Cruel King: A Royal Elite Book Read online

  All I know is that I need to go home. Now.

  With one last splash of water, I trudge back to the bathroom’s door.

  I should’ve heard the male voices. I should’ve hidden in the bathroom for a bit more.

  Hell, I should’ve never went into ‘the room’ in the first place.

  The moment I open the door, pale blue eyes peer into my soul.

  King.

  The same king I was warned to stay away from. He’s watching me with a smirk and a glint in his eyes as if he found his next prey.

  “Looks like a little lamb lost her way.”

  2

  Astrid

  Invisibility 101: Don’t mingle with the most popular boy in school.

  * * *

  Holy shit. Are those eyes for real?

  It’s the first thought I have while staring up at the eldest of the school’s two kings. The blue is so pale, it’s almost grey, but not really. It’s like a cloudy sky with a promise of some blue. It’s impossible to predict whether they’ll darken into a storm or clear into a mesmerising day.

  And it totally has nothing to do with how much I love the colour blue or how his eyes have one of the rarest variations I’ve ever seen.

  I’d take hours and still not be able to come out with the right colouring.

  In my two years in RES, I never paid attention to the ‘Kings’. Of course, they were shoved down mine — and everyone else’s— throats at school for being the rulers. The kings. The prodigy football players. The future heirs of King Entreprises that owns half the country and controls the other half through politicians.

  You can’t escape the King surname in the UK — unless you live in a cave and even then, their name might follow you there. They dominate The Daily Mail and every mail. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’re after the queen’s throne. Only, well, some might argue they’re already more powerful than her.

  However, this is my first up-close and personal look at a ‘King’.

  Levi King.

  Captain of the football team.

  Crowned king of the school.

  And attractive as shit.

  It’s not his eyes, but more like all of him. His golden blond hair is short on the sides and long in the middle to be pushed back in a tousled, sexy kind of way. His jaw is too sharp for a seventeen going on eighteen-year-old. He’s too tall, I have to look up to stare up at him — or ogle the shit out of him, basically. The hard ridges of his shoulders and arms hint at muscles honed by hours in the practice room. He’s like a young Viking in dark jeans, a black T-shirt and the team’s royal blue jacket that has the school’s Lion-Shield-Crown on it.

  Yup, he totally inherited Viking genes from the folk who invaded England’s shores once upon a time.

  Well, shit. Even with the football team reminder and something Dad said about staying away from the King last name, I want to run my fingers through his hair and see if it feels as smooth as it looks.

  I open my mouth, meaning to say something — probably stupid — but nothing comes out. That’s weird. I don’t feel as funny as I did not so long ago.

  If anything… energy buzzes through my heated skin so hard, I feel a tremor running along my limbs.

  I stumble forward and a strong hand clutches my bare forearm.

  A bolt of electricity shoots under my skin and straight to a strange part of me.

  Oh, God. That feels so good.

  “You good there, princess?” He removes his hand after steadying me.

  I clutch it in mine and put it on my arm. “Do it again.”

  My voice is too sultry even for my own ears, but I don’t care. His touch just elicited something euphoric and I want to feel it again.

  My lips clamp around a moan as I rub his hand up and down my arm in a long sensual caress.

  For the love of Vikings, why does it feel so smooth and hot and… bloody amazing?

  I need more.

  A lot more.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” He stares down at me with a look of interest mixed with menace.

  Or maybe it’s only menace and I’m imagining the interest part because my body needs it right now.

  He pulls his hand free from mine and before I can groan at losing the sinful sensation, he advances into me until I’m pressed against the doorframe.

  He smells like clean soap mixed with expensive men perfume and smoke. I sniff with a loud, embarrassing sound like a drug addict taking a fix.

  All that penetrates my hazy brain is his hot as shit presence and that he’s way too overdressed for a Viking.

  I reach for him in a mindless attempt to remove his clothes. His jacket brushes against my top and my nipples tighten with pulsating throbs.

  My movements stop at the humming sensation. That feels so good.

  Why does it feel so good?

  Worse, why the hell do I want to rub my breasts against his chest — or jacket, I’m not so picky right now.

  “You’re not supposed to be here, princess.” The rumble of his voice rolls over my hyper-aware skin like whips of his tongue.

  I nod, not even knowing what I’m nodding to. I just need him to get a little closer.

  “Do you know what happens to bad girls who go where they shouldn’t?”

  I continue nodding, too transfixed by the ethereal blue of his eyes. Are those some flecks of grey in them? If only I had my sketchbook to capture the moment.

  Though it would be near impossible to emulate the colour.

  Levi grabs me by the arm and this time, a moan escapes my throat as he drags me out of the bathroom and into the vast room I breezed through earlier.

  I’m so focused on his hand on my bare skin and how my thighs tighten to notice anything around us.

  “Look what I found.” His voice alerts me to the shapes in the dim-lit room.

  The low music thumping from the walls has ‘You’ll end up dead’ in the lyrics as soon as I let the outside environment sink in.

  Okay, that’s not creepy at all.

