Page 51 of The Kings
“Don’t really know you enough to make that assessment. You are the one who told me where to go.”
“Yeah, I know. It looks bad,” she murmurs, looking down. “I was played as well. Guess they knew I was making a move for an alliance.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? Someone is going to bleed.”
“Is that so?” I challenge, crossing my arms over my chest. Imogen’s reputation definitely precedes her; she’s cunning, connected, and not to be underestimated. The kind of ally you want on your side—if you can trust her.
I study her for a long moment, weighing the risks. Tarquin’s validation isn’t enough on its own, but if she’s true to her word, Imogen could be invaluable. A piece on the chessboard that I can’t afford to ignore. “Let’s go get a drink.”
We walk to a nearby secluded corner of the campus café, my back straight as a blade, every sense attuned to the murmurs of conspiracy that seem to drip from the walls. It’s a game of cat and mouse where I’m both predator and prey, and trust is a luxury I can’t afford.
“You’re a fucking beacon of power here. Your grip on Castle is tightening.”
“Flattery’s cheap,” I murmur, eyes narrow, but there’s a part of me that relishes the recognition. Power demands respect, and respect is currency in our world.
“True,” she concedes with a nod, “but loyalty? That’s worth its weight in gold. And I’m officially pledging mine to you.”
“Is that right?” I tap a finger on the table, all casual-like, but inside, my mind’s racing. Imogen’s allegiance could be useful—if it’s genuine. “And what’s in it for you?”
“Survival. Prosperity. Thrills,” she says, ticking them off on her fingers. “Besides, we’re cut from the same cloth, you and I, two strong women in a world of men.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that.” Accepting her offer feels like stepping onto a tightrope, but I do it anyway. “Okay, Imogen. I accept your loyalty, but cross me, and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
“Oh, I know. After what you did at the combat contest, I wouldn’t want to be on your bad side.”
We share a smile, and I relax as much as I can.
As we talk, a flicker of intuition sparks inside me. That feeling again—like eyes boring into my skull. My spine tingles and I casually glance around, searching the area without seeming to. Students chatter over their lattes and laptops, oblivious to the undercurrents that throb just beneath the surface.
My gut twists, telling me trouble’s brewing. Someone’s playing a deeper game, and I need to find out who before they deal a hand I can’t beat.
I force myself to breathe, steady and slow. Someone’s out there, watching, waiting. The puzzle pieces scatter in my mind, a jigsaw of faces and intentions. Needles of instinct prick at my skin, whispering that the answer is close, too close. I have to act and fast.
“I’ve got to get going. I’ll catch you around,” I murmur and stand up. Imogen waves me off and I hurry out of the café and down the path, each step taking me closer to the townhouse—and to the Kings. We need to talk, piece together this fucked-up puzzle before it’s too late. Our world has no coincidences, not ones that bode well anyway.
The townhouse looms ahead, solid and silent. It’s a fortress in a university masquerading as a playground for the rich and deadly.
I shove the door open, my determination a live wire sparking through me. “Guys!”
Stepping into the living room, Tarquin’s sharp gaze meets mine first, his eyebrow going up when he sees me. Raph joins us shortly after, and Ollie and James follow, all looking like they haven’t even fully woken up yet while I’ve been out to class already.
Don’t they bother?
Maybe they don’t need to.
Lucky them.
“What’s up?” James asks, slumping in an armchair and folding his arms. Things are still a bit frosty between us, but that’s on me. He called me out, and I didn’t like it, but it’s time to suck it up, buttercup, and get on with shit.
“I’ll get right to it. Someone’s been tailing me. Not just today. It’s been happening for days now, and it’s not just paranoia. I can feel eyes boring into me, tracking my every fucking move.”
“This is all part of the bigger picture,” James murmurs. “The one where the test was rigged. It wasn’t Grenville; he doesn’t have that sway. This goes higher.”
“Yeah, agreed,” I murmur, meeting his gaze and giving him a smile.
“We need to flush them out, find out who’s so interested in keeping tabs on you—and by extension—all of us.” He returns my smile, and I feel the tension lift a little.
