Chapter 39

How has my life come to this? A few months ago, I was a bored, disillusioned call handler. Now look at me, standing in a throne room in Buckingham Palace, about to fight a duel, while my fey prince lover watches from his throne.

It is a lot to take in. The last couple of days have flown by far too fast. I can't believe it is the full moon and that I am all out of time.

This enormous room is packed full of fey. Everyone wants to see me die. Which is a little offensive in my opinion. But I guess, if all goes well, I will be showing them.

Iestyn smirks at me, but I ignore him. The huge chandeliers are casting everything in a strange glittering light. It is a little disorientating. Not that it matters. I only need to see Iestyn and this circle marked out with toadstools that we must stay in.

We each have a small oak table to place our weapons on. Iestyn's is bare and I just know that is an insult. He is announcing that he can defeat me easily, with only his innate magic. Well, fuck him. My table only has two items instead of the allotted three. So he can shove that where the sun don't shine.

The murmuring voices of the waiting crowd are falling quiet. It must be nearly moonrise. A shiver dances over my skin. I can't wait for this to be all over. One way or another. I'm tired of feeling sick and drawn out with nerves. Of anxious anticipation taking over my every waking moment. It needs to end.

I feel Rhydian's eyes on me. I want to look up at him, looking all regal and impressive on his dark mahogany throne, but I'm going to resist. If I see his fear and worry for me, it will break my heart and be far too much of a distraction.

I know Dyfri and Mabon and Tristan are nearby. I'm pretty sure I even caught a glimpse of Pinky. But I'm keeping my attention on Iestyn and this mushroom circle we are standing in. Right now, nothing else matters. If there ever was a moment to finally learn how to concentrate, this is it. I need to concentrate and focus as if my life depends on it. Because it does.

A whisper echoes around the throne room. I have to be imagining it, because I am only human, but I swear I can sense the full moon rising. Just as all these fey seem to be able to do. A strange tingling on my skin and a zinging in my blood, as if I have suddenly been imbued with more energy.

Silence falls. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rhydian stiffen and clench the armrest of his throne. I take a deep breath and try to calm my racing heart.

Iestyn grins at me. As the one challenged, he gets to strike the first blow. Everything hinges on him being an asshole and doing something for show. If he actually takes this seriously and launches a proper attack…I'm dead.

My muscles begin to quiver. Sweat is beading my brow. Iestyn is one hundred per cent an asshole, I remind myself. It is going to be fine. Everything is fine.

A soft gong sounds.

Round one has begun.

Iestyn waves his hand in a careless, nearly dismissive gesture, and green fire erupts over me. I bite back my yelp. It is hot, but not as scorching as true flames. The witch fire dances over me. My silk robes start to singe and burn. I hiss as heat swirls over my skin. My clothes burn away. Black ashes drifting on a magical breeze.

Everyone laughs. I hold my head up high. I've never had any hangups about nudity. Probably thanks to my mother's slightly hippy ways. I always figured that my body was a body. Everyone had one and if mine wasn't the most beautiful in the world, then so what?

And now, thanks to fey food, my body is gorgeous and I'm extremely proud of it.

So fuck you, Iestyn. This hasn't freaked me out or thrown me off balance at all.

Though, I have to admit that I'm grateful I asked Rhydian to put the cockbag back on me. Purely for my own kinky pleasure, because I adore my cock belonging to Rhydian. But, anyway, the point is. The cockbag is on. It survived the flames and even though my balls and ass are out, I don't feel anywhere near as naked as I probably should.

Iestyn's dull green eyes narrow. He can see how unbothered I am, and now he is pissed off. Good.

The gong sounds.

My turn.

I reach over to my table and pick up the silver, jewel encrusted goblet. I hand it to Iestyn. He takes it with a musical, mocking laugh.

"My personal wards can handle any poison, little pet," he smirks.

"Look at it," I say calmly.

He looks down. He freezes. His face drains of all colour.

My heart does a tentative little stucco of relief and hope. It is working. Iestyn is caught by the salt. So far, everything is going to plan.

The gong sounds.

Iestyn's turn.

