Black Knight (Royal Elite #4) by Rina Kent

I turn around and flop into my seat, fighting my heated cheeks. Just why the hell did I have to be in the same class with the four horsemen during my last year in RES?

I was almost surviving without having to see Xander’s face in every damn class.

Mrs Stone is speaking about a test, but I can’t for the life of me concentrate on what she’s saying. My mind keeps flickering to the back tables, where I feel someone watching me.

My nape prickles with unwanted attention and I squirm in my seat as if that will make the discomfort go away.

Something hits my arm before a crumpled piece of paper falls beside me. Letting my hair cover my eyes, I peek behind me to be greeted by Ronan’s grin.

He’s sitting right beside Xander, where the latter is clenching his pencil in a death grip. Ronan stretches both legs in front of him, twirling a black pen between his index and middle finger. He motions at the paper with his brows.

I throw a fleeting glance at Xander, but he’s focused on Mrs Stone. His expression is neutral, but his shoulders are rigid. Why the hell is he so tense?

After retrieving the paper, I unfold it discreetly. It’s a scribble in Ronan’s messy handwriting with a smiley emoji at the top.

‘Give the world a middle finger with a smile.’

I stare back at him and he winks. My lips instinctively curve in a smile.

Xander’s harsh gaze slides from Ronan to me and then stays there.

On me.

It doesn’t waver nor does he attempt to look away. He’s trying to intimidate me so I’ll be the one to cut off eye contact and cower down like I do every time he’s in my vicinity.

If looks could slice me open, Xander’s would be the sharpest blade right now.

But there’s something he’s forgetting. His war doesn’t scare me anymore. It can’t be worse than the fog or Kir’s disappointed gaze or the fear in his little eyes when he thought I’d leave him alone.

So I continue smiling. At Ronan, not at Xander.

I flip off those who slowly broke me, who turned me into this pathetic shell of a person.

Those who took pleasure in igniting my breaking point and watched me as I fell.

Those who threw me under the bus instead of pulling me to safety.

Those who fed the fog and allowed it to rule my life.

I follow Ronan’s advice and give the world the middle finger.





3





Xander





There’s a certain company in loneliness.

Yes, that sounds crazy, and yes, I still stand by it. This could be due to the coffee, er…vodka coffee I just had, but who cares?

The empty house sure doesn’t.

The people inside it are only paid by my father to keep their mouths shut. He makes them sign NDAs that would cost them their lives and three generations of their families sold on the black market.

People keep their mouths shut when they’re stuffed with the queen’s bills.

At least, those my father surrounds himself with do.

Our cook didn’t blink an eye when I made a coffee and poured alcohol instead of water. He just nodded and went about his business.

I stand by the huge French window, sipping my coffee and placing a hand in my pocket. You know, like a good upper-middle-class boy with decent grades, a popularity vote under his belt, and a pretty wonderful life.

Everything is laid out before me for the taking – the huge garden, the German cars in the garage, the high positions.

All of it is there.

And yet, it isn’t.

Is it okay to take what you need when you don’t have what you want?

The answer to that is yes, logically speaking, but I’ve been gradually losing that part due to my vodka.

And yes, I do answer my own hypothetical questions. Cole’s philosophy shit is starting to rub off on me.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have practice?”

I slowly close my eyes, inhaling deeply, before I turn around to face the only family I have left.

The one I wish had disappeared instead of Mum twelve years ago.

My father stands in the middle of the living area, which is filled with renaissance paintings and weird fucking art that he pays hundreds of thousands for at auctions.

Lewis Knight is a man of power in this country, one of the hotshot ministers who not only regulates the economy but also controls it. He’s – wait for it – Secretary of State for Business, Energy, and Industrial Strategy. Phew, I know, that’s a long title, but it goes with his ‘duties’, as he calls them.

You know, like a typical politician.

He’s in his mid-forties with a medium build and thick dark hair that he keeps styled as if he has daily dates with the queen herself. A three-piece suit flatters his frame and gives him a majesty that everyone praises in the media.

He’s one of the popular ones, my father. Spoiler alert, that’s why I get the popularity vote, too. That shit is genetic.

He’s also friends with the ‘IT’ crowd, the first line of the conservative party, who are doing some internal war to crush the upcoming elections and rule the country once again. After more than ten years of consecutive wins, let’s just say it got boring.

A permanent scowl lodges between his thick brows while he looks me up and down as if he objects to my jeans and T-shirt. I should always look presentable, even at home. You never know when those reporters will come to do a field visit.