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

You were caught in a crossfire where I could only win.

“Do you know what happened?”

I stop at the foot of the stairs and smooth my RES’s jacket. And by smooth, I mean, unbuttoning the shit out of it and making myself look like the school’s charity case.

The sound of Uncle’s voice puts me in a sullen mood. Shouldn’t he be already out to ruin some lives?

“Tell me, Aiden.”

“Yeah, tell him, Cousin.” I breeze into the kitchen and straight to the refrigerator, not sparing either of them a glance.

“Morning to you as well, punk.” Uncle shoots the words like rapid fire.

I grab a bottle of milk and don’t bother with a glass as I gulp half of it down. The cold liquid soothes my throat after drinking last night.

We have a dining room down the hall, but we don’t bother using it for meals. It’s only a place for Uncle’s gatherings where he can show off his wealth.

Once I swallow, I wipe the side of my mouth and lean against the marble counter, facing Jonathan and Aiden. They sit side by side at the kitchen bar.

Looks-wise, Aiden is a carbon copy of his father. He shares his jet black hair and the emotionless dark grey eyes — the King’s signature. Mine came out light and wrong because of Mum’s genes.

A chessboard sits between them made of crystal glass and black stones. Only a few moves were made. They’re probably picking up an old game. Jonathan and Aiden take weeks to finish a chess game.

Normal families speak about their day. Ours is all about fucking each other over in a chessboard war.

“So what are we talking about this morning?” I tilt my head. “Aside from the usual banter of screwing my life, I mean.”

Jonathan pushes the plate of scones away as if my mere presence spoilt his food. “You’re screwing your own life. If you choose to be nothing, you’ll be nothing, Levi. How about you be something different for a change?”

“Do say what something means in your definition, Jonathan. Spoiler alert. If that includes following your steps, then I’ll pass.”

“You’ll lose the attitude in front of me.” His eyes darken and so does his voice. “I raised you when your mother threw you at your father’s feet. I continued to raise you when your father couldn’t.”

My grip tightens around the bottle of milk until it almost cracks. Still, I keep the carefree tone. “If by raising me, you mean, you spent money on me, then no thanks to you. My father was a King, too.”

“A useless one at that.” Jonathan deadpans as if he’s talking about a pet he disliked instead of his flesh and blood. “This family doesn’t need worthless members. If you use the King’s name, then give back what you use.”

“Such as?” I tilt my head.

He mirrors the gesture. “Study at Oxford.”

“Pass,” I say as nonchalantly as I can and take another swig of milk.

Aiden shakes his head, shooting me a disapproving glance, then he goes back to cutting and eating his bacon as if he’s all alone in the kitchen.

Screw him and his father.

Jonathan stands and buttons his pressed, dark blue jacket. “Our deal still stands, Levi. If you screw up one more time, your trust fund will be suspended until you’re twenty-five — as per your father’s will.”

“A will you forced him to write.”

“You’re lucky I had him leave you something in his state. Do you think he cared about you or your future?” He pauses for a beat.

Another intimidation method that he taught us. Silence always gets you what you want, he used to say. People are always compelled to fill the silence and it can be used to your advantage.

“Having me as your guardian is the best thing that happened in your life, punk. You’ll bend to me.”

I meet his harsh stare with my own. “A king doesn’t bend.”

“One without a crown does.”

And then he’s striding out of the kitchen like he already owns half the world and plans to conquer the other half.

I slam the bottle of milk against the counter and droplets scatter all around. With a long breath, I close my eyes to reign in the onslaught of sweeping anger rolling inside me.

A year.

I need shit to stay together until graduation, then I’m leaving Jonathan’s kingdom once and for all.

“You’re doing it all wrong.” Aiden places his empty plate on the sink beside me. “You think you can take him, but you can’t.”

“Want to bet?”

“I don’t make unprofitable bets.”

He perches over, staring at the board. Jonathan blocked Aiden’s knights, and any moves he makes will cost him either his rook or his bishop.

Typical Uncle. He always starts by making you lose your strongest defences.

“Careful there, Cousin.” I raise an eyebrow. “You’re underestimating me.”

“And you’re underestimating Jonathan. We all have the competitive streak, but he’s been in this game longer than us. How do you think he widened his empire? You’re supposed to back down when he rises so he doesn’t crush you.”

