33. Chapter 33

Chapter thirty-three

I cy cold water shoots up my nose and fills my mouth. I’m coughing, spluttering and wheezing. I scramble up. It’s morning. I’m in the hotel room. Mabon is standing by the bed glaring at me. He has an empty cup in one hand and is holding up his loose hair with his other. His chest is bare and there is a towel slung low around his hips.

“Give me a braid.”

The little shit. But as I stare into his amethyst eyes, all my outrage and indignation drains away. This is extremely important to him. And I promised I would. Without him needing to have sex with me. Then I had sex with him.

I groan and rub the last droplets of water from my eyes. “Come here then.”

A look of profound relief flows over his face. He moves swiftly and sits in front of me, seemingly uncaring of the wet patch he created by chucking water all over me.

He hands me the shoelace, but keeps a hand in his hair, holding a fistful up.

“Mabon, you kind of need to let go of your hair if you want me to tie it up.”

He shudders. “It’s…It’s something only your one true love should see.”

His voice is small and agitated. All my insides twist. I haven’t the heart to point out that he showed me the other day, when I last did his hair. Admittedly, his back was to me then, but it is again right now. So, just like last time, I won’t truly be seeing him with his hair down.

“Or everyone, if you are a rhocyn,” he adds miserably.

Oh. Gosh. I get it now. Finally. Having to walk around with your hair down is worse than being forced to walk around naked. How awful. Poor Osian and Dyfri. I had no idea.

“You are not a rhocyn,” I say gently.

His shoulders stiffen and his back goes ramrod straight.

Dismay coils through me. I hate this. I hate what I have done to him. I delivered him to the Resistance, and however good my intentions were, the repercussions are profound. And all my fault.

“What the Resistance did to you doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Mabon shrieks.

Oh crap. I could have worded that better. Especially since the Resistance stole all of Mabon’s jewellery, which I presume included his translator. He is having to muddle through a second language, which can’t be easy.

“Mabon, please don’t fly off the handle,” I beg hurriedly. “I meant, fuck the Resistance.”

He goes very still. “I don’t want to fuck them. They are mean.”

I suck in a big breath. “No, I mean the Resistance are shit. They don’t matter. Ignore them. Forget what they did to you. It’s meaningless.”

A heavy silence falls. It fills the room. It clouds the air. I’m breathing it in and it is everywhere.

“Just like your braids are meaningless,” he says quietly.

“What?”

Mabon sighs despondently. “I know you don’t understand what they mean.”

I swallow. “I’m starting to. A little.”

Another silence. This time it is brief. A pause in time while fate rearranges itself. Then slowly, but decisively, Mabon lets go of his hair and all his silken locks fall free. It is so very, very pretty.

Dutifully, I urge my fingers to start working and I begin twisting his hair into a braid. I’m going to have to get him to teach me how to do this properly.

He sits motionless as I work. I’m not even sure if he is breathing. I tie off the braid with the shoelace and he inhales sharply.

“It is supposed to mean that you claim me. That I’m yours, even though I have been disgraced. It shows that you choose me. Want me.” He draws in another shaky breath. “That you like me.”

My heart pounds, low and heavy. My mind latches on to the last thing he said because that, that one, I understand. That one I have a hope of dealing with.

“I do like you. I told you last night?”

Is he really still so insecure? I thought he was an arrogant, narcissistic prince. I never in a million years would have thought he’d find it this difficult to believe that someone cares for him.

“You like my body,” he huffs dismissively.

“I do like your body,” I confess. “I also like you.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t sound as if he is fishing for compliments. His tone is pure bewilderment. It is shattering my heart into a tiny thousand pieces. How can anyone be this convinced that they are unlovable?

“You are passionate about everything,” I say. “You get excited about shiny things. You fix trees. Sometimes you scare the crap out of me, other times I want to hold you tight and keep you safe. You make the world a brighter place. My life was quiet and dull before I met you. Now it is full of colour.”

He turns slightly. He looks over his shoulder at me. His amethyst eyes are bright and astonished. My hand finds the nape of his neck and I lean in for a kiss. My lips brush over his, and suddenly everything is fire and need.

He turns more towards me and his arms wrap around my neck. His kiss is passion and hunger. Tenderness and yearning. Just like before, he melts into it. As if kissing me is the only thing he has ever wanted. As if he has been waiting his whole life for this.

I hold him in my arms and kiss him with all the feelings that are pouring out of my heart and soul, despite the fact that they don’t make any sense at all.

He was my captor. He is my enemy. He has become my everything.

We kiss and kiss and kiss. Then I pull away, but only because I need to breathe. He keeps his arms around my neck and stares up at me with a look of pure adoration.

Seeing that look in his eyes is overwhelming. My stomach flutters. My guts twist. I’m elated, overjoyed. And terrified.

Fey aren’t human. They are mythical, magical, powerful beings. I’m starting to suspect that their emotions run deep, fathomless. As endless as the void. If Mabon truly falls for me, what will it do to him? Will love tear him apart? Destroy him in its intensity?

I get the distinct impression that love doesn’t come easily to fey. That it happens rarely. I never meant to make Mabon fall for me, and quite frankly, I’m astonished that I have. I have no idea how this has happened. Zero clue.

I’ve destroyed his life, and I have been rewarded with his heart. It seems unfair.

I should quash this and unravel the threads that have entwined us together. But I’m not strong enough for that. And maybe I don’t need to be. I could well be being nothing more than an egotistical dickhead in thinking that Mabon is falling in love with me.

He cares for me, for sure. He is fond of me, definitely. And it could be nothing more than that. We can enjoy each other and have a passionate fling as we make our way back to London. Then we will go our separate ways, with no harm done. Leaving nothing but happy memories.

My soul aches at the parting ways part of my plan, but my heart sings at the passionate fling part. That bit sounds lovely. Wonderful. Every bit as amazing as Mabon is.

His gorgeous lips lift up into an adorable pout. “All this kissing has made me hard.”

A laugh bursts out of me. Dizzying and bright. Mabon is wonderful. An utter delight. I wouldn’t change a thing about him. He very clearly is on board with having a passionate fling. All I have to do is allow it to happen.

My concerns and fears can wait. My soul can shut up because I’m going to follow my heart. Right now, I’m going to relish every moment of this. Whatever it is.

And suddenly, just like that, everything is so very simple.

My hand finds its way to his cock. My fingers wrap around it, and Mabon gives an alluring little gasp and wriggle.

“Let me fix that for you, Your Highness,” I grin.

“Yes, you may,” he agrees regally.

Oh yeah? Challenge accepted. I’m going to have him whimpering and surrendering and crying my name. He won’t have a haughty bone left in his body by the time I’m done.

I can’t wait.