Cruel King: A Royal Elite Book

by Kent, Rina

  While dancing, I pull the underside of my forearm in the direction of the light. It’s not clear, but I can almost see the tiny tattoos of a sun, a moon, and a star.

  She made the star black because I’m her ‘Star’. She said she named me Astrid because it means an Old Norse star, a super strength that she needed when she had me.

  The tattoo is the last memory I have of her.

  If I didn’t ask her to come pick me up from the art class late at night, if I didn’t throw a tantrum when she told me the news, maybe she’d be here now.

  Maybe I won’t be stuck with Dad and his entitled last name.

  If I got her out of the car in time, if I called for help in time…

  I screw my eyes shut against the grief and what-ifs. My shrink said guilt-shaming will only consume me without offering a solution. Still, the wave of crushing guilt is as constant as every breath I take. It’s lodged in the dark corners of my heart and my soul.

  It feels like yesterday. The smell of smoke, burnt flesh, and metallic blood.

  So much fucking blood.

  I continue swaying to the music with lesser energy. My arms wrap around my middle and I open my eyes, chasing the ‘guilt-shaming’ away.

  I want to take off my clothes and take a dip in the pool.

  Sounds like a brilliant idea, me.

  How come I never thought about it earlier?

  I jump and hop amidst the bushes and the dirt path leading to the main mansion.

  Dan better show up or I’ll kill him. What’s the use of a best friend if he doesn’t go stupid pool dancing with me?

  The bright lights of the house become clearer, and I stop, shielding my eyes with the back of my hand. Ugh. Why so strong?

  “Come on, we don’t have time. Do it!”

  “Shut it. Everything needs to be perfect.”

  “Just do it already or we’ll be in trouble.”

  My ears stand at the hushed whispers coming from between the bushes. They’re male voices, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard them before.

  Or have I?

  But again, RES is too big for me to know everyone. Especially since I nailed the invisible role.

  Besides, this is the farewell party before summer so more than likely, all students are here.

  My instinct tells me this isn’t a conversation or a situation I should be privy on.

  And my instinct is always right.

  I sneak to the opposite direction towards the blinding light.

  A twig crunches under my shoes like in some cliché horror film.

  I freeze in place, muting my chaotic breathing as best as I can.

  “Who’s there?” The first hardened voice asks.

  “I’m going to check.”

  “Don’t let them escape!”

  Oh, for the love of Vikings!

  I sprint through the bushes and between the tall trees. Voices and loud footsteps echo behind me.

  My heart hammers against my ribcage as if about to spill on the ground. The more footsteps close in on me, the harder I push forward.

  I’m not an athletic person. The mere act of running wooshes all energy out of me like I’m a deflating balloon. Soon enough, I’m panting and sweating like a pig.

  “It’s over here.” One of them calls.

  “I’m bringing backup.”

  Dad is so going to kill me if these guys don’t.

  Too many gory films, Astrid. You watch too many gory films. There’s no way high school students, RES’s posh students no less would commit murder.

  Then, I recall that their families’ power can get them out of anything — including murder.

  God, I hate everything these rich kids stand for.

  I try to run on silent mode, but the twigs continue crunching under my feet as if purposely giving a signal to my hunters.

  Branches and the odd tree trunk scrape against my bare arms as I carry on my run.

  My pulse pounds in my ears as I reach a small road. I bend over behind a tree to catch my erratic breathing.

  Aside from the moonlight slipping from between clouds and the trees, it’s pitch black out here. The mansion’s lights and music have completely disappeared.

  The footsteps have vanished, too, and so did the voices. Phew. Maybe even my horrible athletic skills have managed to get me out of this unscathed.

  Still, my heart won’t stop beating fast and hard against my chest cavity.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  I take tentative steps towards the empty road, hoping to find someone for help.

  Two steps forward. One step back.

  The sound of a night bird — or beast — makes me freeze in place, almost peeing myself.

  When I go back home, I won’t take gory or horror films for granted anymore. It’s terrifying as hell in real life.

  “This way!” Someone shouts.

  “No one sees and lives to tell about it.” A familiar voice, super familiar, deadpans as numerous, steady footsteps sprint in my direction.

  I bolt down the road, my heart hammering in my chest so loud, I can’t hear my own footsteps.

  Run.

  Run.

  Run!

  They say you don’t feel it when your life ends.

  I do.

  It happens in a split second.

  One moment, I’m running down the road, the next, blinding headlights freeze me in place.

  I want to move. I want to get out of the way.

  I can’t.

  Something hard crushes against my side and I’m flying over the road. I fall with a thud, my hands lolling in an awkward position.

  Something warm pools underneath me and sticks to my T-shirt.

  Voices scatter all around me along with the loud squeal of someone slamming on brakes.

  The metallic stench of blood fills my nostrils just like that day two years ago.

  It’s rainy and dark. So fucking dark, I can smell death in the air.

  It has a distinctive smell, death. All murky and metallic and smoky.

  Mum’s head is lolled to the side with blood all over her neck, smudging the white blazer she was happy to receive last week.