“If anyone crushes, it won’t be me.”

“I don’t know if you’re being an idiot or what, but he won’t hesitate about ruining your life. There’s nothing that stops him from stripping you from your inheritance until you’re twenty-five. Are you ready to risk being kicked around for a whole seven years?”

“Shut the fuck up, Aiden.”

“Just stating facts, Lev.” He reaches over the counter, grabs an apple and crunches a big bite. “Play smart, not strong.”

I tilt my head to the side, watching him as he chews on the apple. “You know about what happened that night, don’t you?”

“Sure do.” He appears completely unfazed, his dead eyes calculating the best way to overthrow his father’s game.

Since that incident nine years ago, there’s something wired completely wrong about Aiden.

It’s like the deity took my little cousin and sent us back a demon on his behalf.

An emotionless, psychopathic demon.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” I ask.

“I don’t have a reason to.” He lifts a shoulder. “As I was saying, smarter, not stronger. You can’t dethrone Jonathan King in a game of muscles. A game of wits, however…”

He leaves it hanging as the corner of his lips lifts. He must’ve figured out a way to protect his defences against Jonathan’s ruthless attack.

But that will probably put his queen in jeopardy. Not that Aiden cares. He was never shy about bringing out the big guns since the beginning.

“Do you have anything that ties you to that night?” he asks without ripping his gaze away from the board.

“I’m killing all ties.” Starting with that damn Clifford princess and her nosing about.

“Exactly.” He picks up another apple on his way out and throws it my way. I catch it right above my head as he says, “Play the person…”

“Not the game.” I finish.

One of the truest things Dad has ever said.

I catch a ride with Aiden for our early practice because my car needs professional help to remove the paint.

As we stop in the car park, I catch sight of honey-brown hair flying in the wind. Aiden steps out, but I remain glued to my seat, watching her easy laughter.

She’s tipping her head back, eyes twinkling with spontaneous energy. It reaches me from across the car park and stirs a dark, unhinged side of me.

I want to ruin that.

I need to ruin that.

Beautiful things have positive effects on people. Most want to capture such moments and relive them over and over again.

Not me.

I itch to burn them and destroy their ashes until nothing is fucking left.

With Astrid Clifford, that sensation is morphing into something else.

I’m compelled to turn her life as black as those canvases, but a part of me yearns to feel the stuttering of her breath as I barged into her space uninvited.

Aiden hangs his arms from my open window. “Are you coming?”

“Daniel Sterling.” I fix the boy wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they walk inside.

I have two thoughts about him.

His arm needs to be broken.

He should be black, too, for witnessing her laughter.

Aiden follows my vision. “He’s senior and usually benched.”

“Or out of practice altogether.” He didn’t show up to practice yesterday, probably not wanting to waste his time on senior year.

Daniel is the cocky football player type. The type who’s using the game to get his dick wet and to have all the attention that comes with it.

He’s decent enough and could’ve snatched his place long ago if it weren’t for his half-arsed attempts.

A smile tugs my lips. Guess who’ll have my wrath during today’s practice?

One point over Clifford’s princess.

My phone rings as I reach for my bag. Chris’s number flashes on the screen and I hit ignore.

I’m not in the mood for his empty excuses.

He sends a text.

Chris: Urgent. I have news.

“What is it?” I answer as soon as he calls again.

“I overheard my father with his officers,” he’s whispering and seeming out of breath.

“And?”

Thanks to the fact that Chris’s father is the deputy commissioner at the Met Police, we were able to avoid prison-trouble all these years.

“It’s bad.” Chris sounds chilled. “That girl’s doctor said she can remember if she’s put under similar circumstances or shown potential suspects. My old man and his colleagues are contemplating it. He told them to push through with the case because she’s a lord’s daughter. Fuck, King. What if she remembers us?”

“She won’t.” I grind out. “Keep your mouth shut and come to practice.”

“But —”

“Practice, Chris.”

I hang up before he can say anything else that’ll worsen my already shitty mood.

The anger from this morning rolls over me and all around me, suffocating my breathing.

Seems that the princess refused to listen.

I’ll ruin her before she ruins me.