Cruel King: A Dark New Adult Romance (Royal Elite)

I was forgotten until you said my name.

My muscles lock as I make my way down the marble, sweeping stairs. I’ve been living here for more than two years, but it still doesn’t feel like home.

Itʼs a tower and Iʼm trapped.

Nope. Not like Rapunzel or even Disney’s Tangled. This is the real-life version.

Since Mumʼs death, Iʼve been nicknamed by the press as Cliffordʼs Hidden Princess. Because Dad hid me away for a whole fifteen years even though he and Mum were married for some time and I’m not an illegitimate child.

Since the public revelation, I started to think that I might truly be a hidden, forgotten princess. Locked up in this mansion.

One more year.

With that splash of hope, I take a deep breath and cross the grandiose lounge area with gold-rimmed chesterfields and high platform ceilings.

I peek through the dining area where my ‘family’ is having breakfast.

“Morning,” I blurt, already heading to the exit. “I’m leaving for school.”

“Astrid.” Dad’s calm but non-negotiable tone stops me in my tracks. “Come eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Sit down and eat.”

I wince at the harshness in his command and my shoulders slump. With careful steps, I cross the gigantic dining room with its flawless marble flooring and stone fireplace. A few of the kitchen staff stand in waiting like an episode from freaking Downtown Abbey.

I smile at Sarah, the head cook, but it must’ve come out as a grimace judging from the deep frown on her blond brows.

At least I have a friendly face around. It helps that she makes me the most delicious chocolate smoothies and cheesecake.

I flop on the chair at the tail of the table — which is the farthest seat from Dad and his wife’s. Not meeting their gazes, I start gulping down raw jam and the cheesecake. I scarcely taste anything. The sooner I’m done with breakfast, the faster I’m out of here.

“Honey, slow down.” My stepmother’s fake caring tone ruins my gluttonous mood. “Don’t worry. The food isn’t going anywhere.”

I gulp the mouthful of cheesecake, finally tasting the smooth texture, and cut her a glare across the table.

Victoria has an elegant aura about her. It’s in everything she wears or says. Even her tone is a flashback from a period film. Her blonde hair is gathered in a neat French twist. She’s wearing a straight high couture dress that must’ve caused a third country’s budget. A dainty necklace surrounds her smooth neckline and the matching earrings dangle from her ears. She keeps bragging that Dad got her the jewellery set for her birthday.

Gag.

She’s everything a lord’s wife should be. It’s like she was made straight from a manual.

Victoria might look ten years younger than her actual age due to the facelifts and the aristocratic name, but she’s nothing like Mum.

My mother was proud of her tattoos and her artistic streak. She was a free spirit meant to fly, not to be trapped in a mansion like Victoria. But then again, maybe that’s why Dad chose her over my mum.

Since I came here, Victoria made it her job to throw jabs about my origins. If I eat fast, it’s because Mum kept me hungry. If I refuse the expensive gowns, it’s because I’m used to scraps. If I breathe, it’s only because I’m leeching off Dad’s name.

“It’s different here, honey,” Victoria’s lips pull in a conservative smile as she does with the reporters. “You don’t have to worry about food.”

“I never had to worry about food before either,” I say after swallowing another mouthful of Sarah’s cheesecake.

Screw Victoria for insinuating that Mum didn’t take care of me. She was both my mother and my father rolled into one.

I admired her for raising me on her own and being everything I needed.

When I first showed interest in sketching, Mum stayed up all night modelling for me. When I was having a bad day, she’d take me on long drives, just the two of us.

Mum was my world while Daddy dearest lived with his real family.

“It’s fine if you did,” Victoria continues.

“We didn’t. Mum worked for a living you know. She didn’t leech off her lord husband.”

Victoria’s upper lip twitches and I smile to myself.

Small victories.

“Astrid Elizabeth Clifford.”

I wince at Dad’s deadly calm tone. If he calls me by my full name, then he disapproves.

Not that he ever really approves of me.

My fork clinks against the plate as I slightly lift my head to meet his punishing green eyes. The definite proof that I’m his daughter. That his genes collaborated in making mine.

I’ll be eighteen a few weeks from now, but I still feel as small as the seven-year-old kid who begged him to stay. The stupid little kid who painted him as my first kindergarten picture.

Henry Clifford is still strong and well-built for someone in his mid-forties. His dark brown hair, another something I inherited, is slicked back, highlighting his strong forehead and the straight, aristocratic nose.

His pressed navy suit clings to his body as if he were born into one. I certainly don’t remember him out of it.

When I was a kid, I used to feel out of my skin with joy whenever he showed up.

Now, he just intimidates me.

I don’t know when he stopped being my dad and started being his title.

Victoria places her hand on top of Dad’s with a sickeningly sweet smile that’s causing me diabetes. “It’s okay, darling. She’ll come around.”

Kill me now.

“Morning!” A breeze of strong cherry perfume — that must’ve cost another fortune — brushes past me.

Nicole kisses her mum and my dad on their cheeks before flopping on Dad’s left.

We’re wearing the same school uniform, but she somehow makes it look more elegant with a pressed blue skirt and the shirt’s cuffs rolled over RES’s jacket. Her blonde hair falls in waves to the middle of her back as if every strand was taken care of separately.

Of course, unlike me, Nicole doesn’t eat like a pig. She takes her time to cut and shew while conversing with the adults about her upcoming tests and school activities.

Hanging my head, I push around the remnants of my cheesecake, not bothering to eat.

To say I feel like a stranger would be an understatement. Victoria and Nicole always snatch Dad’s attention while I sit here as unnoticeable as a wallflower.

