King of Kings- Book 4 The Council of the Light Series.

Part 6

The anticipation of the sound of knuckles on wood was enough to make Clarence pause outside Grendal of Innis' door with his hand raised. It was so quiet in this part of Everment Castle that the echo might wake the dead. Clarence would not be turned. He took a shuddering breath and studied the back of his hands.

Coming to Grendal's apartment without being summoned felt like madness, years of childhood chastisements made his actions feel like perversions of propriety. Then he thought about Beatrix. He pictured her running her hands across Grendal's body, her lips kissing his neck, her hands running through his hair. He pictured her threatening Fraggle because she wanted Grendal released from his cell; how gently she had cared for him when he was a bloody mess curled up on Clarence's sofa. Pleading with Clarence to give Grendal a second chance. How she loved him.

Him.

It was sickening. The flash of anger brought his fist up and he pounded on the door three times. "I know you're in there," Clarence grumbled through the wood when it didn't open immediately.

There was shuffling, the sound of a cup placed onto a side table, the click of a walking cane on stone and then the door opened. Grendal's eyes were so dark and cold Clarence took an involuntary step back. His anger left him as unease prevailed.

"It's late." Grendal's voice was pointed, cruel, a voice that toyed.

"I know it's late, I couldn't come before."

"Why come at all?" Grendal hadn't moved aside to let Clarence in, though that would have been the proper thing to do considering that Clarence was his Emperor.

Clarence pointed past him with his chin, "Do you have wine?"

"You have your own wine, it's nicer than mine is."

"Just let me in, Grendal."

Grendal turned a little too sharply, Clarence watched his face contort with a momentary flash of pain from his hip, a hip that had never truly mended after the beating Fraggle of Northdale had given him. It made Clarence feel better to think he was still suffering.

When he moved into the room he saw a folder on the seat by the fire. Without asking he moved to look inside. Grendal's cain smashed down inches from his hand. Clarence flinched and turned to look at his old tutor who was incensed, his face twisted into a hard mask. A moment of crippling fear passed; Grendal sniffed and looked away.

Confused, Clarence removed his hand from the folder and stood to face him, hoping that he looked defiant rather than frightened. When Grendal didn't say anything Clarence turned once again flipped the folder open and saw a charcoal sketch of Beatrix. Half finished; unmistakably her and unmistakably beautiful.

"You did this?" Clarence's voice came out more broken than he was happy with. For a moment he forgot Grendal was in the room as he took in how realistic the light fell over her skin, how beautifully he had captured her dark hair and her lips. Even the freckles on her face were in the right places, like Grendal had spent hours studying her.

Perhaps he had spent hours. Perhaps he had thousands of drawings detailing every inch of her; his unease grew.

Grendal had gone pale, thin lipped, dead eyed, as though he hungered for Clarence's death, or his own. He was utterly humiliated. If Clarence had wanted to, he could have been cruel and revelled in it, but thoughts of what Beatrix would say to him and a knowledge of how Grendal reacted when shamed made him choose a different path.

"All the years we have known one another." He had no idea Grendal had such a talent. "You did it from memory?"

Grendal cleared his throat and his lip curled as he sniffed in answer. He was too embarrassed to speak, though it didn't give Clarence the pleasure he thought it should.