God of Malice (Legacy of Gods #1)(11)

I stop at the base of the stairs to watch them together. It’s been a habit of mine since I was young and dreamed about my own Prince Charming.

Dad is big, tall, muscular and so blond, it’s like he’s a Viking god, as Mum likes to call him. He’s also one of the two heirs of the King fortune. A man of steel with a ruthlessness that’s often spoken about in the media.

However, around Mum and us? He’s the best husband and father. The man who gave me higher standards.

Ever since I was young, I’ve seen how he’s treated my mother as if he can’t inhale oxygen without her around. And I’ve seen how she looks at him as if he’s her protector. Her shield.

Her partner.

Even now, she shakes her head as he slips a hand around her midsection and steals a kiss from her lips.

Her cheeks turn red, but she doesn’t attempt to shoo him away. I inherited her height and the rich depth of her green eyes. But other than that, we’re as different as night and day.

She’s such a talented artist, and I can’t even reach her ankle.

She’s a strong woman, and I’m just…me.

Bran is oblivious to the PDA happening near him as he elegantly cuts his eggs and focuses on his tablet. Probably reading some arts magazine.

It’s Mum who notices me first and promptly pushes Dad away. “Glyn! Morning, baby.”

“Morning, Mum.” I plaster the brightest smile on my face, drop my backpack on the chair, and kiss her cheek, then Dad’s. “Morning, Dad.”

“Morning, little princess. Where did you sneak to last night?”

I step back with a start and stare at Bran, who merely lifts a shoulder. “I wasn’t the only one who noticed.”

“I just went out to get some air,” I whisper, dropping down beside my brother.

Mum and Dad take their seats with my father at the head of the table. He picks up his fork and knife and speaks without taking a bite. “You could’ve gotten some air within the property. Roaming around at night is dangerous, Glyndon.”

You have no idea how true that statement is.

I take a sip of my orange juice to stop myself from reliving the rotten memories from last night.

“Let her be, Levi.” Mum passes me a boiled egg—well-cooked, the way I like—with a smile. “Our Glyn is a big girl now and can take care of herself.”

“Not if she’s attacked by some crazy scum in the middle of the night.”

I choke on the bit of juice that’s stuck in my mouth. Bran passes me a napkin and gives me a weird look.

Shit.

Please don’t tell me it’s written all over my face.

“Don’t jinx it,” Mum tells him with a frown, then points at the egg. “Eat, honey.”

I stuff my mouth with the white of the egg and Mum shakes her head when I basically throw most of the yolk away.

“Do you need anything?” Dad asks, seeming suspicious of me. Jeez. I really hate having him in this mode. He’s like a crooked detective fishing for any sort of information.

“No, no. I’m fine.”

“Good. But if you happen to need something, let me or your brothers know,” he says after swallowing his food.

“Will do.”

“Speaking of your brothers,” Mum fixes me and Bran with her stern parental gaze. “I heard you two avoid Landon on campus?”

“It’s not that we avoid him…” I start.

“It’s that he doesn’t have time for us with all the attention he gets from both professors and students,” Bran finishes, lying through his teeth.

Because we do try to spend as little time with him as possible.

“Still.” Mum makes me a piece of toast, still treating me as if I’m a little girl. “You guys go to the same university and even the same art school, so I’d hoped you’d at least keep your bond.”

“We’ll work on it, Mum,” I say in my pacifying tone, because even though Bran isn’t antagonistic either, he can definitely channel that energy when it comes to Lan.

I start to get up, my stomach feeling heavy and absolutely refusing to accept more food.

After kissing my parents goodbye and telling Bran I’ll see him later, I contemplate driving to Grandpa’s house, but he’s probably at work now.

Also, if a slight interrogation from Dad rustled my feathers, an encounter with Grandpa will probably make me break down.

So I send him a good morning email. Because my granddaddy doesn’t do texts. Doesn’t even honor them with a look.

I’m about to tuck my phone away when it pings with a text.

I think maybe Grandma is texting on Grandpa’s behalf, but it’s an unknown number.

My heart nearly explodes from my chest when I read the words.

Unknown Number: Maybe you should’ve died with Devlin, huh? After all, that was the plan, wasn’t it?





4





GLYNDON





Brighton Island is a large piece of land surrounded by forests and sea and is riddled with infamous castles from the Middle Ages.

However, almost half of the land has been used for centuries as an education hub. The other half is filled with some locals and a lot of pubs, shops, and entertainment parlors for the students.