  I stretch out a hand, but nothing in my body moves.

  I can’t reach my mum.

  I can’t save her.

  “P-please… Please… no… please…”

  Dark shadows loom over me. They’re talking, but it’s hushed and I can’t make anything of it.

  Warm fingers touch my side. I crack my eyes open and see a small star tattoo on the inside of his arm like mine.

  “Leave her,” The voice says.

  My world goes black.

  5

  Astrid

  They didn’t think I’d come back alive.

  * * *

  Two months later,

  Back to school.

  Back to life, basically.

  The past two months were pieces cut from hell. I half-expected Lucifer — the real one, not the TV show — to jump out and inflict some sort of torture.

  While all the kids at school holidayed and posted pictures from all over exotic places, I spent my time split between the hospital and rehab.

  All of it crashed down on me in such a short period of time, it’s like I’m re-living the tragedy from three years ago.

  Unlike then, I didn’t come out unscathed.

  I broke my leg, bruised my ribs and dislocated my shoulder. According to the doctor and the nursing staff, I was lucky.

  Lucky.

  Such a weird word.

  I even heard my stepmother say that to her countless snobbish friends. I was lucky to have escaped death twice.

  Obviously this luck thing isn’t hereditary because Mum died in her first car accident.

  Why couldn’t I share that luck with her?

  Dan flings an arm around my shoulder, bringing me to the present.

  The September sky has a beautiful, pale hue and the sun actually shines down on us peasants in the UK.

&n
bsp; The air smells of Autumn's humidity and that tame forest scent — coming from the huge pine trees surrounding Royal Elite School.

  Dan and I make our way through the huge double doors. Both of us are dressed in our uniforms. Mine has a dark blue skirt and a matching jacket with RES’s golden Lion-Shield-Crown on the pocket. A red ribbon surrounds my neck over the white button-down shirt. Dan’s identical except he has trousers and a red tie.

  Dan’s smiles — all complete with a left dimple — at any of the female species passing by us and adds a few winks causing some of them to nearly fall over each other.

  He’s good-looking in that classic, British kind of way. First of all, he has a dimple — that must be why I wanted to be friends with him. People with dimples kind of draw you in like magnets. He takes his time to slick his chestnut hair in a way that looks imperfect. Add in his turquoise, ocean eyes and he’s like a model in the making.

  No joke. A scout stopped his mum in the mall and begged her to have their agency represent him.

  “Hey, crazy bugger.” He pokes my arm. “We can do Senior year and we can even do it sideways, too.”

  I roll my eyes. “Does everything need to have a sexual meaning with you?”

  “Hell yeah. Senior year, senior sex life, baby.”

  I shake my shoulders. Incurable Dan.

  For a moment, I’m lost in all the students rushing through RES. Half appear excited — mostly freshman — while the other half look as if they were dragged out of bed.

  Oh, and I belong to the second half. Thank you very much.

  One more year.

  Just one more year and I’m out of this shit show.

  Dan stops me on the side of the hall where students are filtering through and catching up about all the fun they had during the summer.

  Some throw discreet whispers my way, but it’s rare and far in between.

  I might be a Clifford, but I’m not at all that important in RES.

  Here’s to hoping the accident news will die down soon so I can go back to being my cute invisible self.

  Problem is, there were double accidents that night. The mansion caught fire when that car hit me.

  We have a Facebook Group for RES’ students, from which teachers and the administrators’ board are banned. In said group, some speculated that the hit-and-run-driver put the mansion on fire, then on their escape, they hit me.

  Other freaks suggested that I’m an accomplice, since well, Clifford and King are enemies. And boo-freaking-hoo, it appears that the mansion belongs to Jonathan King.

  “You returned from the dead.” Dan ruffles my hair again. “That alone deserves a celebration. I’ll delay my hookup with Cindy if you want to grab a greasy cheeseburger from Ally’s?”

  “Wow.” I gasp in mock reaction, putting a hand on my chest. “You would delay your sexcapades for me? I didn’t think you loved me this much, bug.”

  “I know, right?” He feigns sadness. “The sacrifices one has to make for friendship. You better name your first baby after me.”

  That draws a chuckle out of me even when I’m not in the mood. This is Dan’s way to cheer me up.

  Aside from the football team’s camp, Dan spent the summer making the rehab sessions less boring and drawing a laugh out of me every chance he got.

  He doesn’t voice it, but I know he’s been feeling guilty about leaving me alone that night. I’ve been trying to tell him it’s not his fault, but Dan will just be Dan.

  Loyal to a fault.

  My shadow to a fault, too.

  Or maybe it’s the other way around. I’m the invisible one, so I’m probably the shadow in this friendship.

  One more year and we’ll both be free of our parents and their expectations.

  Free. Just the thought pushes a burst of unexpected energy through my veins.

  Dan and I continue our way inside, talking about our classes.

  RES’s old architecture doesn’t reduce any points from its stupid grandiose. Built in King Henry IV’s time during the 14th century, it was first used for the king’s subjects and then fell under the rule of aristocrats and old money folks.

