Broken Kingdom (Royal Hearts Academy #4)(5)

The judge fixes his glasses. “Well, I suggest you figure out a way to de-stress him so he settles down, or I will hold him in contempt.”

Thinking quick, I search my brain, recalling the facts my lawyer rattled off about my charge earlier. “If charging me with murder isn’t possible…can you give me the year?”

The judge sighs. “Young man—”

“Look, you’re the judge, right? That means you get to override plea deals and can sentence someone to what the court allows for a particular charge.” I might not be a lawyer but being the kid of one means I do know some stuff. “Well, last I checked my charge is punishable by one year in prison in the state of California.” My insides tighten as I look him in the eyes. “And I’m asking you to sentence me to that year.”

It’s not much. Still a slap on the wrist, but Jesus fuck…it’s something.

“Oakley,” my father hisses, his face turning red with anger. “What the hell are you doing?”

The judge slams the gavel down. “Order in the court.”

My father once told me there were three times when it was okay for a man to cry.

When the love of your life walks down the aisle to meet you at the altar.

When your child takes their first breath.

And when you bury your parents.

But he never mentioned the fourth…

Taking a life that wasn’t yours to take.

And feeling so fucking guilty about it there’s no amount of drugs or alcohol in the world that will ever numb the pain.

“Please,” I plead, my insides churning with shame. “Give me the year. Hell, give me a hundred years.”

He slams his gavel down again. “Young man, I’ve repeatedly asked you to settle down. This courtroom is mine, not yours.” He pins me with a look. “I’m hereby sentencing you to three hundred and sixty-five days at the Blackford Correctional Center.” He turns to a man wearing a police uniform. “Take him away.”

I lock eyes with Hayley’s parents as they slam cuffs on my wrists. “I’m sorry.”

So fucking sorry.





Chapter 1





Bianca





Past…





“Did Mom come out of her room?”

Jace blows out a heavy breath. “No. She—” He hesitates. “She’s still sick.”

We both know it’s a lie. Our mom isn’t sick.

Not physically anyway.

No, what she has robs her of happiness, her husband a wife, and her children a mother.

What she has is pure evil.

Her sickness is something I don’t understand, but I wish I did so I knew how to help her.

The only thing I know how to do is love her.

Throwing my bookbag down, I race up the staircase.

“Bianca—” Jace starts to scold, but I brush him off.

She’s been in her bedroom for four whole days now.

Enough is enough.

I knock on the door, not bothering to wait for a response before entering.

As usual, she’s curled up in a ball under the covers.

Only, she isn’t sleeping…she’s clutching her phone.

No doubt waiting for my father, who is still away on a business trip, to call.

Whenever it rang, she perked up like the sun.

As if his voice was the cure for all her pain.

Removing my shoes, I crawl into bed with her.

We have an unbreakable bond that no one can destroy, and when she’s hurting…so am I.

“I miss you,” I whisper, draping my arm around her.

Lifting her head slightly, she gives me a small smile. “I didn’t know you were home from school already.”

It doesn’t surprise me. Whenever this sickness happens, she seems to lose all concept of time.

I trace my finger over the curve of her nose.

My mom is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

And the saddest.

“Bianca.” She laughs, pushing my hand away. “That tickles.”

It doesn’t. She just hates me drawing attention to the bump on her nose.

However, the imperfection is my favorite feature of hers. It makes her real.

“Do you want me to bring you up some food?”

“No, baby girl. I’m good.”

My heart sinks. “Oh.”

She hardly ever eats when she’s sick.

I trace the arch of her eyebrow with my finger and kiss the bump on her nose, trying not to let my disappointment show.

It will only make her feel worse.

Rolling over, I get off the bed. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

I’m about to walk away, but she wraps her arms around my waist, tugging me back to her. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” I lie.

“Come on,” she urges. “Tell me the truth.”

Somehow the woman always knows when I’m full of baloney. “During recess, Julianna said I was too ugly to be a ballerina, and everyone laughed.”

Julianna is popular…and mean.

And unfortunately for me, I’m her target.

My mother swears my awkward phase—a horrible one that includes teeth that are growing in crooked and a mass of frizzy hair—won’t last, but I’m not so sure.