Cruel King: A Dark New Adult Romance (Royal Elite)

I don’t hate you, I hate my weakness.

I hide in the confines of my room underneath the blanket, breathing my own air.

For always chastising myself about feeling strong, I don’t anymore.

I spent the entire night curled into a fetal position beneath the blanket crying until no more tears came out.

There are no words to describe the amount of hate I feel for myself for letting him — or them — get to me.

How am I to survive in the big, vast world if I can’t even stand up for myself?

Is leaving Dad’s house real freedom or am I just deluding myself?

All these chaotic questions never left me the entire night. I thought about Mum and her strength and that only brought more self-hatred for not being more like her.

I thought about Dad and his power and how I didn’t inherit an ounce of it.

I thought about college and my art and how I have no idea where I’m going from here.

It’s been all crashing down on me. I don’t know how to stop it — or if I can stop it.

Last night, in the aftershock of adrenaline and fear, I learnt something important.

I never really had control over my life.

All this time, I’ve been floating like an aimless object with no landing zone in sight.

The door opens and I still, holding my breaths. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone — even Sarah.

She’s been checking up on me, but I told her that I wanted to be alone.

The bed dips as a weight settles on the edge. His strong cedar scent gives him away before he speaks.

“Sarah said you’re staying in sick today?” Dad asks in his usual calm tone.

I make an affirmative sound without changing my position.

A sigh comes from my left. It’s not annoyance, but more like resignation — or something similar. He makes the same sound every time he comes to adjust my blanket at night.

It’s the only habit Dad has kept doing since I came to this house.

Every night, he readjusts my blanket as if I’m a child and murmurs, “Night, Star.”

I always pretended to be asleep, or maybe he only comes when he thinks I’m asleep.

He’s been doing that religiously, even during the nights when he’s caught up late with work. The only time he misses his habit is when he’s abroad. Even then, he sends me my goodnight wish in a text.

When he came last night, I resisted the urge to turn around and cry in his arms. I’m still tempted to do it now, but I stop myself.

His ‘Goodnights’ aren’t fatherly, they’re obligatory. Dad’s upbringing and aristocratic name are all about manners and etiquette. I’m sure he gives Nicole her ‘Goodnights’, too.

“Is it because of the accident? Are you having nightmares?” he asks. “I’ll call Dr Edmonds.”

The shrink is Dad’s solution for everything.

“No, I’m just down with something.” Like my dignity.

“Look at me, Astrid.”

I shake my head, curling further into myself.

“Did something happen at school?”

I can tell him everything. Dad will probably notify the school, and then what? It was completely dark and they’re not stupid enough to leave evidence behind. It’d only cause more of their wrath.

Dammit. I can’t believe I’m cowering away from them this easily.

But what did strength give me aside from reliving my nightmare over and over again?

I can’t be thrust back into those horrible memories from the accidents. I just… can’t.

“Can you drop the case?” I ask in a low tone.

“Why?” Dad sounds suspicious. “You were so insistent on making them pay.”

“I just… it’s not worth it. I probably won’t remember.”

“Look at me,” he repeats, and I shake my head. “Astrid Elizabeth Clifford, are you or are you not going to remove that blanket?”

“I want to be alone.”

One moment I’m curled into the safety of my blanket, the next, I’m uncovered. I try to pull the cover over my head but Dad keeps it out of reach.

I face him and he freezes.

Oh, for the love of Vikings. My face must look like a hot mess.

“Why are you crying?” For one of the rarest times, Dad appears out of his element. Awkward even.

“Just… girl stuff.” I lie.

“Yeah. Right. Of course,” he says slowly. “Do you want me to bring Victoria?”

“No!” I snatch my blanket and hide under it. “Can you call the school and tell them I won’t make it?”

“Sure.” There’s an awkward silence before a warm hand pats my shoulder over the blanket. “Call me if you need anything.”

And with that, he’s out of the door. I resist the urge to call after him.

In the few minutes he was here, I wasn’t sucked into that endless thinking circle.

I close my eyes and pray for sleep.

By the afternoon, I feel a bit better. It probably has to do with how I spent most of the day sleeping.

I annoyed Sarah in the kitchen.

I’m thankful that Victoria has a gathering with other lords’ wives and Nicole will be at school all day.

It’s one of those rare, peaceful days.

Since Sarah doesn’t like anyone in her space, she kicks me out with a chocolate smoothie and a ruffle of my hair.

I lounge by the pool with my sketchpad in hand. My lips purse and my brows scrunch together as I stare at what I spent the last thirty minutes sketching.

Levi.

The lines are a mere draft, but it’s his outline. It’s his side profile and those merciless, pale blue eyes.

I can’t believe he’s the first actual sketch I made in freaking months. I’m about to rip the paper when a familiar voice calls.

“Hey, bugger!” Dan’s footsteps sound from the pool’s door. I thought he had late practice today. He must’ve ditched after I texted that I wasn’t coming to school because I’m sick.

Best friend ever.

“Thank God! I’ve been dying of boredom.” I throw the sketchpad on the chair and jump up. “You better be ready for some Viking marathoning and me kicking your arse at pool.”

Dan winces, stopping not far from the door. My eyes widen when the other figure strolls ahead of Dan.

His light, devil eyes twinkle and his lips curve in a smirk. “I’m game.”