  The huge arcs and the stony, half-covered hallways envoke a breeze from the past mixed with the presence’s modernity. It has ten towers, each dedicated to a level. Seniors get four. Freshmen and second years get three each.

  RES is exactly its name. Elite’s school. The private school of all schools. It’s not only about money here, though. If you don’t have the brains that go with Daddy’s bank account, then you’re not welcome within its walls.

  It has the toughest entrance exams in the country and they’re very selective about who they accept into their ranks.

  I guess I got lucky.

  Or not.

  Depending on how you look at it.

  For one, education here can help me in breaking free from Dad. But does it matter if he’s the reason I’m here in the first place?

  “So, party this weekend?” Dan asks with a waggle of his brows.

  “Wow. You really think I’d step foot in a party after what happened at the last party we were at?”

  “You can’t let them bring you down. I bet they want you to stop having fun.”

  “It was a hit and run, Dan. Pretty sure they wanted me dead, not to stop me from having fun.”

  “You think they’re the same person who called help and gave as many details about you as possible?”

  “I don’t think it’s the same person.”

  My ‘saviour’ as Dan and I labelled him was the one who had a star tattoo on his forearm. Sort of like the star in the Sun-Moon-Star tattoo Mum made for me.

  The responders found no one by my side when they came to get me.

  Dan searches my face. “And you still remember nothing about that?”

  I shake my head. Because of the fire, the police didn’t manage to retrieve any surveillance camera footage.

  The facts were: I was drugged then hit by a car that night. My blood test results came up with a considerable dose of Ecstasy and some cocaine.

  I think Dad was angrier about the drugs — and therefore his reputation — more than whether or not I remained alive.

  Dad thought I used drugs of my own accord. He didn’t have to say it so I can feel it. He thinks I’m a complete disgrace to the Clifford name.

  All he did was slap me with numerous therapies, coping, maintenance. It’s like I’m a machine who’s supposed to start running again after a few mechanics look into it.

  He did the same after Mum’s death. He never stopped to ask if maybe I want to talk to him instead of some strangers.

  To occupy myself, I’ve been visiting the deputy commissioner — a friend of Dad’s — and insisting on finding the bastard who did this to me.

  If they thought I would cower into my shell and be a turtle, they will have a freaking ninja turtle on their hands.

  Okay, that was lame, but all my similes are, anyway.

  Mum and I didn’t have much, but we had our dignity. She taught me to never take other people’s rights, but to not let them take my right either.

  If you don’t strike back, people will stomp all over you, Star.

  Mum might not be here anymore, but her words are my mantras.

  “You’re all I got so don’t go all emo on me.” Dan fist-bumps me and we release on a sound that resembles the ‘Big Bang.’ “Stay strong, bugger.”

  “Strong is all I got, mate.” I nudge him with a shoulder. “I wasn’t always all rich and preppy like you.”

  “Yes, miss East London.” He grins, saluting as he motions at the football team’s lockers direction. “I’m over here. See you in class.”

  I wave at him with two fingers and continue down the hall. Energy pumps through my veins at the idea that all this will be over soon.

  One more year.

  I make my way towards the classroom when a hand slams on the doorframe right next to the side of my head. A tall frame blocks my entrance.

&n
bsp; My vision snaps to the source and I freeze. Everyone in the hall seems to stop walking and talking altogether, too.

  Levi King.

  The same hypnotic eyes that pushed me to the brink of death stare down at me with a strange gleam. The other time, I saw interest mixed with menace, but now, it’s complete calculation.

  “What do you want?” I snap, and I hear a few gasps around me.

  No one snaps at Levi King. Kids here trip over themselves to keep him happy and comfy on his stupid throne.

  I’m thankful my voice contains all the venom I feel for this bastard.

  He knew I was drugged and still threw me out to be hunted down and left for dead.

  Well, he only knew I was drugged. He couldn’t possibly have known someone drugged me unless he was the same arsehole did it.

  But that’s the part that’s still fuzzy. If Levi drugged me, why didn’t he carry on with his plan and kick me out instead?

  A change of mind, perhaps.

  But why would he drug me anyway? He and I don’t cross paths. Ever.

  He lives on the highest position of the food chain and I chose the low comfortable — and very invisible end — on purpose.

  What made me visible to him?

  That’s the only reason why I’m not going on full offence on him. That doesn’t mean I’ll take his entitled shit around me, though.

  The accident taught me something valuable. I’ll not be a secondary character in my own life.

  Not anymore.

  Levi tilts his head to the side. “Is that a way to greet me after the entire summer, princess?”

  “What do you expect? A chanting of ‘Long Live the King?’ Sorry, the choir is still on holidays.”

  His lips twitch in amusement. Even when I’m sober, he’s still attractive as shit. His shoulders broadened over the summer — due to football training, no doubt — and I swear he became even taller.

  “And here I thought you were still interested.”

  “Interested?” I repeat, dumbfounded.

  “Did you forget?” his voice drops to a shiver-inducing range. “You begged me for more the last time we were together.”