9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine

I ’m in public in my absurd Princess Leia outfit again. Mabon has changed the tiny strips of silk to ones that match his eyes, but it’s basically the same costume. Nearly all of me is exposed. I look exactly like a sex slave. I mean, I guess the collar and chain give that away. Even so, being dressed like this is a humiliation like no other.

I would say that all the fey in this room are undressing me with their eyes, but I’m already undressed. So instead, they are feasting on the sight of my flesh and picturing all sorts of carnal depravity. I can see it in their expressions.

Mabon can clearly see it too, and it’s making him preen like the proudest peacock that ever lived. He is flicking his hair over his shoulder and smirking at everyone.

Heaven help me. I drop my gaze to my lap and try to pretend this isn’t happening. Or that it will end soon. But Mabon doesn’t seem as if he is planning to leave anytime in the near future. He looks very comfortable, sprawled back against his cushions. I’m sitting on identical cushions next to him and they are nowhere near as comfy as he is making out. Perhaps it’s years of practice. Or familiarity. Or the Hookah pipe he is holding elegantly in one long-fingered hand.

The smoke coiling around the room doesn’t smell like weed or shisha, but I’m willing to bet on my mum’s life that it is the fey equivalent.

It doesn’t seem to be affecting me, and I don’t know if that is because I’m not sucking on a pipe directly or because it doesn’t work on humans. Either way, it’s good news for me. I’m sitting here stone cold sober, in a room full of relaxed fey. It’s a prime opportunity to overhear useful information. Somebody is bound to let something slip that they shouldn’t. All I need to do is listen. And stop being a drama queen over what I’m wearing, and concentrate.

The fey woman sitting closest to me is complaining to her friend about supply lines. It sounds like she is one of the fey who have replaced the CEOs of big companies. This is exactly the type of intelligence I need to be gathering.

But my attention is snatched away by someone striding right up to Mabon and towering over him.

Mabon looks up languidly with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Greetings, my favourite brother,” he drawls.

The newcomer scowls, his otherwise pleasant features twisting into a sneer of disdain. His golden hair is tied up in the most elaborate array of twists and plaits I have seen yet. Other than the fact he has horns, and is beautiful, I see no resemblance to Mabon at all. Are they really brothers?

“Where is Dyfri? You two are usually as thick as thieves,” he asks.

Mabon shrugs as he lifts his pipe to his mouth. “Making potions I imagine. I’m not his keeper.”

The newcomer scowls again.

“Oh do sit down, Llywelyn. You are blocking people from seeing my pet,” says Mabon.

Llywelyn’s yellow, cat-slitted eyes rake over me in disgust, but he steps to the side and gracefully lowers himself onto a cushion next to Mabon.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’d take a brute for a pet.”

Mabon smiles sweetly. “Frightened little things aren’t to everyone’s taste.”

Llywelyn’s eyes narrow, as if he is trying to figure out if he has been insulted or not. Clearly, intelligence is not one of his strong points. If he even has any strong points. This guy is such a dickhead. I wouldn’t at all be surprised to learn that he has absolutely no redeeming qualities at all.

“Since you are busy with your new pet, why don’t I help you with some of the duties Rhydian left you?” Llywelyn says.

A snort escapes me, but I quickly cover it with a cough. Mabon flashes me a quick glance, amusement dancing in his sparkling eyes, before he turns back to his brother.

“That’s so kind of you!” Mabon gushes. “But there is no need. I can manage.”

Anger flashes in Llywelyn’s eyes, but he simply nods and picks up a hookah pipe. That’s interesting. It seems he is not completely stupid like I first thought. But definitely not the brightest. Did he really think that blatant play for power was going to work? Surely he has to know that Mabon is far too clever to fall for that?

Cold yellow eyes roam all over me again. It’s hard not to shudder. Bizarrely, his gaze feels far more violating than anything Mabon has done to me. And I’m so not going to try to unpack that right now.

“I suppose he has good stamina,” Llywelyn says begrudgingly.

Fucking hell. I’m just going to stare at the floor. I don’t want this asshat to see me blushing. I will not give him that satisfaction.

“He has,” agrees Mabon.

And he sounds so fucking proud. And pleased. Like the cat who has got the cream. Oh lord, that was a terrible metaphor to think of. Now my memory is gleefully replaying utterly filthy things. And my imagination is adding new twists.

I want to groan and cover my burning face with my hands, but that will only draw more attention. So I just have to sit here. And suffer.

“Is he submissive? As a pet should be?”

Mabon takes a long draw on his pipe. “Very.”

My head nearly snaps up to glare at him. How dare he! Outrage is beating through my heart. But the cold evidence all around me keeps me frozen in place. I’m sitting placidly by his feet. With his collar around my neck. While practically naked.

