Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5) by Rina Kent

He didn’t.

He posted two pictures. One was of him and Xander half-naked, wearing shades and lounging by the latter’s pool.

The caption said: He hates me for waking him up, but I’m happy to have mon fréro back.

That put a smile on my face. Ronan always seemed to get along with Xander more than Cole and Aiden. Something tells me Xander is also more tolerant of Ronan’s personality than the other two.

The second picture was of Ronan making a face behind an oblivious Cole, who was reading from a book.

The caption said: Nerd.

That’s it.

He didn’t send me a text or call or anything. Okay, maybe the way I left wasn’t encouraging, but come on, this is Ronan. I expected a text that same night.

I kept staring at my phone through all of dinner until Knox made fun of me.

Then, he skipped this morning. Ronan is known to sleep in, but there are no parties he’d lose sleep over.

One thing led to another, and the next thing I know, I’m at his house.

Very tactful, Teal.

Well, since I’m already here, I might as well go with it.

I push open his bedroom door, and the sound of voices coming from the inside stops me in my tracks.

“Edric isn’t pleased,” says an older voice with a posh accent. It’s not as posh as the earl of the house, but close.

He stands by the window. Ronan sits on the pane with a huge grin plastered on his face.

“I’m afraid my father’s pleasure is none of my business.” Ronan releases a long mocking breath. “Phew.”

“You always had an attitude that doesn’t suit your parents,” the man says. His voice is familiar, I suppose because he’s Edric’s brother — the one who returned from Australia to help with the company.

From my position, I can only see the back of Eduard Astor. He’s wearing a hideous dark red suit and brown, leather shoes.

“I know, right?” Ronan’s grin widens. I can almost feel the force behind it and how he’s trying to keep his muscles in place.

“Some might even suspect you take after me.” Eduard’s voice turns sinister, smooth. “Wouldn’t that be the irony?”

“Fuck. You.” Ronan stands so he’s toe to toe with his uncle, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.

“Language.” I can hear the smirk in Eduard’s voice. “You’re an earl’s heir.”

“And you’re an earl’s brother. Act like one and stop fucking around or I swear—”

“What?” Eduard urges. “Finish what you started, nephew. Your noble blood says as such, right? As far as everyone knows, of course.”

Ronan continues staring at him as if he wants to run a pole through his chest and snatch it from the back. The hate is so tangible I can almost feel it crawl on my hands and wrap its meaty fingers around my throat.

In this moment, I want to grab Eduard and bash his head against the wall — or better yet, throw him out the window and watch as his body splinters to pieces.

Ronan doesn’t do hate; he does rivalry and he does spite, but hate always felt beneath his status, his name, and his entire aura. The fact that his fists are clenching and he’s stopping himself from punching his uncle means something.

“Watch it, Uncle.” Ronan snarls the last word, enunciating it, as if wanting Eduard to feel it.

“Run your mouth and I’ll run mine, my dear nephew. Remember Charlotte…” Eduard clutches Ronan’s shoulder and smooths invisible wrinkles off his shirt. “Poor, soft Charlotte. Breakable, depressed Charlotte.”

I lean over to get a better view of Ronan then a hand clasps my arm. I yelp, but the sound is muffled by a gloved hand wrapping around my mouth.

Lars.

He drags me away from Ronan’s doorway, opens another door down the hall, and ushers me inside the room. He does a sweep of his surroundings before following me and closing the door.

Lars is the head butler of the estate and a character straight out of a period drama. Though Ronan likes to say he’s his accomplice in murder plots, I don’t believe that’s the case. All the guy cares about is order, cleanliness, discipline, and tea.

Lots of tea.

He knows everyone’s taste in that.

Dad has only been here a few times, but Lars already knows he prefers black tea over anything else.

Oh, and he brings me dark chocolate whenever I visit Charlotte, so I am always thankful for that.

While his expression never betrays his feelings, I’ve somehow gotten the idea he doesn’t approve of me. He’s like Charlotte’s substitute in being my mother-in-law.

“What are you doing?” I fold my arms over my chest, going straight into a defensive mode, as if he didn’t just catch me eavesdropping on his master.

“That’s what I’m supposed to ask, Miss. What were you doing?”

“Passing by.”

His expression remains neutral. “Didn’t seem like passing by to me.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Lars. If you have something to say, say it.”

He remains silent for so long I start to notice the grandfather clock ticking behind me. If he’s doing this to unnerve me, it’s starting to work.

“Don’t tell the madam about whatever you heard.” He pauses. “However, if you feel inclined to tell his lordship, I’ll pretend I know nothing.”