Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5) by Rina Kent

“It’s not about him.”

“Yeah, right, could’ve fooled me.” He raises an eyebrow. “I was going to kick him out of our lives until I saw you with him. You’ve never been at ease with someone like you are with Ronan. Not even with me — and I hate it, by the way. I’m supposed to be your favourite.”

“You are.” My chest aches, but I mutter, “I’m breaking it off with him.”

“Why?”

Ugh. Why do he and Agnus have to ask that question? Would it be the end of the world if they didn’t know?

“Can’t you see it? Ronan and I couldn’t be any more opposite.”

Lie. We share more than the world will ever know, but I’m not telling Knox that.

“And yet you make it work. He’s been asking about you every time he sees me. He’s not doing well, T.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. He’s distracted at practice and hasn’t been throwing his usual jokes.”

He’ll move on. Ronan is the strongest, most admirable person I know.

He called me strong, but he’s way stronger than me.

I hid and shunned people. He slammed straight into them.

And then into me.

And now, we’re here.

And we shouldn’t be here.

After saying goodnight, I retreat to my room and slide down the door after I close it.

Something burns in my chest, and it…God, it hurts.

It hurts so much knowing what I’ll do to him. That’s why I’ve been delaying it, trying to talk my brain out of it.

Maybe I can live without revenge.

Maybe…

The little girl with black hair and soulless eyes appears in front of me. Silent tears fall down her cheeks, but she’s not speaking. She’s not doing anything.

She just stands there in her torn collar and dirty dress.

Help me.

Save me.

Free me.

She doesn’t have to say the words for me to feel them. She’s always been there; she’s the constant shadow on my shoulder.

And now, I have to get justice, for her.

For me.

You know what? I’m done hiding and running away from the inevitable. Agnus will get me the supplies if I ask him to.

I retrieve my phone and call the number I should’ve dialled sooner.

“Hello,” I say. “Can we meet tomorrow?”

After he confirms, I pull out a piece of paper and pour my heart onto it in one go.

This is my legacy.

My goodbye.





30





Ronan





When the great Earl Edric Astor says he’s having a family meeting, everyone must drop to their knees and listen.

Well, not exactly, but something like that.

So we’re all here in the dining room. And by we, I mean, Mum, Eduard the fucker, Lars — because we’ve basically adopted him — and yours truly.

Mum sits at the head chair, or more like Dad sat her on it while he stands behind her. She’s wearing a beige dress that makes her appear paler, or maybe she’s been paler than usual.

Lars, like any adopted child, doesn’t want to tell me why Mum’s cold has been going on longer than ever. He’s after the parents’ favour.

But he still stands beside me, not taking a seat. It’s like he’s expecting an order of tea and wouldn’t want to miss it when it arrives.

Eduard is across from me, throwing a glance my way now and again. He’s wearing a purple suit that makes him look like a clown.

I shake my head at that image.

He keeps touching his tie, which means he’s nervous as fuck. He probably thinks I talked to Dad or something. I play a dick card and let him think that.

Be nervous, Ed.

I hope you stay nervous until the end of your miserable life.

I retrieve my phone discreetly under the table. There are text messages from my friends. I changed the group chat’s name to The Four Fuckers, like we’re four musketeers. Xan said there are only three musketeers and Cole just changed the name back to The Fuckers.

He has no imagination.

I try to pretend I’m interested in their texts, but I’m not, so I go straight to Teal’s messages.

Nothing.

Empty.

Nada.

She hasn’t acknowledged my existence since that night. Okay, so maybe throwing my childhood trauma on her all at once wasn’t my brightest moment.

And okay, admitting I have no pride when it comes to her is frowned upon in Ron Astor the Second’s playbook, but she’s not any girl.

She’s Teal.

I can’t fight the need to be with her every waking moment. I want to hold her, and maybe if I do so tightly enough, she’ll eventually open up to me, too.

Maybe she’ll feel safe enough to tell me why she puts up walls after we have sex or when she sleeps in my arms.

It can’t be the depravity — she loves that as much as I do. It’s a game we play, and it’s a damn good one at that. I hope to hell it’s not the performance, because Ron Astor the Second and his legendary size would take a rope to his neck, and that’d be a fucking tragedy.

Maybe I need to kidnap Knox and torture the answers out of him.

Or not.

Kidnapping and torturing your future brother-in-law is frowned upon in ninety-nine per cent of cultures.