Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5) by Rina Kent

“But why?”

“What do you mean by why?”

“Why tell Edric but not Charlotte?”

“It’s his lordship to you, young lady.”

“Stop with the title bollocks. What’s going on, Lars?”

He tips his nose up as if he’s the aristocrat in the house. “If you haven’t figured it out yourself, why should I tell you?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Perhaps I was right — perhaps you don’t deserve the young lord.”

“What?” I scoff. “I don’t deserve him?”

“You haven’t proven you do, now have you?”

I open my mouth, but I’m incredulous so nothing comes out.

“That’s what I thought.” He heads towards the door. “Your tea will be up in fifteen minutes. Actually, make that thirty – and no chocolate for you.”

I flip off the door as it closes behind him. The fucking snob.

Though he’s a snob who obviously knows about whatever is going on between Ronan and Eduard, and he wants me to tell Edric.

I lean against the smooth surface of the table. From what I gathered, Eduard seems to be holding something over Ronan’s head, and it has to do with Charlotte. He also mentioned something about Ronan’s origins.

It has to do with Charlotte.

I gasp. No. It can’t be.

I storm out of the room, not knowing where I want to go. No, actually, I do, and it’s not back to Charlotte’s room, that’s for certain.

I want to make sure Ronan is fine, make sure he’s not raging or bottling everything up inside. Even those who have a problem recognising emotions know when they hit.

At the top of the stairs, a presence halts my plan — a presence I wished to never see in this house.

I wish it were only occupied by Ronan and Charlotte. Even Lars snobbishness would’ve been fine.

Anyone but him.

A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, and it takes everything in me not to fidget or run or dig a hole and disappear in it.

It takes all my willpower to stand in place as he strides towards me.

Edric is a big man, even bigger than his son, and because of his title, his presence seems to suffocate everything in its vicinity.

He stops in front of me, and a small smile pulls at his thin lips. “Teal, it’s lovely seeing you.”

I can’t say the same.

The information I just learnt — the fact that he’s probably not Ronan’s biological father — should delight me, because it’s this man’s downfall. A week ago, it probably would’ve.

Now, it doesn’t.

Now, all I think about is Ronan’s pain.

Just how and when the hell did I start recognising his pain when I’ve been doing everything in my power to ignore mine?

Even now, my feet are urging me to go to him, to hug him.

Wait…

Hug him?

What the hell, Teal?

“Mr Astor.”

“Edric is just fine, and don’t let Lars tell you ‘It’s his lordship to you.’ He tends to do that a lot.”

I smile because I think that’s what’s expected in response to his dry humour.

“Listen, Teal.” His smile slips, and I don’t like what I see on his features. I don’t like it at all.

In fact, I hate it.

I loathe it.

I wish there was an option to return his smile.

A man like Edric doesn’t get to show the shadow of pain or sorrow. He doesn’t get to be a human when he stole humanity from other people.

“I wanted to say I’m thankful for the time you spend with Charlotte, and even the text messages and the articles you send her. She looks forward to them every day and shows them to me with a big smile on her face. Your care means a lot to me.”

I’m at a loss for words, unsure why he’s telling me this. Besides, I didn’t do it for him.

“Once again, thank you.” His hard, stern expression returns. “I apologise if my son has done anything to disrespect you. He’ll grow up…eventually.”

“He’s grown up,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Excuse me?”

“Your son is grown up. In fact, he might have been grown for a long time and you just haven’t noticed it.”

He pauses, fingering his tie before he drops his hand to his side. “What makes you say that?”

It’s my turn to pause. Could it be that Edric knows?

No. It can’t be possible. He’s so proud, so sure of himself, so aristocratic and pragmatic.

“Nothing. I’ll go see Ronan.” I turn and leave before he can question me anymore. If I spend one more minute in his vicinity, I might lose control over my mouth. As Knox says, I have a problem with keeping my thoughts to myself.

I knock on Ronan’s door, but there’s no answer.

“I’m coming in.” My cheeks heat as I push the door open.

I expect to find Ronan and Eduard and I think about the possibility of punching the latter.

But there’s no one in the room.

“Ronan?” I call.

No answer.

I tiptoe to the bathroom, calling his name again, but there’s nothing.

Maybe he’s in the wardrobe? I fling the doors open and sigh in defeat.

What was I thinking? In the wardrobe, really?