Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Jack
Ineed air. Fresh air, and five minutes away from the endless parade of MPs who seem to think the solution to every diplomatic crisis is to shout louder and gesture more emphatically.
Today’s emergency session was particularly brutal.
The Scottish situation is not calming down as fast as we would like, and now there are rumours that Wales might follow suit if we can’t demonstrate that the fey treaty actually benefits the constituent nations.
Meanwhile, reports are coming in from other human settlements around the world about increased fey military presence, which has everyone wondering if we’re heading toward some sort of totalitarian occupation rather than this mirage of cooperation.
And through it all, I kept catching myself glancing at Dyfri during the briefings, looking for any sign that he knew more than he was letting on. The way his jaw tightened when certain topics came up. The careful neutrality of his voice when discussing fey military strategy.
I hate that I sometimes wonder if my husband is as committed to this alliance as I hope he is. I hate that it is sensible to wonder if he is a spy.
I was told to keep him happy. That anything else was above my paygrade. But I’m not capable of turning my brain off. I want to know who my heart is falling for.
The intimacy we shared, all the small gestures and glances, made me feel close to my husband. Hopeful that we had a future together. But now, after hours of the real world crashing in and stark reminders that he is a prince of an occupying force, all my doubts have come rushing back.
“Rough day?”
The voice comes from directly behind me, Welsh accent thick as honey and just as smooth. I jolt upright, spinning around to find a tall man with pale blond hair watching me with vivid green eyes that seem to see right through me.
I’ve never seen him before in my life, but something about his presence makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He’s wearing an expensive suit that fits him perfectly, but he moves like a predator barely contained by civilised clothing.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I ask, getting to my feet.
“Not yet.” He steps closer, and I’m struck by how bloody tall he is. I’m six foot seven, and he’s easily matching me for height. “But I know you, Jack Caxton. Son of the Prime Minister. Husband to a fey prince. Man caught between two worlds.”
My mouth goes dry. “If you’re press...”
“I’m not press.” His voice is quiet, but there’s something dangerous in it that makes me want to take a step back. “I’m someone who thinks you might be useful.”
“Useful for what?”
Instead of answering directly, he glances around the garden with those unsettling emerald eyes. “Tell me, how do you feel about the current state of affairs? Happy with how things are progressing?”
The question feels loaded, like a trap waiting to spring. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do.” He moves closer again, close enough that I can see the sharp intelligence in his gaze. “The fey occupation. The way your own people look at you like you’re a collaborator.”
My heart starts hammering. “I think you should leave.”
“Should I?” He tilts his head slightly, studying me like I’m an interesting specimen. “Even though we both know you’ve been having the same thoughts? Wondering if there might be another way?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
“No? Then why do you look so worried every time your husband briefs your father’s cabinet? Why do you ask so many questions about fey military positioning? Why do you study those cultural briefings like you’re looking for weaknesses rather than understanding?”
The accuracy of his observations hits me like a physical blow. How the hell does he know about any of that? And if he knows, then Dyfri must know too. My husband knows I have suspicions about him, and the thought of that is breaking my heart.
“Who are you?” I demand.
“Someone who thinks the current arrangement isn’t sustainable,” he says simply. “Someone who believes humans should be allowed to govern themselves. Someone who might have friends who share those beliefs.”
Friends. He’s talking about The Resistance. Freedom fighters who cause Dad so many problems but who I can’t help admiring.
“Even if that were true,” I say carefully, “even if I agreed with you, which I’m not saying I do... I’m married to a fey prince. Whatever I hear, whatever I know, he knows.”
“Does he?” The man’s smile is sharp as a knife.
Before I can respond to that loaded question, I hear footsteps on the gravel path. My heart sinks as I recognise the graceful gait, and when I turn, Dyfri is walking toward us with that fluid stride that marks him as unmistakably fey.
When I look back, the blond man has vanished. Simply gone, as if he was never there at all.
“Jack?” Dyfri’s voice is carefully neutral, but his dark eyes are scanning the garden with sharp attention. “I thought I heard voices.”
