Fey Regency (Fey Lords #3)

24. Chapter 24

Chapter twenty-four

T his day keeps getting worse and worse. First, Dyfri storms off in a strop and I’m left all alone in Tristan’s rooms. Second, Tristan didn’t come back for dinner, so I had to eat alone. And now I’m stuck on the loo with the most excruciating gut cramps of my life.

I groan as another cramp hits me. Fuck. I think I’m dying. This isn’t a delayed after effect of taking Tristan’s giant cock, is it? Because I really, really want to do that again. But suffering this every time would be unbearable.

Something twists deep inside me and I whimper. That didn’t feel good. What if something is seriously wrong with me? I never get ill. I’ve never had a tummy bug, so it makes more sense if this is something far more sinister.

A soft knock on the door makes me jump.

“Are you well?”

It is Tristan. My stupid heart starts beating faster. He is back. He is here. I shouldn’t care at all. He is still my captor, not my friend. We fucked last night, big deal. His presence is not a comfort.

“I’m fine!” I say through gritted teeth.

Then I go and ruin it all by whimpering loudly.

“Do you need a healer? ”

Oh stars. If these cramps don’t kill me, the concern in his voice is going to. He sounds genuinely worried about me, like he actually gives a shit. It is making my head spin. Or perhaps this dizziness is actually a symptom of my illness.

Crap. Maybe I do need a healer. But wait a minute, Selwyn said there weren’t any who had experience with nisnys. I’ve never had to see a human doctor. It is quite possible that no one knows how to treat my messed up half-fey, half-human anatomy. If they try, they might make things worse.

“I don’t need a healer!”

An intense wave of pain cuts through my guts. I hiss in pain.

“Open the door!” orders Tristan.

Fat chance. I glance blearily at the door. It is very far away. I’m not sure I could make it even if I wanted to.

“Open the door!” Tristan says forcefully.

For fuck’s sake. He is not going to give up, is he? And actually, dying alone on the toilet kind of sucks, so whatever.

I heave myself to my feet. I’ve stripped most of my clothes off. My comfy inner robe is like a white nightgown and it helpfully falls down, covering my ass and making me decent with zero effort on my part.

Thankfully, despite the intense cramps, nothing has actually come out, so there is no mess to clean up.

I take one staggering step towards the door and then collapse weakly in a heap. It is actually quite comfortable down here. The marble is cooling against my burning skin.

A huge, splintering, cracking sound reverberates around the bathroom. I tilt my head just in time to see Tristan disintegrating the door with his second kick. Impressive stuff. This is Buckingham Palace. There are no cheap plywood doors here. That thing was solid oak and several inches thick.

He hurries over and drops down beside me. Then he pulls me onto his lap and feels my forehead. I rest my head on his pec and let out a sigh. This is much better than the floor.

“What are your symptoms?” he asks.

I groan. “It feels like a thousand daggers are cutting up my internal organs.”

A heavy silence falls. I’m not even sure if he is breathing. Okay, I was a little dramatic, but it wasn’t that bad.

“Did you anger Dyfri?”

What? Well, those words feel like a startling slap. I don’t think he is changing the subject. I think he is implying that Dyfri might have poisoned me. Fuck. I did make him angry.

I suck in a shaky breath. Wait. Dyfri said he’s spill the beans about me understanding Fey, if I ever pissed him off. Surely that would be his go to? He never said a word about poisoning me.

“No,” I say.

Shit. That didn’t sound very convincing.

“Ollie,” warns Tristan.

I sigh in defeat. “Yes.”

Tristan says something that I’m pretty sure is a very vulgar Fey swear word. It is not a word that Welsh shares, but his tone is clear enough.

“What did you do?” he demands.

“I brought up his crush on Blake,” I answer with a petulant sniff. It wasn’t that bad. Hardly worth poisoning someone over .

The tap drips, and the sound is surprisingly loud. Tristan shifts ever so slightly.

“Dyfri doesn’t have a crush on Blake,” he says, with confusion clear in his voice. “What exactly did you say?”

