Page 12 of Searching for the Prince
“This is… wow,” Gwil said, lost in the beauty of it all.
Hyax kissed him, nothing more than a quick peck. He heard a trilling noise behind them. A female fae stood waiting, and he thought she might explode with excitement. “Your Highness, Mr Hilt, welcome to La Pian. Your viewing suite is being prepared but your table is ready in the bar. Unless you would like a private room.”
“The bar is perfect,” Hyax said.
Gwil suspected he was about to be put on display, Hyax had said he wanted the world to see that it was Gwil who was important to him. Hyax placed a hand on his lower back, a possessive gesture as they followed the host into a busy bar where they were directed to a table. Fae weren’t subtle and many of the people there were staring outright. Hyax smirked.
Drinks were served and Gwil found himself pressed up against Hyax on a small sofa. “You’re being a bit smug.”
“I’ve the prettiest vamp as my guest, I deserve to be smug.” Hyax leant in and kissed his neck. “I want it obvious, no matter what happens, that you are my choice, and while I’ll do my duty, I won’t give you up. You’ll be the Prince’s Beloved, and everyone will know.”
He didn’t want to be known as Hyax’s fucktoy, but then he could be called a lot worse. “I can’t say I expected you to parade me around like you won a medal.”
“We fae do exchange collars, you said you’d do that when I proposed, but if you’re the medal I’ve won, perhaps I should tie a ribbon around you.”
He tried not to let the sabotaging thought invade his mind, but it was too hard. “That was when we would be getting married. I get you and Metra will be doing the exchange of collars now.”
Hyax winced and cupped his cheek. “No, I’ll make it a stipulation of the contract. I won’t be marked as his, and nor him as mine.”
“But—”
“I mean it.” He traced Gwil’s collarbone with a finger. “I might have to go through this fucking sham of a wedding, but I’ll be giving you my collar.”
“You have one already?”
“It’s one of the traditional gifts when a fae comes of age. Most don’t use that one, but for you I would, it’ll make the point even clearer.”
Gwil wasn’t sure if this was Hyax being romantic or a stubborn arse, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. “I don’t have a collar to give you. What will you wear?”
“Whatever you want me to.” Hyax leant back and collected their glasses, handing one to Gwil. “A toast, to us.”
Gwil had only had the odd glass of ambrosia. He could eat and drink, but his main sustenance came from blood. Thesweetness and depth of the liquid in his glass told him this was the cream of the crop, the finest first press, and would have cost the same amount as he earnt in a week. “It’s almost as sweet as you.”
A soft cough disturbed them, the host was back. “Your viewing suite is ready. The shooting star display will be starting shortly.”
He found himself once again with Hyax up close, a possessive arm around his waist. Gwil thought he could get used to being treated like a posh side piece if this was the calibre of evening he’d get. The London scene was pretty cool but the viewing suite they were escorted to was like nothing he’d experienced in his own world. It wasn’t the pod itself—although sitting in what was tantamount to a more structurally stable bubble was amazing—but the show that came with it. They were on a large elevated mound and could see further across the meadow, with the night closing in, the creeping blanket of light looked even better, as if glowing seeds had been sown across the land. Then the stars moved and Gwil’s jaw dropped. “Fuck me!”
Hyax had a hand high up Gwil’s thigh, he squeezed. “I will later, never fear.”
He’d seen shooting stars before, or rather bits of meteors burning up. He knew the science, but this was different, the constellations were moving, Orion, the hunter, fired arrows while Capricorn and Aries gambolled out of the way. The Plough chased Aquarius and Libra spun its scales like nunchucks.
“How is this happening?”
Hyax chuckled. “Magic. We’re not shifting solar systems about—it’s an illusion.”
He should have realised. “Oh, yeah. It still looks amazing.”
“That’s the thing about the fae, we like to make everything look perfect, everything has a shiny hue, but that’s not real. Real is the sniping and political double play, real is the way we punishour criminals with iron or banishment for centuries. People think we’re nice because we’re pretty, but we’re not. We’re arseholes with wings.”
“So, I’m right when I call you a sparkly arsehole, then?”
“Yeah, like when I call you a throat-biting twat.”
He pulled Hyax in for a deep kiss, and ran a hand down the edge of his wing, knowing only special people got to touch a fae’s wings.
“If you keep playing with my wings, I’m in danger of fucking you right here,” Hyax growled. “While I want everyone to know you’re mine, they don’t need a front row seat.”
Gwil smirked. “I expect you to put me on my back later and fuck me so hard I forget my name.”
