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

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.

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.

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.”

My cheeks heat until I feel like I’m thrown into a pit of flames. He had to bring out the most embarrassing moment of my life.

“Lapse of judgement.” I lift my chin. “Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

His fingers clasp around my wrist and he strings me along towards him. I try to twist and pull, but that only makes his grip harsher.

“Let me go,” I grit out, hating all the audience that has stopped to see the show.

My cheeks flame with hot, flashing anger at being manhandled in public. Way to ruin my top-notch invisible reputation.

“Meet me after school,” he whispers in that deep, slightly husky voice.

It’s not a request, it’s a flat out order. He must be so used to people falling at his feet.

“Why would I want to do that?” I give up trying to remove my wrist and glare up at him.

He taps my nose twice. “Wait for me at the car park after practice.”

“No.”

“Be there, princess.”

He must still see defiance written all over my face. Instead of cowering away, his eyes shine with mischievousness and something so similar to ‘Challenge accepted’.

When he speaks this time, it’s loud enough for everyone surrounding us to hear.

“Don’t worry. This time I won’t make you beg for it.” He smirks. “For long.”

Scorching heat climbs up my neck and to my face, bathing me in red hot embarrassment mixed with blinding anger.

He offers a smug grin that says, ‘I always win’ before he taps my nose again and walks in the opposite direction. Everyone goes out of their way to let him go through as if they actually believe he’s the king or some shit.

I stand like a red ball, watching his retreating back with stupefaction as one of the other seniors joins him and soon enough, half of the football team are waltzing alongside him toward the locker room.

Everyone continue gawking at me as if I’m a world wonder — or a mass murderer, I can’t be so sure with some of the girls’ glares.

“Slut,” one of them hisses as she brushes past me.

The anger that should be directed at her or her minions that said similar insults is burning in the opposite direction.

The locker room and the wanker in it.

King wants me to meet him after school?

I’ll be meeting him after school, all right, but he’ll be wishing he never issued his royal decree.