Fey Regency (Fey Lords #3)

29. Chapter 29

Chapter twenty-nine

B eing out and about in Buckingham Palace still puts my teeth on edge, but I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding in Tristan’s rooms. Hopefully, I will get used to court, and in the future it will not be an ordeal. Until then, I will just have to suck it up.

Tristan is chatting to a group of people, and everyone is ignoring me. It is actually a relief. All I have to do is stand here. It is simple enough.

The room is huge. I think it used to be a ballroom. It has three gigantic chandeliers, and the floor is varnished wood. There is a wall of giant arched windows, which must look dazzling in the daytime. At the moment they are just dark, and it adds to the sombre atmosphere.

Nobody is dancing, and there is no music. There is nothing in here apart from tables of drinks along the side. Everyone is simply standing around in small groups and talking. Mingling, I think it is called. I cannot think of anything worse. Please don’t tell me that the whole evening is going to be like this.

Suddenly, Tristan says goodbye to his little gaggle of groupies and we walk away from them. I perk up, but it soon becomes clear that we are merely heading for a different bunch of fey .

I let out a heavy sigh. It is going to be a long, long night.

“Do you recognise the feel of anyone’s magic?” Tristan asks, without looking back at me. “From the arrow attack,” he clarifies.

My feet nearly stop walking in surprise, but I just about manage to hold it together.

“Is that why we are here?” I hiss. The bloody bastard could have warned me.

Tristan says nothing, but he is clearly waiting for an answer.

“No,” I grumble.

I seriously don’t know what he is expecting of me. All this magic shit is new. I don’t know what the hell I am doing. Surely saving his dumb life was enough? I can’t be expected to also find his wanna be assassin. We don’t even know if it was a fey that tried to kill him. Though humans don’t usually go around with bows and arrows.

But saying that, I attacked Tristan with a flipping dagger, of all things. Because that was what emo wolf boy gave me. He said bullets wouldn’t get through the shields. It needed to be something fey. So, was the arrow attack emo boy’s second attempt? He found another person to do his dirty work and gave them an archery kit?

Fucking hell. If I try to talk to Tristan about this theory, my throat will close up. So that option is a non-starter. However, if I find someone at court who feels familiar, my theory could be disproved that way. Likewise, if I search and find nothing, it is evidence that points towards emo boy being the suspect. And I’m sure Tristan will think of it by himself. All I need to do is look .

Goddamnit. I clench my fists and try to feel magic. This feels ridiculous. How am I supposed to recognise a person by their magic? It is absurd.

A shiver runs down my spine. Ok, as I was foreseeing the attack, I did have a strange sensation that reminded me of Llywelyn. But I could very well be mixing him up with the feeling of danger and threat and general hostility.

I really don’t know what I’m doing. So I am not going to drop Llywelyn’s name and potentially start a civil war or something. I don’t know shit about politics either, but I’m pretty sure one prince accusing another of trying to murder him, is not good for peace and prosperity.

So I am bloody well keeping my mouth shut.

I cast my gaze around the room, just to see if anyone draws my attention, but I see something else instead.

The empty centre of the room is shimmering. Like a heat haze. I blink, but it is still there. As I watch in shock, the rippling movement falls away, like a curtain being dropped. Revealing a low circular stage of padded red velvet.

Everyone turns towards it, and nobody seems alarmed. They were expecting this. A stage hidden by an invisibility cloak until the show was ready to begin.

My lungs tighten as I take in the sight before me. There are six young fey on the stage. Two of them are naked and bound. Two men. Both with loose hair.

One is lying on his side in a fetal position. Knees held to his chest with red silk ropes and beautiful knots. He is blindfolded and gagged.

A slender fey woman in dark robes is slowly working a large dildo in and out of his hole .

I snatch my gaze away. The other naked fey is on his knees with his swollen and engorged cock on full display. A woman in grey robes is intermittently lightly stroking the bound fey’s cock. His desperate, pained moans are muffled slightly by the gag, but I’m still hearing them loud and clear. It looks like the poor bastard has been edged for hours.

Bloody hell. A real life sex show. I’m a pervy bastard at heart, so I would have thought I’d enjoy live porn, but all I feel is deeply uncomfortable.