  Half of the football team are either smoking, drinking or playing cards. They all look up at Levi’s words.

  “I thought girls were for later?” One of them asks with amusement. “Not that I mind. You can start with my dick, love.”

  Eww.

  “Naw, come on!” Another throws a deck of cards. He has curly brown hair and is wearing his jacket backwards. “I’m not taking your sloppy seconds anymore, Chris. C’est pas cool.”

  “I’m your senior, Ronan. Shut it.”

  “I think she wants me first.” Hot breaths tickle down my ear as warm lips brush the earlobe. “Don’t you, princess?”

  Um yeah! Yeah!

  Keep doing that, please.

  I want to shout that at the top of my lungs, but I can’t find the words. I can only close my eyes and lean into his hard chest. Well, hell. He can probably use this thing as a board.

  Something at the back of my mind tells me this is wrong — so wrong, but I don’t particularly care about that something at the moment.

  That something can go suck it as long as King keeps touching me and making me feel good. Torturous, but still so fucking good.

  “Wait.” A smooth voice calls from my right from where two members of the football team are isolated playing… chess?

  He stands up and stalks towards me with infinite ease. His team jacket clings to his broad shoulders. Either he walks too silently or I’m too buzzed to hear his steps.

  Because the next thing I notice, he’s in my face, looking down at me with sinister eyes darker eyes than Levi’s. Even his hair is jet black. He shares Levi’s straight nose and the same posture, but he’s nothing like him.

  While Levi gives the impression of a badass, Viking King. His cousin has the aura of a silent, serial killer king who might or might not slaughter his people if he feels bored.

  The young king, Aiden, watches me for a few, long seconds with his hands nonchalantly tucked in his pockets as if he’s assessing a
lamb for slaughter.

  Damn these two cousins and how beautiful they are. Even with menace written all over his face, I can’t help noticing the whole deadly charm he has going on.

  “You’re Clifford, aren’t you?” Aiden asks.

  “Clifford?” The previous playfulness in Levi’s voice vanishes into thin air and his tone hardens.

  I hold on to the feel of his hand on my arm as I choke out. “I’m just Astrid. Clifford is Dad’s name.” I giggle and lower my voice. “Oops. Shh. Don’t tell him I called him Dad. He doesn’t like that.”

  Aiden raises an eyebrow as if he’s proven a point, but he’s not looking at me. “Hands off, Lev.”

  Silence rolls in the room. Even the other guys in the room stop doing whatever is on their hands and focus on me sandwiched between the two cousins.

  Or more like, they’re focused on the hostile energy that’s somehow brewing between the two kings.

  Me? I rub my back against Levi’s chest, needing to feel the friction and something else — I just don’t know what.

  “No.” It’s a single word, but even in my half-dazed, euphoria-seeking state, I can feel the power behind it.

  “Father said —”

  “I don’t care what he said.” Levi cuts him off in a cool tone. “Uncle doesn’t tell me what to fucking do.”

  A few of the guys howl as if he delivered the punchline of the century.

  “It’s your own grave.” Aiden lifts a shoulder and stalks back towards the chessboard and another player who’s been waiting for him.

  Levi’s arm curls around my shoulder and he pulls me to the hard curve of his side. A shot of electricity runs through me and settles between my thighs as his fingers stroke my bare skin underneath my top.

  I suck in a stuttering breath, holding on to the sensation with everything in me.

  “Anyone else has any objection to make?” he asks, but he doesn’t seem to be expecting an answer.

  Levi King’s word is law.

  Anyone who goes against him can only crash and burn.

  The football team’s players all come from prestigious, tycoon families, both old and new money, but they’re nothing compared to the King’s power.

  The only one who can stand up to him is another King. Which isn’t happening any time soon since Aiden seems to have lost interest in this situation altogether. He sits on his chair, head leaning against his hand as he continues playing chess.

  I’m not surprised when not one of the team members says a word.

  Levi drags me beside him down the hall. I hold on to every touch like I’ll die if he stops touching me.

  “Keep me some, Captain!” One of the guys shouts.

  I’m too occupied by his arm around my stomach to register anything else.

  It isn’t until a door closes behind us and Levi releases me that I realise we’re alone in a room.

  Wait.

  Is it supposed to be this way?

  3

  Levi

  A monster isn’t born. It’s made.

  * * *

  Here, little lamb. I won’t eat you.

  At least not yet.

  The girl has been all over me not two minutes ago but now that we’re alone in one of the private bedrooms in Uncle’s sickeningly large mansion, she looks about ready to bolt.

  I breeze past her, and she trembles then shrinks back as if the mere contact is electrifying.

  I flop on the edge of the bed, leaning on one hand and tilt my head to watch her.

  She’s pretty in a pop-fiction kind of way. Rosy, pale lips. Long, silky brown hair and eyes so green, they almost sparkle and shit.

  Granted, she’s not as pretty as the girls who throw themselves at me and the team all the time, but she’s got it going on in a discreet, almost tomboyish kind of way.

  With her denim shorts and unconventional trainers, it’s like she’s stuck at that point between girl-hood and teenage-hood.