My mouth opens and closes uselessly. How do you explain that you were just approached by someone who is organising Resistance against the fey when your husband is literally one of the fey?
“I was just... getting some air,” I manage. “Talking to myself, probably. You know how it is after those meetings.”
Dyfri stops a few feet away, close enough that I can see the way his nostrils flare slightly, as if he’s scenting the air. “Hmm. Talking to yourself in a Welsh accent?”
Shit. Fuck. How did he...?
“Dyfri, I can explain...”
“Can you?” He steps closer, and for a moment I’m reminded that for all his beauty, he’s still a creature that could probably kill me without breaking a sweat. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds rather like someone was trying to recruit you for something.”
Terror claws at my throat. This is it. This is where everything falls apart. Where I get arrested for treason or hauled before some fey tribunal or some other terrible thing that means I never see Dyfri again.
I should yell for security. I should have Dyfri contained, if that is in any way possible. I should inform Dad immediately about this catastrophe.
“Are you going to report this?” I ask quietly.
The question seems to surprise Dyfri. His eyebrows rise slightly, and something shifts in his expression.
“Report it to whom?” he asks.
“The fey court. Your brother. Whoever you’re supposed to tell when humans start talking about Resistance.”
For a long moment, Dyfri just stares at me. Gravity thickens around us. It feels like a standoff in an old Western film.
“I should call someone,” I croak.
“Why?” says Dyfri, and neither his tone or expression is giving anything away.
“Because now you think I’m conspiring against the fey, and this could escalate to a war.”
Dyfri crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh yes, because humans were so good at fighting the fey when we stepped into your world and took control.”
I gulp.
“There wouldn’t be a war,” Dyfri continues. “Humans would be squished like bugs.”
I can feel all the blood draining from my face. Where it is going, I have no idea. All I know is that I’m pale and shaking.
Dyfri tilts his head to the side. “So are you going to call someone and attempt to have me neutralised before I can tell tales?”
My heart thumps low and heavy. I should. It is the sensible thing to do, but the thought of Dyfri being hurt is abhorrent.
“How about we sit down and have a talk before you decide to do something stupid?”
I sit, mostly because my legs feel like they might give out. Dyfri settles beside me, close enough that our knees almost touch.
“Tell me,” he says conversationally, “what do you know about seelie and unseelie fey?”
The change of topic gives me whiplash. “Nothing. Should I?”
“Probably, considering you married a fey.” His smile is wry.
“We are ancient enemies, Jack. Two courts that have been at war for millennia. The seelie are considered the ‘lighter’ fey. More aligned with order, tradition, formal power structures. The unseelie are... chaotic. Darker. They favour destruction and change.”
I frown as I try to follow all of this.
“The fey currently occupying your world are seelie.” Dyfri’s voice takes on a harder edge. “But here’s what your government doesn’t know, what my brother doesn’t want to admit.” He pauses for a moment. “This entire invasion was orchestrated by the unseelie.”
My brain struggles to process this. “What do you mean, orchestrated?”
“I mean, they manipulated us into coming here. They played the long game with spies and infiltrators. Whispers and lies. Fed us intelligence about human military capabilities, convinced us that a swift occupation was necessary to prevent humans from developing weapons that could threaten the fey realm.” Dyfri’s jaw tightens.
“They wanted us distracted, spread thin, fighting on multiple fronts while our homeland lies vulnerable.”
“You think they’re going to attack seelie lands while your armies are here?”
“I don’t think it, Jack. I know it. The signs have been building for months. Raids on Seelie settlements near the Unseelie borders. Strategic targets hit with surgical precision. They’re testing our defences, probing for weaknesses.”
The implications hit me like a freight train. “So, this whole invasion...”
“Is built on a lie.” Dyfri’s voice is bitter. “We’re trapped in an occupation we can’t afford to maintain while our real enemies mass for an attack behind our backs that we can’t defend against.”
I stare at him, my mind racing. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” Dyfri says quietly, “sooner or later, the seelie court is going to have to choose between holding onto this world or defending our own. And when that choice comes, a lot of people are going to die in the crossfire unless someone finds a third option.”
“What kind of third option?”