Chapter 248: Chapter 248: The Scroll

MAILAH DIDN’T HESITATE.

The “newborn foal” feeling in her legs was forgotten, replaced by a surge of adrenaline that burned hotter than the morning sun.

The shock of Grayson’s words—the idea of him being stripped of his own land—acted like a jolt of electricity, bypassing the dull aches in her joints. She gripped the railing of the grand staircase, her bare feet silent on the cold marble as she began to descend.

“Grayson! What are you talking about?” she called out, her voice echoing through the vaulted foyer. “What do you mean you don’t own it? This is your home!”

Below, the man in the crimson cloak tilted his head. His eyes, dark and glittering like polished onyx, slid toward her with a predatory slowness. He started to open his mouth, a thin, sharp smile curling his lips, but he never got the chance to speak.

Grayson moved.

He didn’t just turn; he exploded into motion. One moment he was standing on the checkered floor, and the next, he was a blur of dark hair and bare, bronzed muscle.

Mailah gasped, freezing mid-step as Grayson hit the stairs. He didn’t climb them; he conquered them.

His long, lean legs skipped three, then four steps at a time, his movement so fluid it looked less like running and more like a shadow rushing uphill.

In heartbeats, he was standing on the step below her, towering over her. The heat radiating from his chest was a wall, smelling of cedar and the lingering, intoxicating musk of their night together.

“Grayson—”

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look her in the eye. Before Mailah could register the silver flash in his gaze, he reached out. His large hands clamped around her waist, and with a sudden, effortless heave, he hoisted her into the air.

The world spun. Mailah let out a startled yelp as she was flipped over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Hey! Put me down!” she shouted, her face dangling against the small of his back. She began to struggle, her fists thumping uselessly against the hard, unyielding muscle of his shoulder blades. “Grayson! This is caveman behavior! We are in the middle of a serious conversation!”

“Be silent,” he grunted. His voice was a low vibration that she felt through her ribs more than she heard with her ears.

He turned on a dime and headed back up the stairs. Mailah could see the foyer upside down—the armored guards looking away with practiced indifference, and the man in a cloak, who actually had the audacity to chuckle.

“A spirited one, Prince,” the messenger called out, his voice dripping with amusement. “Careful. Humans break so easily when you squeeze them too hard.”

Grayson’s grip on her thighs tightened until it was almost painful. He didn’t stop until he reached her bedroom door. He kicked it open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut with a force that rattled the paintings on the walls.

Finally, he set her down. Mailah stumbled back, her hair a wild mess over her face, her chest heaving with indignation. She shoved a lock of hair behind her ear and glared at him.

“What has gotten into you?” she snapped. “You can’t just… haul me away because I asked a question! I am a grown woman, not a piece of luggage!”

Grayson stood by the door, his chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths. He looked like a storm held in a bottle. “Valerius is a collector of weaknesses,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly register. “You standing there in a robe, looking like you just crawled out of my bed, is an invitation for him to find a way to use you against me. I won’t have his eyes on you.”

The “swoon” factor hit her before she could stop it. The sheer, possessive intensity in his eyes made her breath hitch, but she fought to keep her focus. “Fine. You’re protective. Message received. Now, tell me about the estate. What did that scroll say?”

Grayson’s jaw flexed. He walked toward the window, looking out at the sprawling, mist-covered gardens where they had just shared everything. The silver scroll was still clutched in his hand, the metal vibrating with a faint, ominous hum.

“The High Council has issued a Decree of Conservatorship,” he said, his voice cold and flat. “Because I have lost my memories—because I cannot account for the years I spent in the human world—they have deemed my mental state ’unstable.’

Mailah felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air. “Unstable? But you’re fine! You’re more stable than most people I know!”

“In their eyes, a Prince without his history is a Prince without a spine,” Grayson said, turning back to face her. His eyes were no longer smoky grey; they were turning to that lethal, molten black again. “They have assigned the management of my estate, my assets, and my personal territories to my brothers.”

Mailah blinked, trying to process that. “Lucson? Mason? Ravenson?Carson?”

“All of them,” Grayson replied. “They are now my ’guardians’ in the eyes of the law. Every decision I make, every piece of gold I spend, and every person I bring into this house must be vetted by them. I am a guest in my own home, Mailah. A prisoner with a title.”

Mailah sat on the edge of the bed, the silk feeling cold against her skin. “Do you think they knew? Did they ask for this?”

