Reign of a King (Kingdom Duet #1) by Rina Kent

The silence of the night is deafening as I slowly go down the road that’s faintly lit by tall street lamps.

A fountain sits in the middle of the garden with imposing grandiose. There’s a statue of an angel pouring water from a jar as the virgin Mary holds him at a tilted angle.

I hit the brakes, staring with wild eyes of the statues. Both the woman and the angel are crying, their expressions wrenched.

I touch my watch, the one Alicia gave me as a present. That same image is engraved on the back of it.

This can’t be a coincidence. There must’ve been something she wanted to tell me. Something that has to do with crying angels and the person who was after her life.

A shiver creeps down my spine as I hit the gas. I don’t stop until I’m parked outside Jonathan’s house.

Inhaling deeply, I step out of my car and stand in front of a large wooden door that appears ancient but elegant with an ornamental design that looks handmade. Not that it should be a surprise, considering this is the tyrant’s residence.

The mansion stretches across a vast piece of land, accentuated by towers on the eastern and western sides. It’s like a glasshouse from the amount of glass visible. Tall windows occupy the three floors and none of them have lights on.

That’s not creepy at all.

This will be the first time I’ve stepped foot into Jonathan’s house. After all, Alicia was the one who came to find me when I used to live in Leeds, not the other way around. The only two times she brought me to London was after Mum’s funeral and during her wedding, and that didn’t happen here. I think it was at her father’s house.

The door opens on its own. Again.

I nearly jump when a petite woman appears at the entrance in utter silence. She’s wearing a black skirt, a white shirt, and matching apron. Her brown hair is held in a stiff bun at the back of her head.

“Good evening, Miss,” she speaks with an Irish lilt. “Mr King is expecting you in the dining room.”

Of course he is.

She motions at my coat and I shrug it off, then awkwardly give it to her. I’m not used to people serving me, considering I was forced to fend for myself since I was sixteen.

Draping it over her arm, she starts down the corridor with moderate footsteps and I follow after her, trying not to gawk at the place.

Or more accurately, the palace.

Everything here is built to impress. From the high glass windows to the marble flooring and the golden vaulted ceiling. It’s like he receives royalty here. Hell, maybe he does.

This is just another drop in the ocean for how far apart Jonathan and I are.

He was born a king — literally. I was born to become invisible.

And I succeeded at it for eleven years. Until he ruined everything.

The woman stops in front of a set of double doors, nods, then leaves.

I suck in a deep, shaky breath and touch my watch.

You can do this, Aurora. You’ve gotten through worse.

I push the doors open and close them behind me before I finally raise my head.

Jonathan sits at the head of a grand table fit for all of H&H’s employees. No kidding. Does he receive the British Army in here, or something?

He’s wearing a white shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong, veiny arms. He could snap me in half with those arms without even blinking.

The fact that he’s all alone reduces nothing of his majesty. He doesn’t appear lonely or even the least bit miserable. If anything, he looks every bit the tyrant king on his throne. If it were medieval times, Jonathan would be the type of monarch who orders the burning of an entire city so the others would learn a lesson and bend the knee for him.

“Well, well.” He places his elbows on the table and meets my gaze with his unreadable one. “Have you changed your mind, wild one?”

“I agree.”

“To what?”

“To the deal you offered.”

“Smart. Now sit down.”

He cuts a piece of whatever is in front of him, sure I’ll comply with his order. Jonathan pauses with the fork halfway to his mouth when I reach a hand to the zip at the side of my dress and yank it down.

The cloth pools around my feet and I stand almost naked in front of him. “Get it over with.”





12





Jonathan





Ever since I sat down for dinner, all I’ve been thinking about is how to bring Aurora to her knees.

It doesn’t matter what methods I have to use. She’s challenging me again and I’m not the type to be challenged.

Sending my driver back is a clear sign of her loathsome stubbornness. And I need to crush that stubbornness to smithereens.

So when she showed up on time on her own, I took a pause.

I don’t take pauses.

Still, here I am. Taking another pause as I stare at her pale bare skin. My gaze trails from the defiant expression on her face — no red lipstick today — to the jutting of her nose and the slight crease in her chin.

Her long, delicate neck is taut — with tension, no doubt. Both her arms are inert by her sides, not trying to hide her half-nakedness. She’s in an unflattering purple cotton bra and underwear, clearly highlighting that she didn’t put any effort into how she looks before she came here.

It’s her way of showing defiance. She’s telling me this means nothing and she’ll wake up in the morning and completely erase me.