Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5) by Rina Kent

I can’t bleed out.

I’ve bled out before.

Now, it’s his turn, not mine.

I push off Ronan and scramble to the passenger seat. My sweaty stiff fingers fumble for my dress and then pull it over my head, ignoring the remnants of the stupid bunny outfit.

Just a few breaths. Just a few. If I do that, I’ll be able to control whatever jumbled mess is going through me. I’ll ignore the feelings and everything that comes with them.

“What are you doing?” Ronan tucks himself in, appearing nonchalant, but his jaw ticks.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re putting up your walls. Why the fuck are you putting up your walls, Teal?”

God. Damn. It.

How could I be so careless as to allow him to recognise that?

Even Knox doesn’t notice it as much anymore. I’ve perfected it. I’ve become a pro at it.

This is wrong. This can’t go on.

“I’ll give you what you want.” I face him with a slight smile.

“What I want?”

“I’ll talk to Edric and end it.”

“End it,” he repeats, as if he’s getting a feel for the words.

“Yes. Isn’t that what you always wanted? For the engagement to end?”

“Fuck that, Teal.”

“Well, isn’t it? You threatened me about it before.”

“The keyword being before. Have I threatened you with it in recent memory?”

“In that case, I’m the one who wants to end it.” After all, the reason I wanted this is because of Dad, and he signed a binding contract with Edric a few days ago.

I’ve been on the verge of doing it myself since then, but I always kept coming back to Ronan for more.

One more time, I told myself. Just one more night in his arms.

I should’ve known better. That’s how all addicts act.

“You want to what?” he snaps.

“It was a phase anyway.” I nearly slap my mouth after I say the word phase.

It’s not a phase. Nothing is a phase.

I loathe that word.

“It’s not a fucking phase and you know it.” His face tightens. “You just felt it, and now you’re running away from it.”

“Just like you’re running away from all your problems with all the partying and drinking and drugs?” I lash out. That’s what I do when attacked, I attack back, and I’m venomous, like a fucking deadly snake who can never stop. “What did you think all the parties would do, huh? That maybe at the end of the night, you’d be a better person, you’d actually look at yourself in the mirror and have a genuine smile? Those people will never be you. They’ll never feel what you feel or speak the language you want to speak. They don’t care, Ronan. No one does, so how about you stop taking refuge in useless people? Or better yet, how about you stop trying to make me one of those people? I’m not and I never will be.”

My breaths are harsh after my outburst.

In my attempt to come out from under the microscope, I went too far, and now I have no way to stop it.

I have no way to take it back.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear with a trembling hand then I let it drop to my lap.

He’s not talking. Why isn’t he talking?

If he lashes out at me. If he tells me I hide from people for the same reasons, I’ll take it. I’ll swallow the knife with its blood.

I’ll do anything as long as he says something.

I steal a peek through my lashes. Ronan is watching me closely, but his expression is blank, non-existent even.

“Do you know why I take refuge in people?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. I don’t.

“I’m not interested.” If I know his pain, it’ll gut me to the point of no return.

“Too bad, because you’re going to listen, Teal. You’re going to listen to the story of a boy who hates himself so much he needs other people in order to exist.”





28





Ronan





My mother used to tell me a lot of folk stories. She had a grandmother in the countryside of southern France and she would gather her, my aunt, and their cousins around a bonfire and tell them stories about magic, but also about the devils that come out of the flames.

In return, Mum told me about her grandmother’s stories. She even used to wear the costumes and have us try them on to live out the characters.

And by us, I mean Mum and me.

Dad would give us that look — a bit of amusement, a lot of snobbishness — but Mum always managed to drag him in and have him watch us make fools out of ourselves.

Mum, Dad, and me — and Lars serving drinks while silently judging.

We used to be a happy family.

We used to be a family — full stop.

The crack happened when I was eight. It was Halloween. I loved Halloween. It meant shopping with Mum and picking costumes after thinking about it for months.

I was supposed to be a vampire that year because Mum had fallen in love with some film named Dracula that she wouldn’t let me watch. She was supposed to be the fairy princess Dracula was about to save. I remember Dad being grumpy because he wanted to do the saving, not me.

At that time, I didn’t understand what he meant. All I knew was that I got to dress up and play around the house with Mum.