Cruel King (Royal Elite #0) by Rina Kent

Beautiful things have positive effects on people. Most want to capture such moments and relive them over and over again.

Not me.

I itch to burn them and destroy their ashes until nothing is fucking left.

With Astrid Clifford, that sensation is morphing into something else.

I’m compelled to turn her life as black as those canvases, but a part of me yearns to feel the stuttering of her breath as I barged into her space uninvited.

Aiden hangs his arms from my open window. “Are you coming?”

“Daniel Sterling.” I fix the boy wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they walk inside.

I have two thoughts about him.

His arm needs to be broken.

He should be black, too, for witnessing her laughter.

Aiden follows my vision. “He’s senior and usually benched.”

“Or out of practice altogether.” He didn’t show up to practice yesterday, probably not wanting to waste his time on senior year.

Daniel is the cocky football player type. The type who’s using the game to get his dick wet and to have all the attention that comes with it.

He’s decent enough and could’ve snatched his place long ago if it weren’t for his half-arsed attempts.

A smile tugs my lips. Guess who’ll have my wrath during today’s practice?

One point over Clifford’s princess.

My phone rings as I reach for my bag. Chris’s number flashes on the screen and I hit ignore.

I’m not in the mood for his empty excuses.

He sends a text.

Chris: Urgent. I have news.

“What is it?” I answer as soon as he calls again.

“I overheard my father with his officers,” he’s whispering and seeming out of breath.

“And?”

Thanks to the fact that Chris’s father is the deputy commissioner at the Met Police, we were able to avoid prison-trouble all these years.

“It’s bad.” Chris sounds chilled. “That girl’s doctor said she can remember if she’s put under similar circumstances or shown potential suspects. My old man and his colleagues are contemplating it. He told them to push through with the case because she’s a lord’s daughter. Fuck, King. What if she remembers us?”

“She won’t.” I grind out. “Keep your mouth shut and come to practice.”

“But —”

“Practice, Chris.”

I hang up before he can say anything else that’ll worsen my already shitty mood.

The anger from this morning rolls over me and all around me, suffocating my breathing.

Seems that the princess refused to listen.

I’ll ruin her before she ruins me.





10





Astrid





You picked the wrong subject, your majesty.



* * *



“Slut.”

“Whore.”

“Entitled bitch.”

My face remains a blank board even with all the insults thrown my way. I think someone even called me a harlot. Who the hell uses that outdated historical term anymore?

Since last week, when Levi cornered me in front of the classroom and broadcasted that I ‘begged’ him for it, the entire school has been out for my blood.

During lunch, I received two offers from guys who assured me they won’t have me beg for it.

That’s why I’m eating in a secluded corner in the school’s garden. I never liked the pretentious air of the cafeteria, anyway. Levi turning the entire school against me is more proof of why I’ll never belong in this circle.

And by a circle, I mean the entire football team who are always following him about like they’re the subjects in his royal court.

There’s this aura about those he keeps close. They’re called the four horsemen by RES and they carry all the destructive energy that Levi needs.

All of them are ruthless in their own way — even the silent ones.

Since my invisible days, I waited for any rebellion against the entitled arseholes.

Didn’t happen so far.

Everyone ends up dropping to one knee like willing peasants.

Even Dan belongs to their circle, so I can’t be the type of bitch who badmouths shitty, entitled athletes in front of him.

I can do it in my mind just fine, though.

Sitting cross-legged on the bench, I take a bite of my hamburger and sketch with my free hand. My shrink and physical therapist told me to take it easy, but I’m not good at listening to orders.

Besides, things have been changing with weird dreams — or nightmares — I’ve been having lately.

I can’t even recall what I saw when I wake up. I just wake up drenched in sweat and feeling claustrophobic.

Dr Edmonds, my shrink, said I might be witnessing flashbacks from the accident.

I came up with a theory.

My inability to sketch properly might have to do with what happened during the accident. Maybe I can remember what happened if I push myself to sketch something — anything — from that night.

Every time, like now, Levi’s infuriating face comes to mind.

I scratch whatever I’ve been sketching and huff around the mouthful of hamburger.

Muse-killing arsehole.

“Hey, bugger. What are you doing over here hiding?”

“Avoiding entitled football players. No offence, bug.” What? I didn’t say I wouldn’t say anything.