Welcome to Swoon Sunday where you get to meet some of our swoon-worthy heroes. Today we have a visit from Grayson Chandler from Holding Court by K.C. Held!
Grayson, why don’t you describe yourself to us?
I’m about 6’1”, brown hair, green eyes, and am generally dressed like an escapee from a Renaissance faire.
What’s your profession?
I work at a castle-turned-dinner-theatre called Tudor Times and am what’s known as a “squight.” Technically, I’m a squire who’s training to be a knight, but even though I know all the routines by heart, I can’t be a knight until I turn eighteen. Which means I only get to joust and battle bad guys when I’m done cleaning up horse poop.
Where do you call home?
Lunevale, CA. Otherwise known as “Quirky Town, USA.” We moved here after my mom remarried, when I was in 6th grade.
Do you have a special skill?
I’m pretty handy with a sword.
Describe the craziest thing you have done.
Searched a dungeon for a dead body?
What is your favorite movie of all time?
That’s an easy one, The Princess Bride.
What is the one thing that no one knows or could never guess about you?
That’s not something I can divulge here.
Boxers or briefs?
Chunky peanut butter or smooth?
Anybody want a peanut?
What is your biggest pet peeve?
People who leave dead bodies in dungeons?
Favourite fictional character?
If you had to describe yourself as an ice cream flavour, what flavour would you be?
Thank you so much for joining us, Grayson! Now, here’s a funny and swoony excerpt from Holding Court for our readers…
I find a place to lock my bike and attempt to revive my helmet hair before reporting for my interview. I’ve never been inside the famed Lunewood Castle before, although I snuck onto the grounds once with Cami on a dare. Up until last year it had been owned by old Mrs. Lune, whose husband’s grandfather had the castle shipped over stone by stone from his ancestral homeland as a gift for his bride. The whole marriage thing hadn’t turned out so well for the original Mr. Lune, who was rumored to be a pervy nutjob, but the castle was pretty amazing.
Old Mrs. Lune had come into my mom’s antique shop once, but I’d scared her off when I blurted something about not being afraid of alligators and hot pants. Mom was seriously peeved, considering how much money Mrs. Lune has to spend on Fabergé ashtrays.
Anyway, after refusing offers from interested buyers for years, last year Mrs. Lune had suddenly decided to retire to Florida. She sold Lunewood Castle to Hank Bacon, aka King Henry, an über-wealthy Tudor fanatic who, according to the internet research I’d done in preparation for my interview, had made his millions by inventing some sort of hemorrhoid gel. Hank apparently had a thing for Henry VIII and thought everyone else should, too, because he’d decided to turn Lunewood Castle into a Tudor-themed tourist attraction.
Tudor Times had opened a few months ago, and the citizens of Lunevale were pretty much split down the middle on how they felt about it. The half that liked the idea saw job opportunities and tourist dollars; the half that didn’t griped about the fact that the castle had been bought by a nutcase with a Tudor obsession. But since “nutcase with a Tudor obsession” also described the original Mr. Lune, I’m not sure what all the fuss was about, especially since most of Lunevale gets off on being Quirky Town, USA. Plus, Hank Bacon had opened the castle to anyone who was willing to pay the price of admission, whereas the Lunes had been notoriously snooty.
All I want from Tudor Times is the chance to make some money and to ogle Grayson Chandler from afar. And possibly wear a sumptuous gown that gives me awesome cleavage.
Lunewood Castle sits on a hill overlooking Lune Valley and is everything you’d expect a castle to be, right down to the lily pads floating in the moat. I follow the hedge-lined gravel path that leads from the parking lot to the rear of the castle and pass a small courtyard in which a bunch of sweaty guys in tights are thwacking each other around with wooden practice swords. As I’m craning to see if one of them is Grayson, I run smack into someone’s sweaty chest.
“Excuse me, milady,” Sweaty Chest says, grabbing my arms to keep me from falling.
I look up at his face and make a sound between a whimper and a sigh. It’s Grayson Chandler, and he looks like he just stepped out of one of my Princess Bride fantasies. His brown hair is perfectly tousled, and he has on a flowy white shirt with a slit down the front that exposes his chest and a hint of his infamous abs. I look into his mesmerizing green eyes and instead of saying something spectacularly witty like, “Is that your sword or are you just happy to see me?” I blurt, “The Hepplewhite hides the boogers!” Then I tear myself out of his grip and run the rest of the way to the castle without looking back.
About Holding Court:
Sixteen-year-old Jules Verity knows exactly what’s in store at her new job at castle-turned-dinner-theater Tudor Times. Some extra cash, wearing a fancy-pants dress, and plenty of time to secretly drool over the ever-so-tasty—and completely unavailable—Grayson Chandler. Except that it’s not quite what she imagined.
For one, the costume Jules has to wear is awful. Then there’s the dead body she finds that just kind of…well, disappears. Oh, and there’s the small issue of Jules and her episodes of what her best friend calls “Psychic Tourette’s Syndrome”—spontaneous and uncontrollable outbursts of seemingly absurd prophecies.
The only bright side? This whole dead body thing seems to have gotten Grayson’s attention. Except that the more Jules investigates, the more she discovers that Grayson’s interest might not be as courtly as she thought. In fact, it’s starting to look suspicious…