He doesn't move. Not one single muscle. He is not even blinking. One small bead of sweat is forming on his forehead. The crowd is whispering and murmuring. I can hear shocked and alarmed gasps. Only Rhydian, Mabon and Dyfri know what is in the goblet.

The soft sound of the gong is the most beautiful noise I have ever heard. Iestyn missed his turn. Now it is my turn again. So far, so good.

I pick up my second and only remaining item. A plastic carrier bag. I pull the heavy cast iron frying pan out of it. Mint leaves fly out everywhere. The fey standing closest to the edge of the circle, step back in horror. Dyfri was right, the mint did hide the iron from their senses.

I snatch a quick breath and place the very large frying pan on the floor, right in front of Iestyn's feet. The flipping thing weighs a ton.

I step back and watch. I can't breathe, I can't even blink. I'm gambling my life on an old folk song from the Hebrides. And I'm hoping the compulsion of the salt will not cancel out the compulsion of the iron pan. As well as trusting that the cookware shop and manufacturers are truthful and the pan is pure cast iron and not an alloy.

Iestyn is fully sweating now. He makes a slight whimper and then steps jerkily into the pan. His green eyes widen. His breath hitches. His mouth twitches into a grimace.

The gong sounds.

Iestyn's turn.

A wave of dizziness washes over me but my lungs are still refusing to work. I watch, utterly transfixed, as Iestyn fights the salt and the iron. He is making the tiniest of movements. Emitting the quietest of noises, but it is clear he is fighting with everything he has.

Time stretches and drags. The crowd is chattering with agitation. I swear it has been a thousand years since Iestyn's turn began.

Suddenly, the gong rings out.

My lungs gasp in air, and my sight dims for a moment. I'm shaking now and giddy with glee. But it is not over yet.

I step up close to Iestyn and search for the pins holding his hair up. I'm so glad Mabon let me practise on him, down to one braid, or I'd mess this up completely. It was worth Rhydian's badly contained strop about me undoing his brother's hair, because otherwise I wouldn't have a clue what I was doing.

As it is, I find the first pin quickly. I pull it out and some of Iestyn's moss green hair tumbles down.

I walk slowly around him, anticlockwise. Pulling pins out as I go. More and more soft hair tumbles loose and free down to his waist. He whimpers and shudders but still can't move.

I make it all the way around him, back to where I started, facing him. His hair is all unbound now, and it is annoying how good it looks. Soft, glossy, thick, and full of gentle waves. But his skin is deathly pale and his eyes nearly bulging.

He flickers for a heartbeat, like a computer game glitching. And suddenly he is shorter. Not so unnaturally slender. His face is softer. And younger. His eyes are still fixed on the salt in the goblet he is holding, but they are no longer a dull malachite. They are dazzling emerald.

I blink in confusion.

"He is so weakened his glamour has failed!" exclaims someone loudly. Someone who sounds an awful lot like Mabon. Bless him.

But I'm still confused. Why would anyone glamour themselves to look less attractive? It doesn't make any sense at all. Whatever the reason, I don't have time to ponder it now.

I step back up close to him. He flinches and even though his eyes are still fixed on the salt, I can see the terror in them. My stomach twists.

I clear my throat.

"I will not make a rhocyn of you. I will not kill you. I will banish you."

Someone opens a swirling purple and pink portal right behind Iestyn. I've won. Fair and square. Enacting my decree doesn't constitute as helping me. Thank fuck.

I have a very strong feeling the portal is Rhydian's, but there is no time to glance up at him to check.

I snatch the goblet of salt from Iestyn's lax fingers and shove him hard in the middle of his chest. He staggers backwards out of the frying pan and into the portal. He shrieks but the sound is cut off short as the portal winks out of existence and he disappears. Iestyn is gone.

The throne room erupts into noise and movement. Claps and whoops and exclamations of surprise.

I'm staring at the spot Iestyn was just standing in. It is hard to comprehend, but it is true.

It's done. It's over.

I won.

Rhydian strides down from his throne and wraps me in his arms. I breathe in the scent of him. Exult in the feel of being in his in embrace.

"I love you," he whispers for my ears only. "I'm very glad you are alive."

My stomach is twisting, and my heart is trying to beat faster than a hummingbird's wings.

"I love you too," I whisper back.

Could this day get any better?