useless? It would save some slivers of my pride.

“You can’t draw unnecessary attention to yourself,” Dyfri lectures. “It increases the chances of someone deciding they want you.”

My heart pounds against my ribs. Llywelyn said something similar. It can’t be true, can it?

“Why would anyone want me?” I snap.

“To have the pleasure of breaking you in better than Tristan has,” huffs Dyfri .

My blood turns to ice, and it is a struggle to swallow. I’m not sure what expression I have on my face right now, but I’m pretty sure it is a stupid one.

Dyfri shakes his head in exasperation. “And because you are outrageously pretty, which I am sure you are well aware of.”

“I am not pretty!” I snarl reflexively. Now my stomach is doing all sorts of strange things.

Dyfri pauses. He tilts his head and regards me intently. I bristle under his scrutiny, but then his expression softens. Perceptive shit head. He has discerned that I am speaking the truth and that I genuinely don’t think I’m attractive. I truly believe that the fey simply have twisted taste.

“You are pretty here,” he says gently. “It is the mixture of human and fey.”

Exactly what Llywelyn said. Logically, I can see how it makes sense. Humans think kittens look cute. If fey feel that way about humans, then someone looking kittenish could be very attractive. Either way, logical or not, it is all deeply unsettling. Part of me has always wanted to be pretty. So this sudden, unexpected granting of my wish feels like it might be a cruel trick. Nothing more than a prank.

“You are beautiful,” says Dyfri.

He is being genuine. Truthful. He is not mocking or taking the piss. He really believes what he is saying.

Oh my stars. I have no idea whatsoever about how to handle compliments. It is not a problem I have ever encountered before.

“You’re not my type!” I snarl as all my discomfort turns to fury .

Familiar, comforting fury. Safe fury. An emotion I know and trust. One I know how to handle. One whose outcome is predictable and within my control.

Dyfri’s eyes narrow. “You’re not my type either.”

I’m being an ass. I know I am. But that’s me. An asshole. He was trying to be nice to me, but fuck him, I don’t need his kindness or his pity or his anything. I don’t need people. Never have and never will. Which is just perfect since everyone always ends up hating me anyway. Better to push them away before they can truly get their claws in.

My rage surges. My mind whirls. What can I really hurt Dyfri with? What do I know? What buttons can I press?

Images flash. Memories play. I don’t know him well, but there must be something. I’m good at this. It is what I do.

Suddenly I have it. His insistence on Mabon’s pet having a chair. His general weirdness around the hulking man. Come to think of it, he was standing next to Blake at the ball last night.

That’s it! He fancies his brother’s pet! Perfect.

“I’m not your type?” I hiss. “That’s not surprising. Your type is hulking giant men who hold you down.”

Dyfri’s face goes utterly blank. It shuts down. It is like looking at a mannequin. He turns on his heels and strides out of the room with not a single word.

I stare at the spot he was just standing in. An itching, uncomfortable feeling is crawling along my skin. I got him to fuck off. It was exactly what I wanted.

So why do I suddenly feel like a monster?