Fey Regency (Fey Lords #3)

31. Chapter 31

Chapter thirty-one

W ell, this is a bit intimidating. Tristan and three of his brothers sitting around the table in our main room. Four fey princes, and little old me.

Rhydian is by far the scariest. But Dyfri is a close second, especially now I know what he is capable of. Mabon should seem harmless, but he does not. I can totally picture him sneezing and accidentally exploding someone with magic, and his only reaction being to say ‘Whoopsie.’

Blake is not here, and neither is Jamie. Their absence is conspicuous. It leaves me as the only human. Except, oh crap, I’m not entirely human, am I? There is fey blood in my veins.

I glance around at the princes. Yeah, I think I have far more in common with Blake and Jamie than I do with these guys.

But here I am. Because I caused a fuck up that they need to try to fix.

“Pour the tea, pet,” says Mabon airily.

I startle and stare at the teapot. Me, serve the tea? Until I came here, I only ever had tea from a teabag. In a mug. I don’t know what to do with fancy loose leaf stuff and teapots .

Mabon rolls his eyes. “Tristan, your pet needs to learn more than how to ride your cock.”

Flipping heck. Why are fey like this? It really is too much. It is outrageously rude, and it is causing all sorts of enticing images to run riot in my head.

“Oh, can Blake pour tea?” Tristan says sweetly.

Mabon scowls and slumps back in his chair in defeat.

Dyfri quietly reaches for the teapot, but Rhydian places a hand on his arm and stops him. “When we are alone, you are our brother, nothing else.”

The faintest hint of colour spreads across Dyfri’s cheeks. He nods and puts his hand back down by his side.

I blink several times. Okay. Is pouring tea a status thing? Is that why I was asked to do it, because I’m the lowliest person here?

Mabon sighs dramatically and picks up the teapot. If it is such a big deal, why don’t they just get a servant to do it? Fey are such confusing bastards. It is a shame my lessons with Dyfri were cut short, I could really do with them.

I cast a quick glance at the dark-haired prince. Yep, just as I suspected. Knowing his awful past does not make him any less terrifying. If he ever forgives me enough to resume our lessons, it is going to be extremely nerve-wracking.

I shiver and pull my thoughts back to the present. Mabon is making quick work of pouring everyone a cup of tea. He gets to my cup and fills it.

“Thanks,” I say. I really wasn’t expecting him to serve me.

He flashes me a delighted, beaming grin and my heart sinks. Oh crap. Is thanking a fey as bad as making a deal with them? I swallow tightly. There is so much that I need to learn .

“Let’s get to business,” Rhydian says sternly.

It is annoying as hell seeing him sit in Tristan’s usual chair, and it is doubly annoying that he is also managing to make it seem like a throne. The pompous ass could lord it over everyone by simply walking into a room. It is insufferable. I really don’t understand why Jamie married him. They don’t seem suited at all.

“Yes, let’s,” agrees Mabon. “Is your magic stronger than Loo-loo’s?”

Rhydian frowns. “Llywelyn is not a child anymore.”

“I know. But it is so hard to believe. He was so squishy and adorable,” Mabon says.

“Now he is the disgruntled middle child,” states Dyfri.

Silence settles over the princes. A sad one. I think they are remembering small Llywelyn, and feeling wistful. I can’t imagine Llywelyn ever being cute, or young. He seems like he simply sprung out of the ground fully grown and evil. Like a lot of the fey at court. It makes me very glad that I tried to assassinate Tristan and not someone else. I lucked out there.

Tristan takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if my magic is stronger than Llywelyn’s. You all know how secretive he has been since adolescence. Who knows how his powers have grown?”

My body temperature drops several degrees. I’ve never felt so chilled in all my life. Fucking hell. I’ve been assuming Tristan would win. I thought it would be awful, but that he would win.

Hearing Tristan implying that might not be the case, is horrifying. And for once, it is not just my own ass I’m concerned about. What happens to Tristan if he loses? Does he die? Get banished ?

My heart thuds against my ribs as a dark thought claws through my mind. Llywelyn would not make his own brother a rhocyn. Would he? Is that even an option when brothers duel?

“Even if you win, this is a disaster,” says Rhydian.

Well, fuck him very much. Tristan winning is clearly the far superior outcome. There is no need to be a dick about it.

