Fey Regency: Gay Dark Romantasy (Fey Lords Book 3) by S. Rodman

Author:S. Rodman [Rodman, S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Angst Publishing
Published: 2025-01-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter twenty-one

I’m going to a ball. Me. Ollie Evans. It doesn’t make any sense. Any moment now, I’m going to wake up in a hospital bed and discover that all of this has been nothing more than a coma dream.

My chest tightens painfully. Could Tristan really just be a figment of my imagination? What an awful thought. I can’t bear it. Someone that vibrant has to be real.

I suck in a breath. I need to pull myself together. Of course he is real. The fey are real. Buckingham Palace is real. I really am going to a ball. It is all fine.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Then I pinch myself. Ouch. Yes, it is all real. I’m being ridiculous.

My gaze tracks over my fancy robes. I can’t quite figure out how these are fancier than what Tristan usually dresses me in, they just are. Something about the cut and the quality of the silk. It is all very swishy. And the verdant green really does match my eyes. Tristan does it better, but man, I can really rock this look. It suits me.

My hair is looking good too. It has grown a bit and is nearing my shoulders. It looks golden against the green of my robes. And it has gone all glossy. Fey shampoo really must be something.

I inspect my reflection once more. Everything looks good. More than good. So why on earth am I so nervous? It is just a bunch of fey, and Tristan is going to be there, by my side. Hells, he is probably going to be holding my leash.

A wave of doubt washes over me. Perhaps I shouldn’t give in to being paraded around? So what if I agreed to be his pet and vessel, and hanging around his rooms all the time is incredibly boring? I have principles. I think.

I sigh heavily. Who am I kidding? I’ve never had principles. Going to this stupid ball makes sense, I’m just nervous and being a baby about it.

The door opens and Tristan prowls in and walks up behind me. Our eyes meet in the mirror. His long flame red hair is in two long plaits and damn, does it look good. It is giving viking vibes.

“You look good, little Nisny,” he rumbles.

I have no idea what to say to that, so I say nothing. However, I am stupidly, ridiculously pleased, and it is so infuriating.

“I know you wear it loose, because that is the human style, and it means nothing. But it irks me,” he says.

What is he on about now?

His warm fingers brush through my hair and begin weaving a plait into it. Ah, okay, that’s what he is rambling on about. I have noticed that fey like their fancy plaits. If he wants to give me one, that is fine by me.

He gives me two. One twisting back from each temple and pulling my hair away from my face. There is still plenty of hair falling free to my shoulders, but I can no longer hide in it.

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