Cruel King (Royal Elite #0) by Rina Kent

All I know is that I need to go home. Now.

With one last splash of water, I trudge back to the bathroom’s door.

I should’ve heard the male voices. I should’ve hidden in the bathroom for a bit more.

Hell, I should’ve never went into ‘the room’ in the first place.

The moment I open the door, pale blue eyes peer into my soul.

King.

The same king I was warned to stay away from. He’s watching me with a smirk and a glint in his eyes as if he found his next prey.

“Looks like a little lamb lost her way.”





2





Astrid





Invisibility 101: Don’t mingle with the most popular boy in school.



* * *



Holy shit. Are those eyes for real?

It’s the first thought I have while staring up at the eldest of the school’s two kings. The blue is so pale, it’s almost grey, but not really. It’s like a cloudy sky with a promise of some blue. It’s impossible to predict whether they’ll darken into a storm or clear into a mesmerising day.

And it totally has nothing to do with how much I love the colour blue or how his eyes have one of the rarest variations I’ve ever seen.

I’d take hours and still not be able to come out with the right colouring.

In my two years in RES, I never paid attention to the ‘Kings’. Of course, they were shoved down mine — and everyone else’s— throats at school for being the rulers. The kings. The prodigy football players. The future heirs of King Entreprises that owns half the country and controls the other half through politicians.

You can’t escape the King surname in the UK — unless you live in a cave and even then, their name might follow you there. They dominate The Daily Mail and every mail. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’re after the queen’s throne. Only, well, some might argue they’re already more powerful than her.

However, this is my first up-close and personal look at a ‘King’.

Levi King.

Captain of the football team.

Crowned king of the school.

And attractive as shit.

It’s not his eyes, but more like all of him. His golden blond hair is short on the sides and long in the middle to be pushed back in a tousled, sexy kind of way. His jaw is too sharp for a seventeen going on eighteen-year-old. He’s too tall, I have to look up to stare up at him — or ogle the shit out of him, basically. The hard ridges of his shoulders and arms hint at muscles honed by hours in the practice room. He’s like a young Viking in dark jeans, a black T-shirt and the team’s royal blue jacket that has the school’s Lion-Shield-Crown on it.

Yup, he totally inherited Viking genes from the folk who invaded England’s shores once upon a time.

Well, shit. Even with the football team reminder and something Dad said about staying away from the King last name, I want to run my fingers through his hair and see if it feels as smooth as it looks.

I open my mouth, meaning to say something — probably stupid — but nothing comes out. That’s weird. I don’t feel as funny as I did not so long ago.

If anything… energy buzzes through my heated skin so hard, I feel a tremor running along my limbs.

I stumble forward and a strong hand clutches my bare forearm.

A bolt of electricity shoots under my skin and straight to a strange part of me.

Oh, God. That feels so good.

“You good there, princess?” He removes his hand after steadying me.

I clutch it in mine and put it on my arm. “Do it again.”

My voice is too sultry even for my own ears, but I don’t care. His touch just elicited something euphoric and I want to feel it again.

My lips clamp around a moan as I rub his hand up and down my arm in a long sensual caress.

For the love of Vikings, why does it feel so smooth and hot and… bloody amazing?

I need more.

A lot more.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He stares down at me with a look of interest mixed with menace.

Or maybe it’s only menace and I’m imagining the interest part because my body needs it right now.

He pulls his hand free from mine and before I can groan at losing the sinful sensation, he advances into me until I’m pressed against the doorframe.

He smells like clean soap mixed with expensive men perfume and smoke. I sniff with a loud, embarrassing sound like a drug addict taking a fix.

All that penetrates my hazy brain is his hot as shit presence and that he’s way too overdressed for a Viking.

I reach for him in a mindless attempt to remove his clothes. His jacket brushes against my top and my nipples tighten with pulsating throbs.

My movements stop at the humming sensation. That feels so good.

Why does it feel so good?

Worse, why the hell do I want to rub my breasts against his chest — or jacket, I’m not so picky right now.

“You’re not supposed to be here, princess.” The rumble of his voice rolls over my hyper-aware skin like whips of his tongue.

I nod, not even knowing what I’m nodding to. I just need him to get a little closer.

“Do you know what happens to bad girls who go where they shouldn’t?”

I continue nodding, too transfixed by the ethereal blue of his eyes. Are those some flecks of grey in them? If only I had my sketchbook to capture the moment.