“A divided royal family is a weakened royal family,” he continues.

Okay, that is a fair point. God, I’m lucky Rhydian hasn’t ordered my head to be chopped off. First, I made his wifey cry. Then I caused his wifey to leave him. Now this. I’ve done nothing but cause disasters since I set foot in Buckingham Palace. He has to want rid of me. I must be his least favourite person in the world.

“What does mother say?” asks Mabon.

Rhydian’s left eye twitches. “That it is our mess to fix.”

Nobody looks the least bit surprised. Wow, their mum and my mum would get on. Neither of them are going to win any parenting awards. Though, not caring if two of your children have a death-match, seems especially harsh.

Alright, it might not even be a death-match. I don’t know that, and I’m too scared to ask. Hopefully, I’m just being dramatic. But my point still stands. A caring mother would give a shit that her children were fighting.

“Perhaps it was Llywelyn behind the arrow attack? Since Ollie has been revealed to be able to sense attacks, it makes sense for anyone after Tristan to remove Ollie from the board,” Dyfri says calmly, as is reporting on staff turnover and not his brother’s life .

I stare at Dyfri as my mind whirls and tries to unpack everything he just said. It is alarming to think that Llywelyn’s challenge could be sinister and not simply genuine outrage. What if I was goaded and manipulated into insulting him, precisely so he could challenge Tristan? And then potentially get rid of me.

On the other hand, being reminded that I did actually save Tristan’s life and have done some good, feels bloody brilliant. I do have some redeeming qualities.

“Ollie, who gave you the dagger for your attempt on Tristan?” says Rhydian.

His words are like being doused with a bucket of cold water. Talk about raining on my parade. What a mood killer. I guess I have to admit that saving Tristan’s life only makes up for trying to take it myself. It really doesn’t give me any brownie points.

“Ollie?” asks Tristan.

I look at him. I can clearly see the emo boy in the alley. I can think of the words I want to say to describe him. But my tongue just won’t move. It is such a strange feeling.

Dyfri leans forward. “Was it Llywelyn?”

Mabon gasps.

Beside me, Tristan flinches as if struck.

Rhydian’s face is cold and expressionless, but his stare is boring into me.

What? A minute ago, the theory was Llywelyn was trying to take me out. Now it has jumped to suspecting I’m actually in cahoots with the wank-stain?

Oh no, no, no. This can’t be happening. They can’t think I’m working with Llywelyn. Tristan can’t believe I’m a rat, or a mole, or whatever the fucking term is. Llywelyn is a complete slimeball. I’d never work with someone like that.

But this stupid spell is sealing my lips. Seems I can’t say who it is not. Which makes sense, otherwise they could just sit here with a long list of names, asking if it was them, and it would clearly be the one I couldn’t answer.

I stare imploringly at Tristan. He has to know the truth. Surely he can feel it in his bones? I’m a fuckup, but I’d never purposefully betray him. I didn’t try to assassinate him so I could worm my way into his bed.

Tristan flashes me a quick smile and gives my hand a squeeze. Thank fuck for that. I could cry with relief. The intensity of it is overwhelming. I think I am actually trembling. Shitting hell, apparently, Tristan thinking well of me is deeply important to my sense of well-being. How inconvenient.

“The geas is strong,” says Dyfri, startling me from my thoughts. “The nisny is nothing more than a pawn.”

Oh my god. Dyfri is standing up for me? I thought he hated me? This is wonderful.

“He is not intelligent enough for anything else,” he adds.

The little motherfucker. I start to glare daggers at him, but then I quickly remember that I never, ever want to be poisoned ever again, so I scowl furiously down at the table instead.

The conversation continues without me while I focus on getting my temper under control. Poisoning threats aside, Dyfri is right, so there is no need to be pissed off at what he said. I really don’t have a devious, calculating mind. When I play chess, all I can do is focus on one move at a time. Planning several moves ahead is completely beyond me .

I am a nasty, violent, selfish asshole. But a straightforward one. If you piss me off, I attack. I don’t plan a complicated revenge.

I suck in a deep breath. Yeah, if you piss me off, I throw water on your face and cause a whole fucking shit ton of drama because I’m incapable of thinking ahead.

It is time I grew up.