Vicious Prince (Royal Elite 5)

The best thing about laying plans is to follow through with them. Everything is a domino; once one falls, the others soon follow.

I’m the only one who can push that first domino. No one will do it for me.

I tap my foot on the ground and whisper due to the library’s strict policies. “I’m waiting, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I did notice. Doesn’t mean I care. This is about me, not you, ma belle, remember?”

Arrogant prick.

“If there’s a point, you should have reached it by now.” I pretend to stare at my watch. The numbers are there, but for some reason, I can’t seem to read the time. Shit. This one is worse than any of my recent episodes.

“Here’s the thing, ma belle. My father told me I’m getting a fiancée. At first, I was fine since it was Elsa, but apparently, there’s been an internal sister swap as if we’re in medieval times. I know I’m part of old-school aristocracy, but this behaviour is insolent — imagine that in the queen’s tone. Anyway, point is, I don’t want a fiancée. I just turned eighteen and I have this brilliant plan that starts with me staying single for the next fifteen years and shagging exotic girls all around the world. It’s not me, it’s you. Now, do me a favour and fucking disappear, mmkay?” He grins.

“Why would I do that?” I don’t even pause.

“What?”

“Why would I do you any favours? Last time I checked, I owe you nothing.”

He chuckles, the sound low and discreet in the silence of the library. “Is that what you want? To owe me something?”

“That’s beside the point. What I meant is that I have no obligation to do something for you. Not now, not ever.”

“Ma belle, ma belle…” He’s still smiling as he muses. “I call you ma belle, but you keep missing the point entirely.”

His words give me pause. What is that supposed to mean? I resist the urge to ask him just that, and I have a problem with not being direct. It’s as if the words will suffo

cate me if I don’t speak them. If he meant to rattle me, he’s going to be disappointed, because he won’t be getting a reaction.

He reaches a hand to my lips, the touch soft, almost like a feather. Just when I’m about to push free, he presses on the tender skin and smears my purple lipstick onto my cheek, making my jaw move with the motion. “I think you missed the memo about makeup. It’s supposed to make you prettier, not uglier.”

I’m caught off guard by his brutal touch, and I barely register the softly spoken words. There are so many contradictions in his touch, how he started gently then ended it brutally, how he spoke softly yet lined it with a mean edge.

I snap my head away from his immediate vicinity. His lips curve in a smirk before he quickly masks it with his usual easy-going smile.

What. The. Fuck.

“So, here’s the thing. During tomorrow’s dinner, I want you to sit down like a good little girl and tell everyone you don’t accept this engagement, and then I’ll gift you a new set of purple makeup shit. Deal? Glad to do business with you.”

“If you’re so against marrying me, why don’t you speak up yourself?” I know why, but me getting on his nerves is only fair after the way he not only triggered my anxiety attack, but also gave me the foreboding sensation he’s able to ruin my domino castle.

Ronan Astor is the sole heir of an earl, and he has no way to refuse his father’s wishes. He’s the perfect puppet, someone used for his symmetrical face and playful nature.

He was always meant to have an arranged marriage, and he has no way to refuse it. That would mean disgracing the great Edric Astor’s name, which is something that man will never allow.

Instead of the anger, or at least annoyance, I expected, his grin widens further. “Why would I speak up when I have you to do the dirty work, ma belle?”

I’ll be doing more than your dirty work.

Instead of saying so, I give him a smile that mimics his, but I’m bad at faking this, so I doubt it comes out as anything but a grimace. “And if I say no, your lordship?”

“I’ll give you one piece of advice, just because you’re Elsa and Knox’s sister.”

I don’t get a warning before he grabs me by my nape. His hand covers the tiny space, shocking my skin as it wraps around my neck from behind.

The scent of something spicy fills my nostrils as he leans in to whisper against the lobe of my ear. “Run, ma belle.”

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