13. Chapter 13

Chapter thirteen

B learily, I open my eyes. It’s dark and quiet. Mabon has slipped into bed behind me. He is back late. I wonder where he has been?

He presses up to my back and the long slender heat of him spoons me. His hand drifts over my stomach, heading lower.

My arousal stirs at the exact same time as memories from earlier today come flooding back. The horrors of the duel. Mabon’s cold indifference.

I slide away from him. “Get the fuck off of me!”

He freezes. Suddenly as motionless and lifeless as a marble statue. Then he clicks his fingers and the lamps flare to life. I feel him shift position.

“Look at me.” Bizarrely, it sounds more like a request than an order.

But I turn around anyway. Better safe than sorry. He is sitting up in the bed, sheets pooled in his lap, but naked as far as I can tell.

His amethyst eyes rake over me. Assessing. Probing. Considering. It is so damn hard not to squirm under the scrutiny. I sit up, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

“What’s got you all grumpy?” he asks.

His condescending tone grates on every single one of my last nerves.

“You watched someone be raped for entertainment!” I yell.

Mabon blinks slowly but seems otherwise completely unruffled by my fury. A slight scowl mars his perfect features.

“I didn’t order it to happen.”

Heaven help me. If he were human, he’d be completely unhinged. A psychopath utterly incapable of empathy. But he is not a human, and perhaps I shouldn’t hold him to the same standards.

“You didn’t stop it,” I say between gritted teeth.

He gives me a long, unreadable look. Then he sighs dramatically.

“I’m flattered you think I wield that much power.”

I’m staring blankly at him. I know I am, but I can’t stop it. Of all the things I thought he was going to say, this was nowhere near the list.

“You’re a prince,” I say.

Mabon rolls his eyes. “I’m not the crown prince. I’m a second son. And not even Rhydian has absolute power. No one does. No one ever has. Rulers command by agreement.”

I’m really staring now. I think my jaw might have dropped open. Mabon’s expression is calm, a little bored even, but the deep concepts he is sprouting are hurting my head.

“What does that mean?” I ask weakly.

My cheeks are heating. I feel dumb for assuming that Mabon was shallow. I thought I was better than that. He showed me at breakfast with the court that there was more to him. But I didn’t suspect this level of depth. I saw his pretty face and his camp and flirty behaviour and wrote him off as mostly a flighty air-headed person.

“People only rule and have power because other people choose to give it to them. It can be taken away at any time.”

Now I’m completely lost for words. This is far too philosophical for the middle of the night.

Mabon huffs. “Didn’t your people chop off your royal family’s heads?”

“That was the French!” I exclaim in outrage.

He waves his hand dismissively in the air. “Same thing.”

My mouth opens and shuts several times before I can get the words out. “English and French are not the same! We fought bloody wars over it, thank you very much! Us English kept our royal family right up until you lot appeared and did something with them!”

Mabon’s eyes narrow, and suddenly I remember that he is my captor. And a ruthless, psychopathic son of a bitch.

My jaw slams shut. I need to shut the fuck up right now.

I try my best wide-eyed innocent look. His brows furrow in suspicion, but he doesn’t order my execution. I guess that is a victory of sorts.

In the silence, my mind whirls. At the crux of his highly intelligent conversation, was the implication that he couldn’t stop the atrocity that I witnessed. His people are too bloodthirsty and cruel to accept an order to desist.

“Did you want to stop it?” I ask because I need to know. Is the man I’m sleeping with actually a heartless monster?

A pained look flashes deep in Mabon’s eyes. It makes my heart thump and my chest ache. I wish I had never asked.

“You don’t get to know all my secrets!”

I think he is trying to sound angry, but to my ears, he sounds upset. Distraught even.

“Now, can I play with Mister Dinky?”

My body flinches at the abrupt change of conversation. My cock starts to stir. Just like that. It doesn’t need any further encouragement. My cock is a slut. It doesn’t care about morals or that I’m still confused and partially angry.

But I’m not my cock, and I do care about those things.

“No,” I say, and it’s a fight to not frame it as a question.

He asked. This is my answer. Doesn’t mean he is going to listen to it. He could very well pin me down and play with me anyway.

Mabon exhales loudly. A noise of utter disgust and annoyance. He falls down onto the mattress flamboyantly, with far more force than his slender frame warrants. He makes another displeased sound, and rolls away from me, taking the blankets with him.

I stare at his back.

