Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5)(72)

She just stands there in her torn collar and dirty dress.

Help me.

Save me.

Free me.

She doesn’t have to say the words for me to feel them. She’s always been there; she’s the constant shadow on my shoulder.

And now, I have to get justice, for her.

For me.

You know what? I’m done hiding and running away from the inevitable. Agnus will get me the supplies if I ask him to.

I retrieve my phone and call the number I should’ve dialled sooner.

“Hello,” I say. “Can we meet tomorrow?”

After he confirms, I pull out a piece of paper and pour my heart onto it in one go.

This is my legacy.

My goodbye.





30





Ronan





When the great Earl Edric Astor says he’s having a family meeting, everyone must drop to their knees and listen.

Well, not exactly, but something like that.

So we’re all here in the dining room. And by we, I mean, Mum, Eduard the fucker, Lars — because we’ve basically adopted him — and yours truly.

Mum sits at the head chair, or more like Dad sat her on it while he stands behind her. She’s wearing a beige dress that makes her appear paler, or maybe she’s been paler than usual.

Lars, like any adopted child, doesn’t want to tell me why Mum’s cold has been going on longer than ever. He’s after the parents’ favour.

But he still stands beside me, not taking a seat. It’s like he’s expecting an order of tea and wouldn’t want to miss it when it arrives.

Eduard is across from me, throwing a glance my way now and again. He’s wearing a purple suit that makes him look like a clown.

I shake my head at that image.

He keeps touching his tie, which means he’s nervous as fuck. He probably thinks I talked to Dad or something. I play a dick card and let him think that.

Be nervous, Ed.

I hope you stay nervous until the end of your miserable life.

I retrieve my phone discreetly under the table. There are text messages from my friends. I changed the group chat’s name to The Four Fuckers, like we’re four musketeers. Xan said there are only three musketeers and Cole just changed the name back to The Fuckers.

He has no imagination.

I try to pretend I’m interested in their texts, but I’m not, so I go straight to Teal’s messages.

Nothing.

Empty.

Nada.

She hasn’t acknowledged my existence since that night. Okay, so maybe throwing my childhood trauma on her all at once wasn’t my brightest moment.

And okay, admitting I have no pride when it comes to her is frowned upon in Ron Astor the Second’s playbook, but she’s not any girl.

She’s Teal.

I can’t fight the need to be with her every waking moment. I want to hold her, and maybe if I do so tightly enough, she’ll eventually open up to me, too.

Maybe she’ll feel safe enough to tell me why she puts up walls after we have sex or when she sleeps in my arms.

It can’t be the depravity — she loves that as much as I do. It’s a game we play, and it’s a damn good one at that. I hope to hell it’s not the performance, because Ron Astor the Second and his legendary size would take a rope to his neck, and that’d be a fucking tragedy.

Maybe I need to kidnap Knox and torture the answers out of him.

Or not.

Kidnapping and torturing your future brother-in-law is frowned upon in ninety-nine per cent of cultures.

Besides, I want her to be the one who tells me, not him.

But if she thinks she can run away from me by skipping school, she must not know me.

I’m an Astor. We don’t stop.

My great-great-grandfather brought his wife from Africa. When his family didn’t agree, he kind of gave them the middle finger and married her anyway. Or rather, he pestered her until she agreed to marry him.

I’m that type of Astor.

He camped out all the way in Africa — I’m lucky I just need to camp out in front of the Steel household.

“Ronan.”

I lift my head from my phone at Dad’s voice, realising I’ve been staring at the lack of texts for way too long.

“No phones,” Lars whispers. “How hard is it to follow that simple instruction, young lord?”

I glare at him and he feigns nonchalance, staring at Dad.

I grin, sliding the phone in my pocket. “Please, proceed. I apologise for my inadequate behaviour.”

Dad must sense the sarcasm in my overly posh tone, but he brushes it off. “We’re here because your mother and I need you to know a few things.”

“Another trip?” I scoff. “Oh, wait — is it the Maldives this time?”

“Mon chou…” Mum’s eyes fall downwards, and I wish I could somehow stab myself in the balls. The jab was supposed to be at Dad, not her. He’s the one who’s always whisking her off somewhere.

“Ronan,” Dad scolds.

I stand up. “I’m not interested in your destinations, Dad. Lars needs the details.”

“Don’t you need the dates, though?” Dad snaps back. “So you can throw your endless parties.”

“Lars…” I stare at him incredulously. “You bloody traitor.”