Page 38 of Cherish

22

The Royal

Treatment

When I finally make it up to my room, Hudson is laying on our bed, still texting on his damn phone.

Big surprise.

There’s a part of me that can’t wait to share the conversation the Bloodletter and I just had about how to save Mekhi. But I know I can’t have that conversation yet. Not when all I want to do is confront him about keeping some pretty important secrets from me.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat and realize I may not be ready to have that conversation, either.

So instead of saying anything, I start toward the bathroom, determined to take a shower and wash away all the grime and difficult questions from the day so I actually have a chance of sleeping tonight.

But I barely make it past the bed before Hudson asks, “Everything okay?” without so much as looking up.

And for some reason, it gets all over me. Just crawls right up my ass and pisses me off in a way he hasn’t managed since he was stuck in my head.

“Were you ever planning on telling me?” I demand, stopping to yank open the pajama drawer of the dresser where I keep a few changes of clothes for when I’m here. “Or were you just going to keep me in the dark forever?”

That gets his attention, though I’m not sure if it’s the questions or my aggressive way of asking them. But Hudson finally puts his phone down on the bed and sits up warily. “Can I have some context for that question?” he asks, smarmy British accent in full residence. “Or am I just supposed to guess?”

“Seriously? You’re hiding so many things from me that you don’t even know which one I’m asking about? That’s reassuring.” I grab the first pair of pajamas I find and then slam the drawer so hard, the entire dresser rattles.

Now he’s off the bed, too, fading next to me with his arms crossed over his chest and a what-the-hell look on his face. “I’m sorry, but you just came at me out of the fooking blue. You want to tell me what went on in that bloody meeting with your grandparents, or am I just supposed to guess?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the Vampire Court?”

His outrage turns to wariness in an instant. “What about the Vampire Court?”

“Seriously? That’s the answer you want to go with?” I storm toward the bathroom, but he stops me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“What did they tell you, Grace?” His blue eyes are steady on mine as I turn around to face him, and try as I might, I can’t find any hint of subterfuge or guilt there. Which only makes me madder, considering he’s been lying to me for months.

“What you should have,” I retort, shoulders slumping as weariness and worry replace my fury. “We’re partners, Hudson. If you’re being pressured to take the crown as the vampire king, don’t you think that’s the kind of thing we should talk about?”

He sighs, looking anywhere but at me. “To be honest, not really,” he finally answers.

Hurt arrows through me. “Seriously? If you can’t trust me to talk through this kind of major life decision with you, then what are we even doing?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. Obviously. It’s that it doesn’t matter what the Court wants. I never considered assuming the role of vampire king for a moment.”

Now I’m the baffled one. “Why not? I mean, I know you decided to abdicate months ago, but if the Court needs you, it’s the logical choice—”

“There is nothing bloody logical about it,” he snaps. Then runs a frustrated hand through his hair as he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“You’re the gargoyle queen, Grace. Which makes me the gargoyle king. And that means I can’t also be vampire king—or you vampire queen. And we sure as hell can’t petition for a role on the Circle as such. There’s no way they’d ever permit us to hold two powerful positions each. It would disrupt the entire Circle.”

“From what I just heard, the Circle is already disrupted,” I shoot back.

“Yes, well, maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” he mutters as his phone buzzes with another string of texts.

We both turn to look at it, and Hudson curses under his breath. But he doesn’t move to pick it up, which makes me happier than it probably should.

I want to ask him what he means by his last comment, but I have bigger things to focus on. Namely: “You really don’t think we should talk about this? You have a right to be king.”

“Iamking,” he answers.

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