Twisted Kingdom (Royal Elite #3) by Rina Kent

“Are you taking your meds?” Aunt asks while cutting shrimp and putting it on my plate. “You have an appointment with Dr Albert soon, so you have to watch your calorie intake and —”

“Blair,” Uncle cuts her off.

“Right.” She touches her temple. “You’re with Ethan now. It’s none of my business. Old habits die hard, I guess. Did he at least book your appointment? I emailed him all the dates colour-coded. There are tests and consultations and —”

“Blair.” Uncle touches her arm.

“Fine, fine. Let’s just eat.”

But she doesn’t just eat. Aunt basically empties the entire table on my plate.

“I forgot the soup.” She stands up. “I knew I forgot something.”

“Is she okay?” I ask Uncle after she disappears into the kitchen.

“She just needs time to get used to the new change. It’s not easy on her.”

I nod.

Uncle clears his throat. “Blair has always felt guilty about Abigail, she just didn’t show it. I’m not asking you to forgive her, but can you at least try to understand? She was shaking the entire way to Birmingham the other day. She loathes that place with a passion.”

My hands pause on the knife and fork.

I can relate to her. It’s not easy to go back to a place that traumatised you. During my entire stay at our house in Birmingham, I never had a full night’s sleep.

Not to mention the basement.

It’s still there at the far end of the tower, taunting me to come close and relieve bloodied memories.

Dr Khan said revisiting the place where a trauma started can trigger my subconscious. Dad also said that the basement now has a fingerprint-lock that I can open any time I like.

Truth is, I’m scared of that basement.

I’m scared to know what happened in there. If I step over that line, I would never be able to return.

I have the scar to prove it.

Maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to learn more monstrous things about Ma.

“Eat, pumpkin.” Uncle offers me his warmest smile. “She spent the entire day preparing this dinner.”

I swallow past the clog in my throat and take a bite of the shrimp. It’s hard to taste over the stickiness at the roof of my mouth.

Aunt returns with the soup, her eyes wet as if she’s been crying. It’s like having an arrow shoot straight to my heart.

“Aunt —”

“It’s your favourite.” She cuts me off, her voice shaking at the end. “I might not be a good parent, but I can at least cook what you like.”

“It’s okay, Aunt. I understand what trauma feels like.” I stare at my lap before facing her again. “I shouldn’t have blamed it all on you. Mum was sick. Even if you were there, I don’t think much would have changed.”

Her mouth hangs open. “Elsa…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry, hon.” She leans over and wraps me in a motherly hug. It’s warm and smells like cotton candy and summer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around from the beginning. I’m so sorry.”

Me, too.

What would it feel like if I were born to a normal mother?

I guess I’ll never know. Whether I admit it or not, my mother was a monster.

I’m the daughter of that monster.

Now, I just have to decide whether to fight or embrace it.

I have to decide if I’m the type of person who locks children up to torture them like Ma or the type who sets them free like Dad.

Death or life.

Darkness or hope.

As I wrap my arms around Aunt, I know exactly who I want to be.





14





Elsa





For the following week, Aiden doesn’t leave me alone.

He’s there during lunch, dropping off my special food. I don’t eat any of it, opting to have lunch boxes, but he keeps bringing it anyway.

He’s also there during practice, passing me water and his sports drink.

I stopped counting the number of times he wanted to talk to me and I refused.

He offers to drive me home after school. I refuse to and choose to ride with Knox instead.

His jaw clenches and his left eye twitches whenever I do that. He clearly doesn’t like it, and I expect him to drag me by force more than once.

He doesn’t.

Every time we cross paths in the hall, he watches me with a disarming intensity. He confiscates my air and tucks it somewhere beyond reach. I often stiffen, expecting him to drag me into a corner, announcing the game is over, and teach me whom I belong to in his sadistic dominating ways.

None of that happened.

It’s weird.

No. It’s disarming.

His nice, grovelling side is starting to freak me out.

Aiden doesn’t do grovelling. Aiden takes without permission, leaving disaster in his wake.

I toss and turn at night thinking he might be genuine, maybe he really changed. Then I recall who he is, what he is, and quickly squash those thoughts.

People like Aiden don’t change. They’re too comfortable on their high and mighty pedestals to stoop low.

All this must be another ploy to make me trust him just so he can fuck me over again.

I’m done being that fool.

I’m done being played.

To his credit, I barely saw him with Silver in the school’s hallways. But who knows what’s going on behind closed doors.