Cruel King (Royal Elite #0) by Rina Kent

“Hell yeah. Senior year, senior sex life, baby.”

I shake my shoulders. Incurable Dan.

For a moment, I’m lost in all the students rushing through RES. Half appear excited — mostly freshman — while the other half look as if they were dragged out of bed.

Oh, and I belong to the second half. Thank you very much.

One more year.

Just one more year and I’m out of this shit show.

Dan stops me on the side of the hall where students are filtering through and catching up about all the fun they had during the summer.

Some throw discreet whispers my way, but it’s rare and far in between.

I might be a Clifford, but I’m not at all that important in RES.

Here’s to hoping the accident news will die down soon so I can go back to being my cute invisible self.

Problem is, there were double accidents that night. The mansion caught fire when that car hit me.

We have a Facebook Group for RES’ students, from which teachers and the administrators’ board are banned. In said group, some speculated that the hit-and-run-driver put the mansion on fire, then on their escape, they hit me.

Other freaks suggested that I’m an accomplice, since well, Clifford and King are enemies. And boo-freaking-hoo, it appears that the mansion belongs to Jonathan King.

“You returned from the dead.” Dan ruffles my hair again. “That alone deserves a celebration. I’ll delay my hookup with Cindy if you want to grab a greasy cheeseburger from Ally’s?”

“Wow.” I gasp in mock reaction, putting a hand on my chest. “You would delay your sexcapades for me? I didn’t think you loved me this much, bug.”

“I know, right?” He feigns sadness. “The sacrifices one has to make for friendship. You better name your first baby after me.”

That draws a chuckle out of me even when I’m not in the mood. This is Dan’s way to cheer me up.

Aside from the football team’s camp, Dan spent the summer making the rehab sessions less boring and drawing a laugh out of me every chance he got.

He doesn’t voice it, but I know he’s been feeling guilty about leaving me alone that night. I’ve been trying to tell him it’s not his fault, but Dan will just be Dan.

Loyal to a fault.

My shadow to a fault, too.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. I’m the invisible one, so I’m probably the shadow in this friendship.

One more year and we’ll both be free of our parents and their expectations.

Free. Just the thought pushes a burst of unexpected energy through my veins.

Dan and I continue our way inside, talking about our classes.

RES’s old architecture doesn’t reduce any points from its stupid grandiose. Built in King Henry IV’s time during the 14th century, it was first used for the king’s subjects and then fell under the rule of aristocrats and old money folks.

The huge arcs and the stony, half-covered hallways envoke a breeze from the past mixed with the presence’s modernity. It has ten towers, each dedicated to a level. Seniors get four. Freshmen and second years get three each.

RES is exactly its name. Elite’s school. The private school of all schools. It’s not only about money here, though. If you don’t have the brains that go with Daddy’s bank account, then you’re not welcome within its walls.

It has the toughest entrance exams in the country and they’re very selective about who they accept into their ranks.

I guess I got lucky.

Or not.

Depending on how you look at it.

For one, education here can help me in breaking free from Dad. But does it matter if he’s the reason I’m here in the first place?

“So, party this weekend?” Dan asks with a waggle of his brows.

“Wow. You really think I’d step foot in a party after what happened at the last party we were at?”

“You can’t let them bring you down. I bet they want you to stop having fun.”

“It was a hit and run, Dan. Pretty sure they wanted me dead, not to stop me from having fun.”

“You think they’re the same person who called help and gave as many details about you as possible?”

“I don’t think it’s the same person.”

My ‘saviour’ as Dan and I labelled him was the one who had a star tattoo on his forearm. Sort of like the star in the Sun-Moon-Star tattoo Mum made for me.

The responders found no one by my side when they came to get me.

Dan searches my face. “And you still remember nothing about that?”

I shake my head. Because of the fire, the police didn’t manage to retrieve any surveillance camera footage.

The facts were: I was drugged then hit by a car that night. My blood test results came up with a considerable dose of Ecstasy and some cocaine.

I think Dad was angrier about the drugs — and therefore his reputation — more than whether or not I remained alive.

Dad thought I used drugs of my own accord. He didn’t have to say it so I can feel it. He thinks I’m a complete disgrace to the Clifford name.

All he did was slap me with numerous therapies, coping, maintenance. It’s like I’m a machine who’s supposed to start running again after a few mechanics look into it.

He did the same after Mum’s death. He never stopped to ask if maybe I want to talk to him instead of some strangers.