  The only difference, there’s nothing immature about her petite figure. She has soft curves and a tiny waist that fit perfectly in my palm earlier.

  In the beginning, I planned to play around with her, push her buttons and then pass her around for the team.

  After learning her last name, she became my prey for the night.

  Screwing Clifford’s princess means one thing: pissing Uncle off.

  And I live to piss Uncle the fuck off and see how he looks at me like I’m a rock in his shoe.

  The failure.

  The king without a crown.

  The family’s black sheep.

  I’m just giving him one more reason to hate me — aside from the grand finale I have planned for his favourite holiday home.

  I pat my thigh. “Come here, princess.”

  She swallows, the sound echoing in the silence surrounding us. Clifford glances between me and the door for a fraction of a second.

  They say the human brain is wired for snap decisions.

  It’s funny how people make mistakes thinking they’re the right choices.

  Like Clifford princess for instance.

  Her brain is obviously telling her to run. Deep down, we can all sense danger, but not everyone focuses enough to relate to their basic instincts.

  I should probably thank chess and Uncle’s tyrannical upbringing for making me so aware of my surroundings.

  Clifford’s princess either missed some aristocratic lessons from her lord father or she simply doesn’t give a fuck.

  It’d be so interesting if it were the last.

  With one deep breath, she abandons the door and takes tentative steps in my direction, red creeping up her neck.

  She stops in front of me, rubbing her arm, and looking down at me through her thick lashes. I grab her wrist, and she moans, her eyes fluttering closed.

  I pause before yanking her to my lap and fucking her senseless.

  When she moaned earlier, I thought it was a show or some seduction technique.

  I stand up and tilt her chin up with my thumb and forefinger, staring straight into her dilated pupils.

  No wonder she’s a puddle whenever I touch her. She’s pumped with E.

  I push her away and she releases a tiny gasp, her eyes snapping open.

  “W-what?”

  “I don’t do druggies. Run along.”

  Her brows draw together as if she’s offended. “I’m not a druggie.”

  “Says every druggie.”

  She tilts her chin up in defiance. “You can’t tell me what I’m not.”

  Huh. Interesting.

  She has the attitude that comes with the princess title.

  My hand wraps around her waist under the T-shirt so it’s my skin to her heated one. Even with one hand, she fits so fucking perfectly. My fingers creep up near her ribs and I stroke the skin until a shudder goes through her.

  “This feels good, princess?”

  “Oh God, yes.” Her eyes flutter closed as she steps so close, I smell lilac on her. “More.”

  That’s what every druggie says.

  I know that, should’ve said that.

  But I’m caught in how her lips part, accentuating the pink teardrop in the middle. She’s so aroused, I don’t only feel it in the tremors and her heated body, but I can smell it in the air.

  I’m tempted to yank her top, bend her over and fuck her until she forgets her name and screams mine.

  But I meant it. I don’t do druggies.

  Clifford’s princess stares up at me and bites down on the corner of her lip. My pelvis crashes against her lower stomach as she moves up and down against my jeans.

  My dick hardens as she moans, “Please, more.”

  Fuck me.

  Maybe I can make an exception this time. I’m corrupted enough as it is.

  Before I give in to my demons, I snap, “Out.”

  When she stares at me with that slight blush, eyes shining with innocence and pain, a sick thought remains in my mind.

  I want to ruin her.

>   Complicate her.

  Crush her innocence.

  Then watch it all burn.

  But again, that’s what I feel about most beautiful things.

  If my soul is black, why does the world need colours?

  I grab her arm and drag her towards the back door. Her lips part as she struggles to keep up with my strides. When I open the back door and throw her outside, her lips part.

  She wobbles towards me. “No, wait —”

  I shut the door in her face, muting all the foggy chaos that erupted because of her presence.

  Tonight isn’t the time, but it will come.

  Clifford’s princess and I will have another duel once she’s sober and can handle me.

  Now… I smile as I open the door and return to the team.

  It’s time for my summer gift to Uncle.

  4

  Astrid

  Not only I bled, but you also left me for dead.

  * * *

  My fists bang on the door for what seems like hours.

  It's like there’s no soul behind the door.

  No answer.

  No nothing.

  I slide down to the stairs, regaining my breathing.

  So much weird energy buzzes through me like there’s a party going on through my organs. I want to jump and run — preferably at the same time.

  I don’t know where this place is, but it’s dark. The only light comes from the main house in the distance. Something Just Like This by Coldplay and The Chainsmokers from the party.

  Normally, I’d make sure there’s no one in my immediate vicinity, but normal isn’t today.

  I jump up and start dancing, twirling between the bushes and riding the wave coursing through my veins.

  If someone is invincible enough to jump to the sky then it’s me.

  The music seeps under my skin and tightens my muscles. My tank top sticks to my back with sweat the more I twirl and shake my hips like Mum and I used to.

  Pressure builds behind my eyes at the memory of her — or the lack thereof. It’s been two years and she’s becoming more and more like a fog. Her smile is disappearing and the positive energy she taught me is replaced by a deep gloom now.