I’ve never tried to fight him. Or raise a hand to him. I may have my reasons, but I have surrendered to my situation and done nothing but submit to him.

Mabon is only speaking the truth. I have no right to be insulted.

I wallow in the truth of that for a few heartbeats, but then a pair of white boots step into my line of sight. Automatically, my gaze snaps up. I didn’t hear this guy approach at all. He is tall, like all fey are. He has no horns or antlers. Just an array of snow white hair in overly complicated coils. Some strands tumble free all the way down to his waist and it is a truly striking look.

His eyes are eerie. Clear like ice. And the way he is looking at Mabon is all kinds of unsettling.

“Duke Carian!” Mabon calls brightly. “Come, join us!” He pats a cushion next to him.

The duke gives a little bow. “I shall be delighted to, Your Highness.”

He drops down with sinuous grace, and settles incredibly close to Mabon. His body language is predatory and dominating.

On Mabon’s other side, Llywelyn makes some hasty apology and flees. Another interesting action to note. Mabon’s brother knows when it is time for the grown-ups to talk.

“You are looking truly delightful today, Your Highness,” Duke Carian says with all the charm of a snake.

Mabon giggles and turns his body towards the duke.

What the hell? I thought there was going to be proper adult conversation. Barbed and wounding. Possibly laced with thinly veiled threats. Not this inane flirting. And why on earth is Mabon responding to it? Surely he isn’t fooled by this sleazy cockwomble? Mabon has to have better taste. And sense. Surely?

“I do hope your new pet has not tired you out? He looks vigorous.”

Mabon giggles again and shifts his grip on my leash, tightening the chain between us.

“No one is as vigorous as you, your grace,” whispers Mabon seductively.

My stomach heaves. Mabon and this slimeball? That’s disgusting. Though I have no idea why the thought is bothering me so much. It is literally none of my business and nothing to do with me.

“Glad to hear it,” hisses the duke sibilantly, as he leans in closer to Mabon.

Mabon lets out a soft, flirtatious sigh that sets my teeth on edge. He also leans closer to the duke, and I snatch my gaze away. I’ve seen enough. This is sickening. They are going to be pawing at each other any minute now.

My collar is twitching. Grimacing, I slide a finger under it to itch at the skin. The collar vibrates against my finger. That’s odd. Is it a protection spell to stop me fiddling with it?

I remove my finger. But I can still feel the collar shaking ever so slightly. My gaze runs along the taut silver chain all the way up to where it is wrapped around Mabon’s hand.

He is shaking. Mabon is shaking. Trembling.

His eyes are wide and calm as he stares at the duke with his full attention. His expression coy and pleased. But I can feel it. Physically.

Mabon is scared of this man.

He does have taste. And sense. And I’m far more relieved and delighted by that than I should be. But wait, that is not important right now. Mabon is frightened. Of this asshat. But Mabon is a prince, and this tosser is a duke, so why doesn’t Mabon just tell him to piss off? What is going on here?

I watch him for a moment, but all I can see is salacious flirting as he and the duke whisper sweet nothings at each other. Is it because we are in public? Is the duke powerful enough that insulting him is a bad idea? But that can’t be right. Mabon knows how to handle people. I saw it at that breakfast. I saw it just now with his brother. I’m sure Mabon could tell this bastard to fuck off, gently and politely.

There is something else going on here. Something dark and insidious.

Mabon’s words from earlier echo around my mind. ‘No one is as vigorous as you.’

The horror of that thought is too much for my mind to cope with. Has this piece of shit hurt Mabon? My hands clench into fists. The desire to punch this smug bastard in the face is so very strong that I’m shaking with it. But even I know that is a stupid thing to do.

I can’t hit the asswipe. But I can do the next best thing. I can get Mabon away from him. I’ve heard my friends recount thousands of stories of how they have rescued girls from creeps in pubs and nightclubs. Usually I only have to glare and my size does the rest. But I still know what to do.

I wrap my arms around my stomach and groan loudly.

Mabon’s gorgeous eyes turn to me. The silver creep looks at me too.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I gasp.

They both simply continue to stare at me. Blank expressions. Completely unmoved by my professed predicament.

“Or shit myself!” I add as inspiration strikes.

Disgust flows across the bellend’s face, and he recoils from me. Mabon jumps to his feet.

“I’m terribly sorry, your grace. Please excuse me while I see to my pet.”

The duke nods hastily. He pulls his legs up, away from me.

Mabon takes my arm and hurries us out of the room. It takes all my willpower not to look over my shoulder and smirk in triumph at the duke.

One nil to me, you bastard.