Page 174 of Nine-Tenths

"Call me Owain, son," the man in question says, as if reading my mind. When he uses that word, it doesn't grate the way it does when Lt. Gov. SelfImportant does. "If you don't mind me calling you Colin."

"Suits me."

"For goodness sake,Fy Nhrysor, don't keep them out in the wet!" calls another voice from the doorway. "It's spitting down!"

"Right. This way, lads." Owain ushers us up the stairs.

We surrender our damp coats to a pop-up servant, and stroll into a richly carpeted foyer. The centerpiece is the wide staircase, leading up to a second-floor open gallery. The room is paneled in luxuriously dark wood, dotted with a grandfather clock that I suspect might be older than Dav, and paintings in gilt frames that definitely are.

Standing at the base of the stairs, coiffed without being ostentatious, is a slim, tall woman in high-end jeans and a creamy knit sweater. Her hair is mostly gray, though by her face I'd guess she was a little younger than Mum, if she were human.

Of course, she's not.

I do the fist-heart-bow thing, which seems right, because it's returned by the dragon, and Dav does another round of introductions with rainwater trickling down the back of his neck.

"And this is Paulette Windsor Tudor, of the Line of Llywelyn, the Countess Plymouth, my mother," he finishes grandly.

"That's a mouthful," I say, before I can think better of it. I immediately wish the floor would crack open under my feet and swallow me whole.

Luckily, the Lady in question laughs. "It is indeed. Just Paulette will do, Favored of my beloved son."

"Yeah." I scratch my calf with the toe of my shoe. "I, uh, didn't expect so much ritual about, you know, titles and things." I turn to Dav. "You call me your Favorite, but what do I call you?"

"Just Dav will do," he says with a cheeky grin.

I tug him down for a quick bite of a kiss.

"Ow," he protests.

"You deserved that. I'm serious, is there some important title I'm supposed to call you?"

"If you like, you may refer to him as your boyfriend in public, and," Owain pauses to wink at Dav. "Your personal stuck-up pain in the arse with family."

"I am not stuck up!" Dav protests.

"You're a little fussy, babe," I say.

"That's not the same."

Owain laughs, hearty and unrestrained, and Paulette beckons us into a drawing room that's an eerie echo of Dav's public one. Though this one is in a warm palette, instead of Dav's light blues and daisy yellows.

"Oh, I see," Dav pouts as we follow his mother to a door on the far side of the room. "The humans plan to gang up on me, then?"

"How can we gang up on you when it's finally even numbers?" Owain asks.

"You know very well how," Dav waggles a finger at him. "Don't you be teaching Colin any bad habits, Father. You know how Frank is."

"Stuffy goat," Owain agrees, and seriously, I love this man already.

The second room we enter is cozy, more family-oriented, filled with bookshelves and sofas worth sitting on. Someone's laid out a tea service, and it's even got one of those three-tiered cake displays.

Oh, Christ. Here it comes. The Fancy British Stuff. I plan to let Dav take the lead on this one and copy everything he does, but Dav doesn't sit.

"Leave the lad to his refreshment," Paulette says, beckoning Dav to yet another door on the far wall. "Come up to the hatchery with me Alva, and greet your sister."

Before I realize what's happening, Dav is off, and I'm left with the father of the man whose dick has been in me.Don't think about sex while you're alone with Dav's dad, oh god.I hope my expression isn't giving anything away.

Owain pops one of the fancy finger sandwiches directly in his mouth, eschewing the tongs, the delicate plates, the embroidered cloth napkins. I do the same.

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