Page 10 of The Duke of Fire
And there she was.
The Dowager Duchess of Firaine was used to being the center of attention. She was surrounded by admirers, gesturing grandly in vivid purple—a deliberate mockery of mourning. The woman hehad grieved less than an hour ago now laughed as if she had no single care in the world.
“…and that, my dears, is why Lord Arlington isstillin Vienna, avoiding creditors and his third wife,” she said, more likely relaying the last few bits of some juicy gossip while everyone listened to her every word.
“What about your grandson, Your Grace? Will he be coming this time?” one overly rouged lady about thirty years Sebastian’s senior asked.
“We heard that you two have fallen out, have not spoken in months,” a man bravely commented.
The dowager glared at him, expectedly offended by the question. “Fallen out? Of course, he will be here! Sebastian would notdaredisobey his grandmother. I expect him any mo—”
“What is the meaning of this?”
The words cracked like a whip across the ballroom.
The dowager’s eyes lit up in triumph. She turned to her friends with a look that said ‘I told you so’before facing him with a beaming, utterly unrepentant smile. “Sebastian, dear,” she called sweetly, as if she had not just faked her own funeral. “I told them you would come. See? I was right.”
One of her friends, eyeing Sebastian’s black attire, murmured, “Well, at least he dressed for the occasion.”
Another leaned closer to the group and whispered, not quietly enough, “I am just glad he is not carrying a sword.”
The dowager clucked her tongue. “Do not be ridiculous. He left it at the door. My boy has manners.”
Sebastian strode toward her, murder in his eyes. “You. Are. Not. Dead.”
“Obviously,” she said, lifting her champagne. “But you came, did you not? That was the point.”
He stalked forward, his boots striking the marble with deliberate force. His grandmother’s admirers—those gossips and vipers—parted like a curtain, their faces glinting with amusement. They did not even pretend to look scandalized. Theywanteda scene.
“You faked your death,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous, “just to drag me here?”
The dowager arched a brow, unruffled. “You have ignored my letters for six months, my boy. I had to get creative.”
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You call thiscreative?”
“Desperate times,” she said smoothly, lifting a delicate hand as if that excusedeverything. “I cannot even recall the last time you set foot in my home, and then you left for the Continent without a word. A grandmother must adapt.”
Goddamn, but she had a point. A sharp, wounding point. Butno. He was not letting her antics slide. Not this time.
“You crossed the line.”
“You will get over it.”
“You will regret this. You may not see me again.”
For a fleeting moment, her expression faltered. Then, just as swiftly, she straightened. “Please, Sebastian. Do not be like that,” she cooed. “Why do you not try to have a good time and forget about this whole thing? For me?”
That was the only time the dowager displayed some kind of emotion, her eyes blinking quickly. For a brief moment, he thought he had seen some sorrow on her face. But they were family, and they never showed weakness in front of other people. It was not how they were built.
“I will not forgive this easily,” he warned, all eyes now glued on him.
“I know you will be back, grandson,” she said, but her voice faltered a bit in a way that only Sebastian could detect.
He knew her well enough, but he did not know that she would go as far as pretending to be dead just to see him.
He turned on his heel. He needed air. He needed distance. His head was spinning from anger. Some whiskey and hours upon hours of sleep should remedy tonight’s nonsense. However, it was not meant to be. By the entrance stood Cassian and Benedict. They looked as if they had been waiting for him.
“Sebastian,” Cassian called out, his voice smooth and cool as ever. “Leaving so soon? You only just arrived.”