Grayson walked over to her, his shadow falling over her. He reached out, his thumb grazing her lower lip—a gesture so tender it contrasted sharply with the fury in his voice. “Lucson is logical. He would argue that this keeps the estate out of the Council’s direct hands. Mason is quiet; he follows the path of least resistance. Ravenson doesn’t care. And Carson…”

“Carson just wants to eat snacks and watch the chaos,” Mailah finished, a small, sad smile touching her lips.

“Exactly,” Grayson murmured. He leaned down, placing his hands on either side of her on the mattress, trapping her in the heat of his presence. “But the papers were signed.”

Mailah looked up at him, her heart thumping against her ribs. The mystery of the house felt like it was closing in. She wanted to trust the brothers—they had saved her, after all—but in this world, trust seemed to be a currency no one could afford.

“What do we do?” she whispered.

Grayson’s gaze dropped to her mouth, and for a second, the simmering passion from the night before threatened to boil over again. “The High Council made this decision to keep the Ashford line in check. I am still thinking about what the negative consequences will be. My brothers and I will play a big role among the exiles this century—they like order, and right now, my lack of memory is a mess they want to clean up.”

Mailah reached up, her palm resting against the warm, solid planes of his chest. “Grayson, this was the Council’s move, not theirs. And honestly? I think it’s going to be fine.”

He looked at her, his brow arching in doubt. “Fine? They are essentially my keepers now, Mailah.”

“They won’t chase us out of here,” she said with a soft, confident smile. “Lucson is too proud, and Mason is too quiet. And besides… they adore me. They won’t do anything that puts me out on the street, and they know I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Grayson let out a low, dark chuckle, the sound vibrating against her skin. “They adore you, do they? I suppose I should be jealous of my own blood.”

“You have no reason to be,” she whispered, her voice stronger than she felt.

Grayson’s eyes searched hers, the dark orbs softening into something more intense and private. “They also think I am unstable.”

“Are you broken?” she asked softly, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

Grayson’s hands slid up her arms, his touch searing. He gripped her shoulders, his fingers digging in just enough to remind her of his strength. “I am many things, Mailah. But I am never more focused than when I am being hunted. If they want to treat me like a ward, they will find that I am a very difficult prisoner to manage.”

Suddenly, a loud, cheerful knock sounded at the door.

“Oh, Grayson! Big brother! Are we finished with the caveman carrying?!”

It was Carson.

Grayson’s expression went from passionate to murderous in a heartbeat. He stood up, smoothing his hair back with a frustrated groan. “I am going to kill him. I am going to end the Ashford line right here and now.”

Mailah couldn’t help it; a laugh bubbled up in her chest. The transition from intense drama to Carson’s antics was so jarring it was almost endearing. “You can’t kill him. He’s part of your ’management team’ now, remember?”

Grayson shot her a look that would have withered a lesser woman. “Don’t remind me. He’s already insufferable without a title.”

He walked to the door and wrenched it open. Carson was standing there, holding a plate of steaming crepes and wearing a grin that was far too bright for the early hour.

“Morning, Mailah! You look… well-rested,” Carson chirped, his eyes dancing with mischief. He looked at Grayson’s bare, muscled chest and then back at Mailah. “And Grayson, really, put a shirt on. We have guests from the citadel. It’s uncivilized to show off the family jewels before noon.”

Grayson snatched the plate of crepes from Carson’s hand. “Go away, Carson. Before I use this silver scroll to teach you a lesson in silence.”

“So grumpy as always!” Carson said, holding up his hands in mock retreat. “Just a heads-up, Lucson wants a meeting in the library in ten minutes. Official business. Since the Council put us in charge, he’s taking the ’warden’ thing very seriously. He’s even wearing his fancy glasses.”

Carson winked at Mailah and vanished down the hall, his humming echoing off the walls.

Grayson slammed the door again and turned to Mailah, holding the plate of crepes like it was a royal offering. “Eat,” he commanded, setting the plate on her lap. “We have a meeting to attend. I need to see exactly how much power my brothers think they have over me.”

Mailah looked at the crepes, then at the man standing before her—a prince who had lost his legal standing but none of his power. He looked mysterious, dangerous, and utterly hers.

“Grayson?”

He paused, his hand reached for his shirt on the floor. “Yes?”

“I ship us,” she whispered, a playful glint in her eyes.

Grayson frowned, the modern slang clearly making no sense to him. “You what? Is that a human nautical term?”

“Never mind,” she laughed, taking a bite of a crepe. “Just get dressed. You have an estate to win back, and I think your brothers are actually going to help us—even if they’re annoying about it.”

As she ate, she watched him pull his dark, silk shirt over his broad shoulders.

He looked powerful and focused. But as her eyes flicked to the silver scroll sitting on the nightstand, she knew that while the brothers might be on their side, the High Council was probably just getting started.

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