Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 16: Pevensie Pass

THE NEXT CHAPTER ARE FROM A DIFFERENT POV! There will be two time jumps! Heads up to avoid confusion.

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Woolsmere Court, several days before the battle.

Grayson Blackwell was a surprisingly elusive target.

For the most part, the young duke was exceedingly dull. He worked, he met nobles and villagers alike, he attended meetings, he trained, and he kept to himself. He was notoriously private, even eating exclusively in his chambers. He didn't even attend parties, no matter how many invitations he received. He was, in other words, a rather boring subject to shadow.

Yes, he would have been dull, were it not for his sudden disappearances. For every so often, the young Duke would disappear without a trace, as if vanishing into thin air.

On the occasion, without previous notice to anyone, he made a hasty trip to Woolsmere, to the Earldom of Pevensie. A strip of land bordering the sea and the thick stretch of the Forest between Faerie and Rhothomir. Pevensie Pass, it was often called, due to its nature as a bridge between forest and water. The Earldom where his uncle, Lord Brandon, resided.

The apparent spontaneity of this meeting, as well as how many precautionary steps the Duke took meant that it was a private matter. It was clear the young lord needed to safeguard its secrecy. Of course, for all his overzealousness, no one would have paid much attention to the small blue bird twittering on a tree branch just outside the open windows of the earl's study.

Earl Hawthorne stared at his nephew warily, cradling a cup of tea in his hands. Despite the lavish three pieces suit he wore, his appearance was haggard, with deep lines bracketing his mouth and forehead, and dark shadows skimming his brown eyes.

"Grayson," he began, before dipping his chin apologetically. "Excuse me, your Grace."

Grayson smiled stiffly and waved him off. "Grayson is fine, uncle. I am still your nephew."

"Right. Well, it is good to see you well, my boy. I have heard of what happened. So sorry I was not able to attend your father's funeral, may the Fates rest his soul," the Earl rattled off, the barest hints of sympathy in his otherwise smooth tone. "I know it must be difficult. You know you can come to me whenever."

He much looked like this was something he hoped Grayson would not take him up on.

"But," he continued warily, "I did not expect to see you around here. And so suddenly. With company." He eyed the dark-haired man by Grayson's side--Cedric Hart--apprehensively. The commander simply grinned at him, much to the Earl's dismay. "Is there anything that I could help you with...?"

Cedric leaned his elbows heavily on the desk and grinned wide, tipping his head at the Earl. "I think the question is, how can we help you?"

Gingery brows raised high, as Lord Hawthorne sputtered incredulously. "I beg your pardon?"

Grayson narrowed his eyes at Cedric almost imperceptively, before turning towards the lord. "What Commander Hart means is that you need us, uncle. That much is true. I won't beat around the bush any longer. I'm here to offer you an agreement."

Lord Hawthorne settled his cup on the saucer forcefully, porcelain rattling as he righted himself huffily. "I assure you, I have no idea what I could possibly need your help with, with due respect."

"Don't you?" Grayson quirked a brow. He waved around the manor, knowing it was rather empty, most employees gone, the house eerily quiet. It was a far cry from how full the manor usually was. "Where are my cousins, then? Where are my aunt Greta and her ladies in wait? And what of the rest of your retinue? The manor is rather sparse."