Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

47: A burning coal

"I think you're doing quite well for someone who inherited a duchy on the brink of a war," Juliet said gently, kneading the dough. "There's only so much you can do. I can tell you're trying your best to protect the people."

Though her words had been casual, something funny jumped in Grayson's chest. A rushing feeling of gratitude and exhaustion. "Thank you," he muttered primly, adjusting his sleeve to hide his slight flush. "You seem to be the only one who thinks so," he added a little morosely.

"Is that what's got you stressed enough to eat three slices of cake at midnight?" she asked, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

Grayson let out a huff. "Part of it."

"Want to talk about it?" she prompted, leaving the dough inside a bowl and covering it with a tea towel.

"It's complicated... and long," he sighed. "And even I don't fully understand it."

"Well, it's a good thing we've got time, then, seeing as it is barely four in the morning. As for understanding, I don't know much about many things, but I do have ears. I can listen," Juliet said, wiping her hands free of flour and grabbing the kettle.

"They say speaking a problem out loud helps make sense of it. And who knows, maybe it's better this way," she said, pouring tea into two cups and sliding one across the counter to him. "You can talk and I won't judge, because I won't understand a lick of what you're saying. I'll just nod and pretend I do."

An unexpected shock of laughter burst from him, and he shook his head, amused. "It's just..." he waved a hand and let it flop on the table. He'd never spoken this out loud, not even once. Even during his confrontation with Cedric earlier, they'd only brushed over the subject, never going over the meat of the issue.

It had been months since his kidnapping, yet Grayson still struggled to even think of it. He had never been one to express his feelings, given that he'd been raised in that noble-like stoicism, stiff upper lip and all. But looking at Juliet, with her gentle, unaffected prodding, he found himself wanting to speak for the first time.

Rather than look at her, he let his gaze drop to the steaming amber in his cup, hands wrapping around it tight enough to burn his palms.

"I... I didn't wander off when the attack on the manor happened. I was taken. By Jonas Pendergold and his men," he said, finally admitting it out loud.

"That Duke from Hampton?" Juliet said with surprise.

Grayson nodded, not lifting his head. "Yes, I was kept there for maybe a month? I don't know. Time was very fuzzy down there in those cells. It's always nighttime when you can't see the sun."

Not that Grayson has been awake for most of it. He remembered going in and out of consciousness. When he awoke, it was to searing pain and aching thirst and hunger, his body one giant bruise. He could barely open his eyes from how bruised they were. Time had meant very little, then.

"Fates," Juliet murmured, letting one long whoosh of air through her teeth. "How... how did you get out?"

Grayson sucked his lips into his mouth, and took a shuddering breath. "My sister," he answered tightly. "My sister got me out of there."

"Your sister? But I thought..."

"That she was missing? Not so much." Grayson pressed his fingertips to his eyes until little white spots danced in his vision. "She was looking for us. My mother, my sister Rosemary, and I. She managed to get away. And she asked the fae for help to get me back. I don't know if you were aware, but she was betrothed to Pendergold. Apparently, he thought that if Harrion and I were to die, by marrying Ella, he could assume the duchy. As you can see," he waved weakly at himself. "He only managed half of it."