Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Kierse had rarely woken up in the same house as the person she’d had sex with the night before, and she certainly hadn’t had breakfast with them. But here she was . . . still in Graves’s house. Waiting and wondering if he was going to be changed by what had occurred.
“Have a good time last night?” Kingston asked.
Kierse startled as she took a seat across from him at the breakfast bar. Did he know about her and Graves’s hookup? She reached for the pancakes and bacon on the bar to keep her hands busy.
“Uh, yes.”
“Excellent. Graves has always been unconventional, but he gets the job done.”
Kierse coughed around her first bite of pancake. “He does.”
“Such a power play, to not inform you of the start of your training,” he said with a guffaw. “Isolde, darling, more coffee, hmm?”
Isolde bustled over. Her cheeks were rosy and flushed as she came up to Kingston’s side. “Of course, Master Kingston. Enjoying your breakfast?”
“Best food this side of the pond, my dear.”
She blushed a deeper red and dipped her chin as she darted away.
“You should concentrate on how to replenish your powers once you’re depleted,” Kingston said with a wink. “Once you figure that out, you’ll be a lot safer.”
“How did you figure it out?”
He took another sip of coffee and considered. “My father was an artist. He was a gentleman first, of course. In the peerage and all that.”
Kierse raised an eyebrow. “Peerage?”
“Ah, he was an earl of some importance during the Hundred Years’ War.” He noticed her blank look. “It was a very important war between Britain and France that began in the fourteenth century.”
Kierse should not have been taking a sip of her juice at the time he said it. She sputtered, the juice running down her chin. She swiped at it with a napkin. “How old are you?”
Kingston just laughed. “Old.”
Kierse’s eyes widened.
“Back to the subject matter at hand—my father was an earl, but his true passion lay in the arts. An uncommon thing at the time, but he painted and sculpted and set about making a legacy that was more than just war. I was part of that legacy. I was raised to take his place, which meant I grew up at his side while he painted and at his side while he rode and at his side while he went to war.” Kingston took another drink from his coffee. “Art was always what rejuvenated me. It is not surprising that it also helps my magic.”
“You speak so freely about your powers.”
“Unlike Graves, you mean? I had a much different upbringing. I have no shame from my abilities. My conscience is clear.” He tapped his head. “Much of what we do is mental. And while I saw many warlocks hanged and witches burned in my day, they never came to my door. Graves was not so lucky.”
Kingston turned surprisingly quiet after that. Contemplative.
Kierse finished her breakfast. Thinking about what Kingston said brought her mind back to Graves. She had seen terrors in her time, and she had been the subject of them. She knew that shame and how it wrecked a person.
Graves appeared in the kitchen a moment later, freshly showered, in a crisp black suit and black gloves. “Morning.”
Kierse looked up from her plate. Her eyes found Graves, and he met her stare. She thought that he’d look away or make it awkward. But . . . he didn’t. He just tipped his head at her, a small quirk of his lips, same as always. She sighed slightly in relief. She was glad that things could go on as they had been. Wasn’t she?
Kingston finished his plate and stood to clasp Graves’s hand. “Morning, indeed. Are we all set to go?”
“Yes,” Graves said. “We have reservations.”
Kierse pushed her plate away from her. “Do I have to go to the museum?”
“Of course,” Kingston boomed. “I have so much to teach you.”
“Was he regaling you with British history?”
Kierse nodded. “He was.”
“He tends to do that,” Graves said, a look of exasperation on his face.
“I still relish when the sun never set on the British Empire,” Kingston said.
Graves pulled a disgusted face. Like he couldn’t believe Kingston would admit that out loud. Kierse was starting to realize why he didn’t invite his old mentor around more often.
Kierse frowned. “I don’t know as much history as you two, but wasn’t the British Empire actually terrible?”
Kingston looked at her askance. “Depends on who you ask.”
Graves narrowed his eyes at Kingston. “Yes, like if you ask all the colonized countries, they would agree that it was terrible.”
“So progressive,” Kingston grumbled.
“Kingston,” Graves said with an irritated scowl. “You cannot still believe that is true.”
“The British have done much good in the world,” he said, all bluster. “We were good to you.”
Graves’s face went sharp at all edges. If it had been Kierse he was looking at that way, she would have known to run the other direction, but Kingston seemed unaffected. “I would hardly say ‘good’ was the correct word.”