Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5)(66)

It’s not a phase. Nothing is a phase.

I loathe that word.

“It’s not a fucking phase and you know it.” His face tightens. “You just felt it, and now you’re running away from it.”

“Just like you’re running away from all your problems with all the partying and drinking and drugs?” I lash out. That’s what I do when attacked, I attack back, and I’m venomous, like a fucking deadly snake who can never stop. “What did you think all the parties would do, huh? That maybe at the end of the night, you’d be a better person, you’d actually look at yourself in the mirror and have a genuine smile? Those people will never be you. They’ll never feel what you feel or speak the language you want to speak. They don’t care, Ronan. No one does, so how about you stop taking refuge in useless people? Or better yet, how about you stop trying to make me one of those people? I’m not and I never will be.”

My breaths are harsh after my outburst.

In my attempt to come out from under the microscope, I went too far, and now I have no way to stop it.

I have no way to take it back.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear with a trembling hand then I let it drop to my lap.

He’s not talking. Why isn’t he talking?

If he lashes out at me. If he tells me I hide from people for the same reasons, I’ll take it. I’ll swallow the knife with its blood.

I’ll do anything as long as he says something.

I steal a peek through my lashes. Ronan is watching me closely, but his expression is blank, non-existent even.

“Do you know why I take refuge in people?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. I don’t.

“I’m not interested.” If I know his pain, it’ll gut me to the point of no return.

“Too bad, because you’re going to listen, Teal. You’re going to listen to the story of a boy who hates himself so much he needs other people in order to exist.”





28





Ronan





My mother used to tell me a lot of folk stories. She had a grandmother in the countryside of southern France and she would gather her, my aunt, and their cousins around a bonfire and tell them stories about magic, but also about the devils that come out of the flames.

In return, Mum told me about her grandmother’s stories. She even used to wear the costumes and have us try them on to live out the characters.

And by us, I mean Mum and me.

Dad would give us that look — a bit of amusement, a lot of snobbishness — but Mum always managed to drag him in and have him watch us make fools out of ourselves.

Mum, Dad, and me — and Lars serving drinks while silently judging.

We used to be a happy family.

We used to be a family — full stop.

The crack happened when I was eight. It was Halloween. I loved Halloween. It meant shopping with Mum and picking costumes after thinking about it for months.

I was supposed to be a vampire that year because Mum had fallen in love with some film named Dracula that she wouldn’t let me watch. She was supposed to be the fairy princess Dracula was about to save. I remember Dad being grumpy because he wanted to do the saving, not me.

At that time, I didn’t understand what he meant. All I knew was that I got to dress up and play around the house with Mum.

Since I was a special kid from a special family, Mum and Dad said I didn’t get to act like the others in public, so we always had our costume parties at home with only Dad and Lars as the audience.

It was fine with me. I didn’t want anyone to find Mum beautiful and decide to take her away like in the novels with half-naked men that Mum hid from me. I took a peek once, but I didn’t understand much except that Mum read them a lot when she stayed in bed all day.

That year, the Halloween celebration was cancelled — or rather, our private Halloween was.

Dad said he was taking Mum to a party. I begged him not to go, and if he had to, to please take me with him.

“No,” he snapped. “You’ll stay here and that’s final, Ronan.”

“But I want to go with you.” I tugged on my Dracula cape and stomped my foot.

“Ronan, mon chou.” Mum crouched in front of me and patted my cape. “Your uncle Eduard will come and take you to a party. You like parties, don’t you?”

“I like the parties with you more.”

Tears shone in her eyes. “Mon ange.”

“Come on, Charlotte.” Dad glared at me. “Stop being a brat, Ronan.”

“Don’t be harsh on him, mon amour.” She ran her soft fingers over my hair. “Be a good boy for Mummy and I promise we’ll have all the parties you want.”

“Charlotte.” Dad grabbed her by the arm and took her.

Just like that.

I remember running after them to the door before Dad snapped at me one more time to stay inside. Mum got into the car with tears in her eyes. She was still wearing her princess dress and her skin was pale. I thought she wasn’t supposed to wear costumes outside.

Then I was sitting on the sofa, sipping from the juice Lars prepared for me and deciding maybe I hated Halloween after all.

Or maybe I hated Halloween when Mum and Dad weren’t in it.

Or maybe I hated Dad because he ruined our costume party and took Mum to another party for grown-ups.