This bastard. It is not my fault he is unobservant and doesn’t know his own brother. There is no need to grill me over it. Especially not when I’m literally dying in his arms.

“I said that I knew I wasn’t his type, because his type is big strong men who can hold him down,” I snap.

Tristan’s lungs constrict so sharply that the motion moves me. His loud gasp is full of horror. He jumps to his feet, carrying me with him, and the world spins. He strides out of the bathroom with me still in his arms. I blink and now we are rushing down a hallway.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“To Dyfri’s rooms.”

My jaw drops open. Tears threaten to prickle at my eyes. I should have expected this betrayal.

“I’m dying, and you’re going to make me apologise!” I shriek in outrage.

His grip on me tightens. “No. I am going to try to get the antidote.”

Oh. Oh and double oh. That’s…something, I’m sure. It is nice to know I’m not being betrayed after all, but the words, try and antidote, really don’t go well together. It is a most unpleasant combination.

A shadowy looking servant opens a set of double doors and Tristan strides in. The door closes behind us. It is dark in here. The only light appears to be firelight from the hearth. This room is similar in size and shape to Tristan’s main room, but this one is full of shelves and bookcases. Plants are everywhere. As are crystals and weird things like animal skulls.

Tristan carries me over to the fire. Dyfri is curled up in a blood red wingback chair, pulled up nearly to the flames. He is reading a leather-bound book, and has a golden goblet and a half empty bottle of dark wine on a small table beside him.

Tristan places me down on the very soft and fluffy rug by Dyfri’s feet. I curl up into a ball on my side and moan pathetically. Dyfri does not look up from his book.

“He is sorry,” says Tristan.

“He doesn’t look it,” replies Dyfri without looking up.

Tristan whimpers. “Please, Dyfri. Ollie is mostly human.”

Dyfri picks up his goblet and takes a sip, all while still reading his book. “I adjusted the dose accordingly.”

Motherfucker! He did poison me and he clearly has zero qualms about admitting it. What a little creep.

A spasm of pain rocks through my body, and I cry out helplessly. Oh fuck. It is getting worse. Much, much worse.

Suddenly, Tristan drops to his knees in front of his brother. “Please, Brother. He doesn’t know. He thought you had a crush on Blake. That is what his insult was aimed at.”

Insult? That’s a bit of an exaggeration. It was more of a jibe. A dig. I didn’t know fey were so damn sensitive.

Dyfri looks up from his book. He seems startled that Tristan is on his knees. Almost as if he has never seen such a thing before.

Oh, of course! It is all clicking into place now. Tristan haughtily declared to me that he gets on his knees for no one. Not even when it would make blow jobs a whole lot easier. So this is a big deal. Oh my. I think I’d have butterflies, if my stomach wasn’t currently trying to kill me.

“He doesn’t know,” Tristan says solemnly. “How could he? I haven’t told him, and he doesn’t have a translator.”

Dyfri’s dark eyes flick down to me. He frowns. Fuck. Here comes my Welsh secret. This night is the worst.

Dyfri reaches into his obsidian robe. He pulls out a vial of something that looks like apple juice. He hands it to Tristan, and goes back to reading his book.

Tristan sucks in a breath, quickly unstoppers the tiny bottle and shoves it between my lips. I swallow reflexively. I can feel the liquid going down my throat. It is cooling. Soothing. Ice against fire.

Tristan scoops me back up into his arms and hurries away without saying another word to Dyfri. I close my eyes and relax into the rocking motion of his long strides. I already feel so much better. My guts are untwisting. My organs unclamping. It is going to be okay. I’m going to live to see another day.

I startle as Tristan gently lies me down on soft furs. I glance around and grin. This is his bedroom.

He quickly strips his clothes off and climbs in beside me. He pulls me into a tight spoon and I cannot fight my contented sigh. Sleeping in his arms is going to be wonderful. And I’m so very tired. My eyes are already closing.

“Please don’t ever anger Dyfri again,” whispers Tristan softly .

A shiver runs down my spine. “Yeah,” I murmur drowsily. “You don’t have to worry. I am never, ever doing that again.”

If Tristan replies, I don’t hear him. I am already dreaming.