Cruel King (Royal Elite 0)

It’s like he’s about to fly.

The first half ends with a draw.

As the players start filtering back inside, I rush down the stairs and catch the Elites on their way to the locker room. The crowd are throwing encouraging remarks their way. Once again, the kings and the other three star players get most of the cheering.

Dan has his head tucked down. He must be feeling so down on his first game as a starter.

“You can do it, Danny!” I scream so he can hear me. “You’re the best of the freaking best!”

Two heads snap in my direction. The first is Dan. He grins from ear to ear and taps his chest then points at me.

The second is Levi and his expression is the complete opposite of Dan’s. The pale blue of his eyes darkens and he stares between me and Dan then stops. He stops walking inside, stops listening to a player who was talking to him.

He just… stops.

Everyone ceases to exist as his gaze focuses on me and me alone.

A strange awareness grips me by the gut at the strange, destabilising look in his eyes and his stiff posture. My air turns suffocating as if he were able to suck it all away from this distance.

The moment ends when another player slams his shoulder into Levi’s. Number Nineteen, Knight. Levi winces, breaking eye contact, and lets his teammate lead him inside.

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding and trudge back to my place on the benches.

My fingers tremble as I gather my sketchpad and stare at Levi’s silhouette. My cheeks heat and my insides feel like a jumbled mess.

What in the ever living hell was that all about?

He didn’t touch me, but I can still feel his fingertips all over my skin and somewhere deep inside me.

I continue sketching as rock music fills the stadium.

I tell myself that I’m finishing the game only because Dan needs moral support.

That’s all.

A chubby girl with cute braids sits beside me before the second half starts. Her eyes spark with something similar to both excitement and fear.

“Oh, sorry,” she says as if only just noticing me. “Is this seat taken?”

I smile. “No, help yourself.”

“Thanks!” She retrieves a bar of chocolate and offers me some. “I’m supposed to not eat these at night. Don’t tell my mum or my nutritionist — or anyone for that matter.”

I laugh, accepting a small bar. “My lips are sealed.”

“I’m Kimberly. Second-year.” She offers. “You’re Clifford, right?”

“Just Astrid is fine.”

“So, Astrid, I’m not used to seeing you at the school games. Do you come often?”

“This is my first game.”

“Oh.” She pauses. “Oooh. You have to know what you’re missing out on.”

Kimberly spends the next ten minutes trying to shove as many football terms into my head as possible.

“I’m not a big fan either, but I like to come to watch sometimes.” There’s a dreamy tone in her voice. “My best friend is a fanatic fan of the Premier League, but she never comes to the school’s games.”