Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
Dyfri
Jack’s fingers work with careful precision through my hair, weaving the strands into the intricate pattern of my wedding braid.
Each movement is deliberate and gentle, his touch sending small shivers of warmth across my scalp.
The lamplight catches the silver thread as he works, the same thread that binds us together in more ways than one.
The rest of my hair is already done. Adorned with the gift he gave me on his human festival. Silk ribbons that I am so proud to wear. A symbol of how proud I am to be his.
In our bedroom mirror, I can see the careful furrow of his brow, the way his eyes track each strand to ensure the pattern is perfect. He’s become remarkably skilled at this, my human husband, learning the intricacies of fey customs with the same determination he applies to everything else.
The ritual should be soothing, but tonight it feels bittersweet. I watch our reflection in the mirror as he concentrates, his tongue poking out slightly in the way it does when he’s focused on something important.
“There,” he says softly, securing the end with a knot in the silver thread he gave me on our wedding day. “Perfect.”
But even as warmth blooms in my chest at his gentle care, and his willingness to reaffirm our marriage, sadness sits heavy in my throat like an unswallowed stone. Tonight might be many things ending, and I’m not sure I’m prepared for any of them.
The formal courtly outer-robes laid out on our bed seem to mock me with their elegance.
Deep midnight black silk embroidered with silver thread that matches my braid, the formal regalia of a fey prince.
The fabric whispers of a life I’m about to leave behind forever.
Because even if I return to the realm, stripping me of my title is the very least they will do to me.
Jack meets my eyes in the mirror, his expression growing concerned. Those warm brown eyes that see far too much, that read my moods better than I read them myself.
“Are you sure you want to go tonight?”
His arms come around me, and I lean back against his chest, letting his solid warmth anchor me to the present moment. I marvel again at how natural this has become. How easily he offers comfort without being asked, and how easily I can accept it.
“If all goes well, and I decide to stay, this could be the last time I see three of my brothers,” I say quietly. “Tristan, Mabon and Rhydian. After the portals close, they’ll choose to return to the fey realm rather than stay here as exiles.”
“I’ve already lost Llywelyn,” I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. “He was banished from court. I’ll never see him again, and I didn’t do enough.”
“What did you do?” Jack asks gently, his voice carefully neutral. He never pushes, never demands more than I’m willing to give.
“Not much.” The guilt sits like poison in my veins, familiar and corrosive. “But he wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for me. That little I did manage.”
Jack presses a kiss to the side of my neck, his breath warm against my skin. “That’s more than enough, Love. You can’t save everyone, Dyfri. The weight of the entire world is not your responsibility.”
The words should be comforting, but they bounce off the armour of guilt I’ve worn for so long that it feels like part of my skin. Every person I couldn’t save, every abuse I couldn’t prevent, every small cruelty I witnessed and did nothing to stop. They all pile up like stones in my chest.
I sigh, letting my head fall back against his shoulder. “Then why does it feel as if it is?”
Jack kisses my neck again, soft and lingering. “Well, now it’s mine too. Husbands share responsibilities. That’s what marriage is for.”
The simple declaration makes the tightness in my chest loosen slightly.
Not just the weight of saving two worlds, but the burden of carrying everything alone.
When did I stop having to face things by myself?
When did I acquire someone who willingly shares the load of my guilt and fear and desperate need to protect others?
“Ready?” Jack asks, straightening and offering me his arm with mock formality.
“Ready,” I lie, and let him lead me toward what might be my final goodbye.
The court is in full splendour tonight, all glittering magic and beautiful cruelty dressed in silk and jewels. Music drifts through the air like spun moonlight, and courtiers move in careful patterns that have nothing to do with dancing and everything to do with political positioning.
I scan the crowd and immediately spot Tristan’s distinctive red hair across the ballroom.
He’s deep in animated conversation with Jack, gesturing wildly with obvious enthusiasm.
I knew they’d get along. Tristan is incessantly cheerful and friendly, just like Jack, with an optimism that borders on the delusional.
In any other setting, they’d probably be the best of friends.
My chest tightens as I watch them. Tristan’s laugh carries across the music, bright and genuine. After tonight, I’ll never hear that laugh again. Never see him throw his head back in delight at some clever joke or watch his eyes light up when he’s excited about something.
But there, standing beside my brother with barely concealed irritation, is his human pet. Ollie.
Tiny and beautiful, with golden hair that catches the light and emerald eyes that miss nothing. Bad-tempered and rude on the best of days, but tonight there’s something sharper in his expression. Something that makes my skin crawl with unease.
Ollie knows too much, and while he has never said anything too directly, there’s always been something calculating in the way he looks at me. Like he’s putting together pieces of a puzzle I desperately need him to leave unsolved.
Right now he’s glaring at me across the ballroom, those green eyes burning with undisguised hostility. The intensity of it makes me want to step backwards, to put more distance between us. There’s something almost feral in his expression, like a cornered animal deciding whether to bite or run.
Combined with the knowledge that this is likely the last time I’ll see Tristan, that in the not too distant future my brother will return to the fey realm, and if I choose to stay, Selwyn and I will be alone among humans forever, I’m struggling to keep my emotions in order.
Even if I follow Tristan, Mabon and Rhydian back to the realm, they will hate me for the traitor that I am. Whatever I do. Whatever I choose. I’m going to lose them.