The tied up dudes have loose hair, which means they are rhocyn. I know Jamie changed the law and they aren’t outright sex slaves anymore, but what about coercion or exploitation? What if they need to do shit like this because they need to eat, and no one will give them any other type of work?

The people on the stage move. Is it over? I watch as the people in dark robes move the tied up men around. Rearranging them as if they are simply dolls to play with.

The fetal guy’s ropes are cut, and he is rolled onto his back. The kneeling guy is placed over him, straddling his hips. Someone holds the former fetal guy’s cock up and notches it against the kneeling guy’s hole. I see the moment he realises he is being given a cock. He shudders with relief and desperation. Then he lowers himself onto it. The guy under him groans.

Then they are fucking. Hard and fast and frantic. The guy on top riding for his dear life and the dude underneath thrusting up forcefully. They’ve clearly both been edged for hours, so I totally get it.

They both start cumming at the same time. As they do, the handlers whip off their blindfolds. Their eyes meet and the look of absolute horror on their faces is unmistakable.

The watching audience erupts into laughter and a smattering of polite applause. I’m going to be sick. Please don’t tell me those guys are related or something, I really don’t want to know.

I turn on my heels and flee to a drinks table. Tristan hasn’t been holding my leash all evening, it’s just been dangling from my collar, so presumably this is okay. To my relief, I find water and gulp it down.

Fucking hell. Fey court is nasty. I can’t forget that. Tristan is nice, but I can’t fall into a false sense of security. I have to keep my guard up.

“I see my brother is allowing you a long leash. A sign he has broken you in well,” says Llywelyn from right beside me.

I hide my flinch and ignore him. Sneaky little shit, creeping up on people.

He sips his champagne-looking drink. “You are very pretty for a guard dog. And you give up magic too. Tristan has done so well in turning you into a cockslut. I wonder when he will put you on the stage?”

I see red. There is nothing but rage. Dimly, I am aware of my body turning, of my hand lifting, of the contents of my half full glass of water flinging in Llywelyn’s face. For a brief moment, the prince flinches and there is a flash of fear in his eyes. I blink and it is gone. Now Llywelyn is glaring at me in outraged indignation as water drips down his face.

Gasps are echoing around the room. Suddenly, Tristan is by my side and his hand rests on my shoulder. Comforting and reassuring .

Llywelyn slowly draws a dagger. Tristan’s grip on my shoulder tightens.

“You are not putting my pet down,” he growls.

Wait. What? Oh my fucking god, it was water. Half a glass. I chucked some water on his face. Is everyone really going to massively overreact about it? It is not like I punched the smug prick or anything.

Llywelyn tilts his head to the side and regards his brother with slitted eyes and a calculating look.

“I could be lenient. A vigorous public punishment would suffice.”

“No,” states Tristan in a tone of absolute authority.

A look of wounded hurt flashes across Llywelyn’s golden eyes and is quickly buried. I think I’m the only person close enough to see it, and surprisingly, I get it, I really do. Your own brother valuing a mere pet over you? That has to sting. Nevermind whatever court bullshit comes with it. Grievous insult. Humiliation. A lowered status. Probably all kinds of nonsense, because the fey are ridiculous like that.

Besides, if Tristan’s reaction can make me feel all giddy and emotional, it is not surprising that it is having an effect on Llywelyn. I want to swoon with joy that Tristan has my back and is taking my side. So it is only rational that on the flip side, Llywelyn is feeling slighted and betrayed.

It’s funny what effect one little word can have.

Llywelyn straightens to his full height. He makes a great show of calmly pulling a fancy handkerchief out of his sleeve, and delicately dabbing the last of the water off of his face.

“Well then, Brother dearest. You leave me no choice. ”

Tristan’s grip on my shoulder tightens even more. I’m going to have bruises.

“I, Prince Llywelyn Y Mabinogi, challenge Prince Tristan Y Mabinogi for the ownership of Ollie Hoff Tristanogi.”

Tristan inhales sharply. Our audience gasps and erupts with chatter. My mind has frozen. I think my heart has stopped beating.

This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. This is the very opposite of good.

How the fuck do I get out of this?