I try to ignore the stab of hurt when Dad offers Nicole a smile he never gives me anymore. All I get from him are drawn brows and disapproving stares.

“Maybe you can study math with Astrid,” Victoria suggests in an awfully cheerful mode. “I’m sure Nicole can help you get better results.”

I would rather choke on my own vomit, thank you very much.

“If you weren’t so stubborn to refuse a private tutor, maybe you wouldn’t have catastrophic results.” The edge of disapproval in Dad’s voice is like a knife to my heart. “Why can’t you be like Nicole?”

“Why don’t you adopt her and spare us all the misery?” I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but it came out, anyway.

The clinks and clanks of utensils stop as silence stakes claim in the dining area. Even the kitchen staff stop mid-stride.

My ears heat with both shame and anger.

Maybe my own dad should stop comparing me to his perfect stepdaughter.

Maybe he should’ve left me alone after Mum died.

At least then, I wouldn’t feel like a stranger whenever I’m around his family.

I snatch my backpack and jump out of my seat before Dad can burn me some more.

Behind me, Victoria tells him, “Astrid is just going to be Astrid.”

I wipe a tear from my eye as I make my way out.

I miss you so much, Mum.

Sketchpad in hand, I wait near the entrance of the park for Dan to pick me up.

Since it’s early, only joggers come in and out of the park. I like watching the exertion and how much they work for what they want.

Capturing those moments have been my passion.

Or rather. Was.

All the charcoal lines blur into something unrecognisable. The slight tremor in my hand hasn’t subsided since the accident. For two and a half months, I haven’t been able to sketch anything properly.

No matter how much I try, it isn’t there anymore.

The magic disappeared.

The doctor said there’s no physical damage and that all of this is mental. The shrink said that I could be resisting something or that I’m under a lot of stress. My trauma is translating into my ability to create art.

I wanted to tell him that I have no trauma. That I’m going to find who ran me over and teach them a lesson and everything will be totally cool. However, Dr Edmonds is psychoanalysing me a lot already.

The last thing I need is for him to suggest some psyche ward to Dad.

I sigh as I throw the sketchpad back into my backpack.

Sketching has been the only thing that kept me sane after Mum’s death. If I lose that, too, then it’s like losing another piece of Mum.

At this rate, I’ll have nothing left of her.

A honk startles me from my thoughts.

Nicole’s Audi parks right in front of me, uncaring about half-blocking the park’s entrance.

Of course, Nicole drives an Audi. Dad’s gift for her eighteenth birthday during the summer. The same summer that I spent recovering from an accident.

Not that I’m bitter or anything.

Besides, since Mum’s accident, I gave up on driving altogether.

“I’d offer you a ride, but my car doesn’t do losers.”

Her friend, Cloe, snickers from the passenger seat while applying lip gloss.

Oh, for the love of Vikings. Nicole and her bitch friend are the last people I need to start my day.

“You have nothing better to do with your time, Nicole?” I raise an eyebrow. “Aside from kissing my dad’s arse, of course.”

“I just wanted to tell you how right you are for once. Uncle should just adopt me and erase you completely from the family registry. We all know you’ll never be able to carry the Clifford name as I can.”

I swallow the stab of how much her words are right and how much they affect me even when I don’t want them to. It’s not about the name. It’s about how she’s going to steal Dad once and for all while I watch.

“And yet, you’re still Nicole Adler.” I meet her malicious stare. “I don’t see a Clifford there. Do you?”

She snarls, but Cloe nudges her arm. “Tell her to stay away.”

Seeming to backpedal, Nicole measures me up and down with distaste like she and her mother did the first day Dad brought me to ‘their’ home.

“Hey, Viking. Stay away from King.”

I study my black nails, fighting a fake yawn. Nicole came with the ‘Viking’ nickname as a jab at how much I watch the show, but the joke is on her. That TV series has more stars than she’d ever have.

“Last I checked, he’s the one who approached me.”

“As if King would ever be interested in a charity case like you.” She spits out.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I raise a mocking eyebrow. “Who holds the family name again?”

“Stay away from King or you’ll regret it.”

“Regret what?” Dan’s voice reaches me before he stands beside me and flings his arm around my shoulder.

People who say that a knight in shining armour can only be a prince or a love interest or whatever are totally wrong. Mine has appeared in the form of my best friend.

Daniel has parked his car down the street and made his way to stand by my side in front of bullies. Not that I can’t handle Nicole and her minion, but Dan knows how much these confrontations exhaust me.

It’s no good for my invisibility case.

Nicole’s face reddens as her eyes bounce from me to Daniel and back again. “Just what we needed. The loser friend.”

“Are we really going down that lane, Nicole?” Daniel asks in a tone that’s completely different from his normal carefree one.

She gulps until I swear I almost hear her. That’s weird. Nicole hates Daniel as much as she loathes me — if not more. Actually, she’s marked him as an enemy before I came along, so it’s weird to see her not spit her venom as usual.

“Bastard,” she mutters under her breath.

“You might want to wipe that.” Dan rubs the side of his mouth with his thumb.

“What?” Nicole asks.

“Your bullshit.” He turns me around in the direction of his car.

“Do as you’re told, Viking!” she shouts at my back.

The best way to have me do something is to tell me not to do it.

I’m tempted to stay close to Levi just to see Nicole’s face reddening with exertion, but even that priceless look isn’t worth it.

I hate Levi King and everything he represents.

Besides, after the little gift I left on his car yesterday, I’m sure he won’t bother me anymore.

I’m proved wrong when I arrive at the school and part ways with Dan.

As soon as I open the door to the art studio, I halt at the threshold and scream.