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I make it to school in no time, and as I head for my first class, I spot Angel. Thank God she’s here today.
“Why haven’t you answered your phone?” she snaps at me when she gets close enough. Then she looks at my face. “Tamsyn, you can’t hide those.”
“I tried,” I reply, throwing my arms out to the side.
“You’re not good with makeup at all,” she laughs as she wraps her arm around mine and drags me toward the bathroom.
“I’m not that girly, Angel.”
“Yes, you are. You just didn’t have anyone to show you how to do these things. Your mom’s a bitch,” she reminds me. She isn’t wrong there.
As we enter the bathroom, the door slams shut behind us. I whirl around to see Rylan, Levi, and Silas standing there, looking as menacing as ever.
“This is the girls’ bathroom,” Angel reminds them.
“No shit,” Levi snorts. But it’s Rylan who catches my eye. Rylan wouldn’t go for a girl like me, that much I already know. He may tease and taunt me, but he goes for girls like Angel, the pretty ones who dress the part.
Our eyes are locked in a heated stare before he steps closer. I glance over at Angel, but she isn’t paying any attention to me, or Ry, for that matter; her eyes are glued to Levi.
When Ry is close enough, he raises his hand and cups my cheek.
“Makeup doesn’t suite you, Syn,” he says, calling me the nickname that he’s given me.
“Well, I couldn’t just go to class covered in bruises,” I tell him. He nods his head as if he understands before pressing his fingers into the bruise. I wince and try to pull back, but his hold is too strong.
“They do make you look sexy as fuck,” he murmurs as he looks into my eyes. I know this is a game to him. It always is with them. I know who they are. The Kings.
“What is it you want, Ry?”
“I was wondering something, and I wanted to see for myself,” he casually replies as he stands with his fingers pressed into the bruise, only not as hard as before.
“Which is?” He smiles, and damn does that make my heart speed up. Rylan is gorgeous. He always has been, and I would know as we’ve grown up in the same neighborhood. Our families are friends.
“I wondered just how much pain you could handle before you broke.” I jerk back, pulling his hand away from my face as I look at him like he’s insane. Why the hell would he want to know that?
“I don’t get it,” I say as I look up at him. He nods his head and steps back into me, pinning me against the wall when his hand comes up to my ribs. I try to keep a straight face when he grips me, but it’s no use. Pain rips through my body as I gasp for air. My knees feel like they’re going to buckle, but Rylan doesn’t stop. He keeps his grip on my already bruised ribs, digging his fingers into them.
I suck air through my nose, not willing to let him see how much it hurts me. Taking deep breaths, I try to steady myself as his fingers linger where they are. Rylan smiles before finally letting go of me and turning, walking out with the other two. As soon as the door closes behind them, I drop to my knees, gasping for air.
“Shit. What did he do?” Angel asks as she drops down next to me.
“My ribs are still bruised from the other day,” I tell her. Tears leak down my cheeks. I reach up and brush them away before Angel helps me to my feet. We walk to the sink and splash some water on my face, washing away the makeup. She’s right; I couldn’t do it if my life depended on it.
Angel hands me a paper towel, and I clean myself up before she reapplies some new makeup. When she’s finished, I take a few deep breaths before stepping out of the bathroom. There are butterflies in my stomach, and that can only mean one thing. Rylan is still around. He makes me nervous, and I’m not sure why.
Angel loops her arm through mine and starts talking about a party this weekend, but when I turn my head, I see him. Our eyes lock, and all the air is sucked from my lungs as he stares at me with the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. His stare is intense, a look almost like he wants to rip me apart. I can’t look away first, but then neither does he. It’s not until Angel pulls the door open and ushers me inside that I drop his stare and walk in.
“Don’t you love Art History?” she chirps.
“It’s not bad. It’s actually a little interesting.”
“I’m glad we have this class together. And it helps that the professor is hot as hell, too,” she says as we find our seats. She isn’t wrong. Professor Nash is not lacking in the looks department.
Class starts, and I zone out. It happens a lot, actually. I always find myself drifting someplace else, doing anything but this.
I know what I am, but I don’t know what it means. I’m a Princess. I’m bound to be given to a King. But what does that entail? I have no idea. I was born into the wrong family, I suppose. No one seems to care that I don’t want to be a queen like my mother is. When my dad died, a new King was able to take his place, which is how Brady comes into play.
As a Princess, there are rules for us. We aren’t allowed to do certain things or go to certain places. We have tasks set out for us to complete, although some of things are vague. I honestly don’t know most of the rules because they are kept secret until you need to know. The whole thing sounds like a bunch of bullshit if you ask me. I have no interest in being a queen. I have no interest in marrying a King, either. The ones I know are older now. And while it isn’t unusual for an older King to take a younger queen, it isn’t likely to happen.