The walls feel like they’re closing in. The music is too loud, the lights too bright, the press of bodies too suffocating. I need air, space, a moment to compose myself before I do something that gives everything away.
I make my way to the drinks table, weaving through clusters of courtiers without really seeing them. The crystal decanters gleam, filled with wines and spirits that sparkle with more than just alcohol. Drinks designed to lower inhibitions and encourage indiscretion.
I position myself with my back to the room. For just a moment, I don’t have to concentrate on looking cold and aloof. For just a moment, I can let the mask slip and breathe.
The crystal decanters blur slightly as I stare at them, fighting to keep control. Everything is changing. Soon there will be no more excuses to return to court. And then, no more brothers to see. It will be just me and Jack and whatever victory we can wrangle.
“Rhocyn.”
The sibilant whisper comes from directly behind me, so close I can feel breath on my neck.
My entire body freezes. Every muscle locks, every nerve screams, every instinct howls at me to run. The word hits me like a physical blow, dragging me back to memories I’ve tried to bury. The taste of fear floods my mouth, metallic and choking. My hands shake as they grip the edge of the table.
No. Not tonight. Not when I’m already so close to breaking.
“Oh, I do apologise,” the voice continues, mocking and sweet as poisoned honey. “I forgot. I meant to say… Your Highness.”
Duke Carian. Of course it’s Duke Carian.
The voice is exactly as I remember it. Cultured and smooth and hiding razor blades beneath silk. How many times did I hear that voice whisper commands in the dark?
“However, just because your hair is no longer loose, doesn’t mean we can’t still play. You did use to warm my bed so well.”
I should turn around. I should face him, tell him to get lost, remind him that I’m no longer a powerless rhocyn he can abuse for his pleasure. I’m fully a prince now. I’m married to the human prime minister’s son. I have protections, status, and power of my own.
But my body won’t obey. I’m trapped in amber, frozen by the weight of too many memories. In my mind, I’m still a frightened youth with unbound hair and no choices. The logic of my changed circumstances can’t compete with the visceral terror that his presence invokes.
I thought I’d gotten rid of him forever by orchestrating his public humiliation. I was so sure he’d stay away in shame and never dare show his face at court again. But here he is, and I can practically taste his hunger for revenge.
His hand settles on my waist, possessive and all too familiar, and I only just bite back a whimper. The touch burns through the silk of my court robes like poison. Every nerve in my body screams in protest, but I still can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything but stand here and endure.
“How dare you touch my husband!”
Jack’s bellow cuts through the music and conversation like a hot knife. The words ring across the ballroom with such fury that all conversations stop mid-sentence. I turn just in time to see him striding toward us, his face thunderous with rage I’ve never seen before.
Before I can process what’s happening, Jack has grabbed Carian and thrown him against the wall. The duke hits the stone with a satisfying crack, his diamond-encrusted jacket jangling like broken wind chimes.
Carian stares up at Jack. Open-mouthed with shock. Clearly too dumbfounded to muster any magic. He’s probably never been physically assaulted in his life, certainly not by a human. The very concept is so far outside his experience that he can’t even begin to respond.
“Do. Not. Touch. My. Husband.” Jack snarls, each word punctuated with deadly precision.
Then his fist connects with Carian’s perfect face.
The sound echoes through the suddenly silent ballroom. Blood spatters across pale silk, and Carian crumples like a broken doll. The sight of his perfect features marred by violence sends a dark thrill of satisfaction through me.
Jack takes my hand, his grip warm and steady and real. “We’re leaving.”
Oh sweet goddess of darkness, I think I might actually swoon to death.
I may keel over right here from the sheer overwhelming relief of being protected. Of having someone who will throw dukes against walls for daring to touch me without permission.
My legs feel unsteady as Jack leads me from the ballroom, past shocked courtiers and gaping nobles who’ve never seen a human lay hands on fey nobility. I’m dimly aware of the whispers starting, the scandal that will follow us, the political ramifications of what Jack has just done.
But I can’t bring myself to care about any of it.
Because Jack’s hand is firm in mine, and his jaw is still set with protective fury, and for the first time in my life someone has fought for me without calculation or expectation of reward.
“Are you alright, Love?” he asks once we’re safely in the corridor, his voice gentle now that the threat is past.
“I...” I try to find words, but they all seem inadequate. How do I explain that what he just did has fundamentally changed something inside me? That I’ve never had anyone defend me like that?
“He hurt you,” Jack says simply. “Before, I mean. That’s why you froze.”
It’s not a question, and I don’t insult his intelligence by denying it. “Yes.”
The single word carries the weight of years of abuse, of nights I spent wishing for someone to come save me, of the devastating realisation that no one ever would. That I would have to save myself.
Jack stops walking and turns to face me fully. His hands frame my face with infinite gentleness, such a contrast to the violence he just unleashed on my behalf.
“He will never touch you again,” he says, and the certainty in his voice makes my chest tight. “No one will. I promise you that.”
I lean into his touch, letting myself believe it. Letting myself accept that I’m not alone anymore, that someone has my back. Quite literally. And to make that even more wonderful, that someone is Jack. The most magnificent person in all the world.
“Take me home,” I whisper.
“Already on the way,” Jack says, and guides me towards the waiting car that will carry us back to our flat, our bed, our life together.
Away from courts and politics and the ghosts of who I used to be.
Toward a future where no one will ever call me rhocyn again.