CHAPTER 58
After speaking with Grace, King Charlenugo wandered alone into the palace gardens. The soft rustling of the leaves did little to quiet the storm in his mind. And to the kingdom, what had happened in the Light Room was extraordinary, maybe a divine sign. But to him, it was something else entirely. It was now the burden of his only son. Or so he believed.
Back at the palace, Queen Jonah had not given Parkston a minute of space. She stood near him with an air of sharp contempt. "How do you see yourself now?" she said, a cold chuckle leaving her lips as she gestured toward his bandaged arm. "Just one arm left. And for what? A dead woman who isn't coming back."
She let the words settle before continuing. "Be for real, Parkston."
Parkston didn't reply. He sat at the edge of his grand bed and was silent, his eyes focused on the tall trees beyond the window. The golden beddings around him glinted in the dim light.
Jonah's brow furrowed. If there was one thing she despised, it was being ignored. She stormed toward him and suddenly yanked at the bandage around his injured arm.
"Ah". Parkston hissed in pain.
Jonah gave a soft, mocking laugh. "That's more like it," she said. "If you won't speak to me, then scream. Foolish man."
He stood above her, his voice rising. "And you still question why I always chose Grace over you? Grace would never put me through pain."
Parkston said while clutching his hand toward his bandaged arm protectively.
Jonah bit her lip, scoffing. "I don't even know what I saw in you, that caused me fighting for your love like a fool, you can go have your..." She mimicked his tone with mockery. "Grace"And broke into a bitter laugh.
Still silent, Parkston slowly walked. He adjusted his robe, as he made his way toward the door.
"Grace," he muttered, almost like a thought spoken aloud. He lowered his voice into a whisper. "Grace" He repeated, as he glanced around, hoping no one heard him call that name. "What you're you doing here, standing by the door, have you been eavesdropping on me?"
She smiled softly. "You called me Grace?" she asked, her voice quiet but firm. "Does that mean you now see me as Grace, even in this body? Even as King Quicke?"
Parkston blinked, then glanced around nervously. "What are you doing here?"
"I was just passing by," Grace replied, still smiling. Her voice, though masculine, held that familiar warmth.
"Let's go," Parkston said, choosing not to answer her question.
The two men walked side by side through the palace, their steps firm. They nodded politely at guards and staff who bowed or greeted them.
When they reached Grace's chambers, Parkston pushed open the grand doors. Grace entered first, keeping her posture steady and confident still performing the role of King Quicke. Parkston followed, gently closing the door behind them.
Once alone, Grace exhaled and let her shoulders drop. A tiny reveal that something softer still lived beneath her masculinity.
She turned to face him.
"Not to sound cringe," she began, her smile wider now, "but I heard your conversation with Jonah. She must be really upset that you love me more than you ever loved her."
She paused, her tone softening. "And your hand, I'm so sorry." She stepped forward and gently took his injured arm in hers. With the utmost care, she lifted the bandaged limb and pressed a kiss to it.
Parkston didn't move, he just watched her. In that moment, for the first time, he saw the woman he once loved through the face of King Quicke. She was still there. A man to the kingdom of Alagascar, yes, but to Parkston she was the same soul.
He moved closer, drawn in by something he couldn't name. I would call it, love.
They stood there, their eyes locked. Then, without a word, Parkston placed his hand gently at Grace's neck and stepped in. His smile deepened, softening the fine lines around his eyes. Grace, suddenly shy, looked away, but Parkston reached up and turned her face back to him.
She was taller now. But that didn't matter.
He leaned in. Their lips met cautiously at first, then with the kind of longing built over years. Their kiss was slow, intentional. Grace's arms circled around him, pulling him close, and she breathed in the scent of him, familiar cologne.
They kissed until their lips were weak from it, and Grace finally leaned her head against his shoulder, holding him tight.
"I missed you," she whispered. "For a while, I thought I'd truly lost you."
Parkston's voice was low. "I couldn't keep away. You're still the woman I fell in love with after all."
Grace stiffened, drawing back slightly. "So do you say we continue this? Like you don't mind my appearance and the fact that I'm a man now?"
He nodded, without hesitation. "I don't mind." He paused before continuing "I see you." He smiled gently.
Grace stared at him for a moment, then let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "You're serious."
Parkston's grin widened. "I even thought about carrying you just now."
She raised a brow. "Is that so?"
Parkston tried, wrapping his arms around her, lifting just a little before stumbling backward in mock defeat. They both burst into laughter.
"I definitely cannot carry you anymore," he admitted.
Grace wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. "Who would have thought I'd be stronger than you now?"
They laughed again, their shoulders brushing, warmth between them growing steady.
Without speaking, they made their way to the wide, golden-draped bed and fell into it side by side, their arms wrapped around each other.
For the first time Grace allowed herself to rest in her lover's arm. And for now all that ever mattered was that, she was at peace. She gently let herself cuddle him tightly, as she listened to his hushed breathing.