Cruel King (Royal Elite 0)

I spent the entire night curled into a fetal position beneath the blanket crying until no more tears came out.

There are no words to describe the amount of hate I feel for myself for letting him — or them — get to me.

How am I to survive in the big, vast world if I can’t even stand up for myself?

Is leaving Dad’s house real freedom or am I just deluding myself?

All these chaotic questions never left me the entire night. I thought about

Mum and her strength and that only brought more self-hatred for not being more like her.

I thought about Dad and his power and how I didn’t inherit an ounce of it.

I thought about college and my art and how I have no idea where I’m going from here.

It’s been all crashing down on me. I don’t know how to stop it — or if I can stop it.

Last night, in the aftershock of adrenaline and fear, I learnt something important.

I never really had control over my life.

All this time, I’ve been floating like an aimless object with no landing zone in sight.

The door opens and I still, holding my breaths. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone — even Sarah.

She’s been checking up on me, but I told her that I wanted to be alone.

The bed dips as a weight settles on the edge. His strong cedar scent gives him away before he speaks.

“Sarah said you’re staying in sick today?” Dad asks in his usual calm tone.

I make an affirmative sound without changing my position.

A sigh comes from my left. It’s not annoyance, but more like resignation — or something similar. He makes the same sound every time he comes to adjust my blanket at night.

It’s the only habit Dad has kept doing since I came to this house.

Every night, he readjusts my blanket as if I’m a child and murmurs, “Night, Star.”

I always pretended to be asleep, or maybe he only comes when he thinks I’m asleep.

He’s been doing that religiously, even during the nights when he’s caught up late with work. The only time he misses his habit is when he’s abroad. Even then, he sends me my goodnight wish in a text.

When he came last night, I resisted the urge to turn around and cry in his arms. I’m still tempted to do it now, but I stop myself.

His ‘Goodnights’ aren’t fatherly, they’re obligatory. Dad’s upbringing and aristocratic name are all about manners and etiquette. I’m sure he gives Nicole her ‘Goodnights’, too.

“Is it because of the accident? Are you having nightmares?” he asks. “I’ll call Dr Edmonds.”

The shrink is Dad’s solution for everything.

“No, I’m just down with something.” Like my dignity.

“Look at me, Astrid.”

I shake my head, curling further into myself.

“Did something happen at school?”