Twisted Kingdom (Royal Elite #3) by Rina Kent

“Besides, Nash will have my head on a stick if I come within two metres of his stepsister.” He lifts a shoulder. “I need my head.”

The onslaught of information takes me back by surprise. No, not surprise. I’m floundering with thoughts and memories.

I don’t know if I should soften or just hit him across the face.

Can’t I do both?

I peek at him through my eyelashes. God, he’s so broad and tall and beautiful.

Oh, and a sociopath.

Despite the relief flooding me, my heart can’t forget the stabs and the bitter taste of betrayal I felt at the Meet Up.

The humiliation.

The breaking of my heart.

You know, people say you don’t feel it when your heart breaks. I did. I heard the cracking sound and felt it tear apart.

Nothing will make me forget that.

At least not yet.

“I still don’t trust you, Aiden,” I murmur.

His left eye twitches. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re pushing me.”

“You pushed me first. You started the war first. Don’t blame me for building my forts.”

He touches his finger to my mouth. I cease breathing at the feel of his skin on mine.

His nearness has always been my undoing. Now that I lost the reason to feel numb, all I can do is feel.

The rough skin, the lean finger, the tingles, the need to lean in.

“Run and I’ll chase. Hide and I’ll conquer.” He places a chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Time to make your move, sweetheart.”





17





Elsa





Past

I wrap my hand around Grey Eyes’. The freezing temperature shocks my warm skin.

I frown as I stare up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were cold?”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Daddy says children can’t get cold or they’ll get sick. I don’t want you to get sick.”

His lips move into a small smile. It’s so rare to see him smile. I’ve even given him my Maltesers and he still wouldn’t smile as big as I do.

He watches me closely like Uncle Agnus does when there’s something on my face.

I wipe at the corner of my mouth, but there’s nothing. “Why are you looking at me like that?

“If you keep your promise, I won’t get sick.”

I grin and lean my head on his shoulder. It’s warm, his shoulder, even though the rest of him isn’t. “I will! Absolutely.”



* * *



Present

A knot squeezes tightly around my heart like a noose, filled with wires and mines.

Sitting up in bed, I wipe the stray tear falling down my cheek. I don’t even know why I’m crying.

I didn’t have a nightmare, but the stiffness in my chest almost make it seem like one.

Something feral and wild beats beneath my skin, something scary, but also… exhilarating.

I pull my knees to my chest and watch my hands under the dim light of the night lamp. No idea why I do that. It’s not like I can reincarnate the feeling of his hand in mine.

Or the warmth of his shoulder when I laid my head against it.

Or how easy our interactions were.

We’re like two pieces of the same puzzle, him and I.

He was beautiful even back then — with his boyish features and tousled hair.

He grew up to be lethal.

The words we exchanged play in a loop in my mind. We made a promise. How come I don’t remember it?

You’re the one who never keeps her promises.

Surely, a promise made by a seven-year-old and an eight-year-old can’t be that important.

It’s three in the morning, and I probably won’t be able to find sleep any time soon. I plug my earbuds in and hit play on my iPod. Paradise by Coldplay fills my ears as I retrieve my phone and go through Instagram.

Since Aiden and Silver talked to me on Friday, I went back to stalking him.

What?

I can’t control my cravings anymore. I was only able to do that due to my resolve and because I thought I was the other woman.

Now that all those reasons vanished, I’m possessed by this need to check up on him. To just look at him.

He’s a drug, Aiden. I’m just a loser on withdrawal.

This is not healthy, but whatever.

I miss him. As far as I know, there’s no cure for that, so I’ll just scroll through his IG.

He uploaded the last picture about half an hour ago. It’s a black and white shot of the surface of his pool. No caption.

Since it’s late, he must be having trouble sleeping.

I wonder if he’s also thinking about those days in the basement. Maybe he, too, was woken up because of a memory from the past.

A deep longing hits me out of nowhere. It tastes sour, but also delicious.

The longer I stare at his face in the pictures, at his midnight hair and cloudy eyes, at his infectious smile and the devil inside, the harder I’m tempted to reach out to him.

I can hit ‘like’ and alert him to the fact that I’m online. That I’m awake and thinking about him and our fucked up past.

The song switches to Things We Lost in The Fire by Bastille.

I exit his Instagram before I do something I’ll regret come morning. I shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions this late.

I lie in bed and watch the neon blue numbers on the nightstand, but I can’t quite let go of my phone.