He snaps his fingers, and the room is plunged into darkness.

Carefully, I lie down. Emotions are flooding me, and the strongest one is tasting an awful lot like disappointment. And that is surprising. And shocking. What the hell is happening to me?

Is crazy contagious? Because I’m becoming every bit as unhinged as Mabon.

T his food is delicious. The fey certainly know how to cook, or at least their servants do. I’m eating far better as a pet than I ever did as a free man.

Across the intimate two-seater table, Mabon is eating absentmindedly while fully engrossed in the tablet he is holding in one hand. It is an incongruous sight. The ultra modern human technology in the hand of someone from literal fairy tales. iPad, dark horns, purple hair and silk robes is a strange and jarring combination.

Or maybe it’s not that odd and I’m just grumpy because I don’t like being ignored. I didn’t think I was that childish, but lately I’ve been learning a lot of different things about myself. Most of them bewildering.

Suddenly, Mabon clicks his fingers. I jump and look around for the magic, but all that happens is a pair of shadowy servants come and clear the table.

I glare at them, and then at Mabon. I hadn’t finished eating.

Finally, he puts the tablet down and looks at me. My glaring doesn’t seem to register at all. It has zero effect on him.

“I’m about to receive a guest and I want you to be on your very best behaviour,” Mabon says.

My tongue tangles on all the things I want to say and I end up silent. Staring at him impotently. He is such an insufferable, condescending asshole, and I can’t even yell at him about it.

He stands up and fusses with his hair and robes.

“Kneel,” he says without looking at me.

Sighing heavily, I slide from my chair to my knees.

He steps up to me and runs a hand through my hair. His fingers feel nice. Cool and soothing. It is taking everything I have not to lean into his touch.

“Good boy,” he beams down at me, with a flash of deadly dimples.

My heart does cartwheels and my stomach does a flip. How the hell does he do this to me? I truly don’t understand it.

A knock at the door pulls my attention away from my ruminating.

“Enter!” calls Mabon.

The door opens and the blue-haired fey who lost the duel walks in. His sapphire hair is all down and falling to just past his waist. He starts to bow, stops himself and drops into an awkward curtsey instead.

Why is he here? Is Mabon checking on him? Does my owner actually have a heart after all?

“You are good with languages?” asks Mabon with no further preamble.

What the fuck? Straight to business with not a whisper of sympathy or compassion?

Osian looks startled. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Mabon grins. “Excellent. I need another secretary on my staff.”

The room falls silent. Osian seems utterly taken aback and completely lost for words. Mabon waits with a patience I never would have guessed he possessed.

Eventually, Osian remembers how to talk. “I…I am a rhocyn now. I would bring shame to your household.”

Mabon waves his hand in the air, in his favourite dismissive gesture. “Nonsense,” he says sharply. “Everyone knows my brother is my dearest friend and he is a rhocyn.”

“I meant no offence!” Osian says hurriedly and his face pales.

“I know,” says Mabon, almost cheerfully.

Osian stares at him. Looking even more flummoxed than before. The silence stretches until Mabon breaks it.

“Those who followed Rhydian to these foreign shores were hoping for a different court.”

Osian licks his lips and nods. His eyes are wide and uncertain.

“Well then,” says Mabon cheerfully. “Let’s make a different court!”

The stunned blue-haired fey nods again.

Mabon says, “Do you accept my offer?”

Osian bows low. “It would be my honour, Your Highness.”

“Excellent!” exclaims Mabon.

Osian turns to leave but then hesitates. He gives Mabon an uncertain look, as if he is not sure if he should speak. The prince nods encouragingly, a lovely warm gesture.

Osian swallows. “I don’t know the details, Your Highness. But be wary of Duke Carian. He has you in his sights.”

Mabon stiffens ever so slightly. A vague correction of posture. If I wasn’t kneeling by his side, I never would have caught it.

“Thank you, Osian,” he says calmly.

Osian bows, then stops and changes it to a curtsey before quietly slipping out of the door.

I look up at Mabon. “You helped him. You gave him a job.”

Mabon is still staring at the door. “I gave him a very prestigious position,” he sniffs.

“Thank you,” I say.

His head turns, and he looks down at me. One elegant eyebrow arches.

“I didn’t do it for you, foolish human. I do not care for the opinions of pets.”

His haughty look is perfect. He is every inch the smug prince. But I have my doubts. I think deep down inside, Mabon does have a heart hidden somewhere.

And I want to find it.