An unforgiving princess
928 Words
*Grayson*
I can't stand the sight of a woman in tears, especially if it comes from hysteria. Here I am, standing in my mother's ornate bedroom, my hands firmly clasped behind my back. I wait, a patient sentinel, as she dampens one lacy handkerchief after another with her sorrow.
She mutters under her breath, her voice thick with betrayal, "It's as if you have stabbed me in the back."
I can't help the soft chuckle that escapes me, "Mother, it's unwise to plant such tempting ideas in my head."
Her tear-streaked face snaps up to meet my gaze, the tears halting their journey down her cheeks as if she has swiftly built an impenetrable barrier. She rises from the plush sofa by the fireplace, her every move as graceful as ever despite her turmoil. "I can't possibly stay here while they are present."
I remind her, "Harrison and his family will stay in Father's wing. You will hardly see them."
Undeterred, she announces, "I will go to the seaside then."
I sigh, "That would hardly be appropriate, Mother. Your mate of nearly four decades is on his deathbed."
“Mate," she spits out the word like it's poison. "My mate, who reminded me daily of his undying affection for some scandalous actress. You can't comprehend the pain of knowing you will never be the one he truly loves."
If only she knew that I understood that pain all too well. But this isn't about my heartache, it's about hers.
"If you love Father as you say, you would understand his dying wish to see Harrison. It's been almost fifteen years since Father sent him away to appease you." I point out.
As fresh tears spill onto her cheeks, she collapses back onto the sofa. “Quentin would never have allowed that bastard to set foot in this house.”
Choosing my words wisely, I keep my thoughts about the brother I had loathed to myself, while standing up for the brother I hold dear.
"Father, on his deathbed, pleaded with me to summon Harrison back. The earnestness in his weakened voice made it impossible for me to deny such a compelling request." I explain.
However, even if my heart had turned cold enough to overlook my father's plea, I wouldn't have. There was a part of me, a curious part, that wanted to see how Harrison had fared in the untamed landscapes of Texas. Who wanted to see my brother again.
To my surprise, he seemed to have built quite a life for himself. His wife stood like a warrior queen, her eyes revealing a fierce readiness to rush into any battle for her husband when I first set foot on the staircase leading up to their quarters.
But what truly caught my attention, almost distracting me from my initial mission was Harrison's older daughter… his stepdaughter. Her presence almost made me forget the urgency that had propelled me up those stairs in the first place.
The palpable fear in her wide, violet eyes was unmissable. Those eyes, they hold an innocence that is rare, more than I had seen in any woman's eyes in a long time. A part of me had yearned to untie the ribbon holding her golden locks, to run my fingers through her long, silky tresses, just to feel if they were as soft as they looked.
Her protective instinct, the way she immediately pulled her younger siblings aside, momentarily startled me. I hadn't intended to be a source of fear, but as I strode through the grand manor, my mother's shrill cries piercing my ears, I found myself chastising myself. I regretted not giving her a warning about Harrison's sudden arrival, admonishing myself for not handling the situation with more tact.
In my attempt to avoid what was undeniably going to be an uncomfortable confrontation, I had only stirred up the already tense atmosphere. I knew my father, even on his deathbed, will be seriously disappointed in my handling of the situation.
As a result, I found my steps quickening up the stairs, anger threatening to breach the walls I have meticulously built around it. Seeing Miss Moonshadow’s reaction to my entrance, her accurate read of the fury I had tried to mask, only fanned the flames of my rage.
I recalled a letter Harrison had penned to our father years ago, describing his new family. How old would the girl be now? Barely out of her teens, twenty, maybe twenty-one?
A mere child, truly. I will do well to remember that, and to forget the slight tremble in her fingers as I had held her hand, the intoxicating scent of her skin, and the wholly inappropriate surge of desire that had coursed through me at her proximity.
"Please send them away, Grayson," my mother pleaded once again, pulling me back from my troubling thoughts. "Please."
"The best I can do," I offered, "is to ensure they are not in the west wing of the manor when you visit with Father. I will speak with Harrison and arrange for him and his family to leave the manor every afternoon between two and five. You can visit Father during that time, assured that you will not cross paths with them."
She sniffed in response. "I shan't dine with them."
"I wouldn't expect you to. Your meals will be delivered to your chambers, as they always have been." I point out.
Her gaze fell upon the empty hearth, her regal demeanor replaced with a defeated and vulnerable expression. "Why couldn't he have loved me?"
- Writer
