Page 9 of The Kings
“Follow me,” another guy murmurs as I open my eyes, and as one, the group turns and expects me to follow.
This time.
After today, they will be lapping at my heels.
With a determined stride, I follow them, and it appears we are heading towards the old library building, the site of my impending trial by fire.
Slipping through the ancient doors, the scent of mildew and dust assaults my nostrils, but I ignore it, stepping into the bowels of Castle University’s old library. Its emptiness is a maw of depressing sights, its former grandeur lost to time. But it’s the heart of the underground challenge—a rite of passage whispered about in hushed tones among the student mafia.
“Welcome to the gauntlet, Eliza Hughes,” a voice echoes through the gloomy building. No face accompanies it, just a disembodied taunt bouncing off the stone walls.
“Thrilled to be here,” I shoot back, my boots silent on the cold floor as I move forward. This is where reputations are made or broken. Where you prove you’re not just some posh twat with a fancy last name, and I’m ready for it.
“Descend.”
The order is accompanied by a flashing light off to the side. Pushing open the creaky door, I take the dark steps as I would if there was light. Confident and arrogant. If I fall on my ass, well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. These next-gen students can smell blood in the water, and I won’t be the prey.
The basement is a labyrinth, the air thick with secrecy and history. Arches loom over the uneven ground. It’s like stepping back in time—if that time were designed by someone with a penchant for sadism.
Which, let’s face it, it probably was.
It’s said that the founders of this twisted game were from the oldest families—mafia royalty who needed to test their heirs’mettle. Now, it’s my turn to face their legacy. To show them that Elizabeth Grace Hughes isn’t just whispers and rumours. I’m flesh and blood, and I plan to leave my mark.
“Let’s see what you’ve got then,” says another voice.
With a swift nod, I scan the room, taking in the winding pathways that splinter off in every direction. There’s no telling what lies around each corner, but I trust in my training. Dad always said to expect the unexpected.
“Time starts now!”
The announcement is abrupt, jolting me into action for a test of which I have zero clue what I’m supposed to be doing. But my instinct drives me to drop my bag and move forward, and I soon fall into it as I’m led where they want to go by intermittent lights flashing like they did above the door that led down here.
I sprint into the maze, my senses heightened. Somewhere in this tangle of stone and shadow, there are traps waiting, puzzles designed to break the unprepared. But I’m not one of them. I weave through corridors, each step calculated, my mind racing ahead.
Here, beneath the weight of centuries-old academia, I forge a path that is definitely not going to be the one they want me to go down.
“Not a fucking idiot, you assholes,” I murmur as I lunge left instead of right and hear the twang of a crossbow behind me. Laughing manically, I snap my fingers in a self high five.
“Ooh, that would’ve hurt, you dicks. I’m impressed.”
A low chuckle echoes all around me, but it’s not mocking. It’s appreciative.
The cold air of the basement bites at my skin as I dart around a corner to face the first obstacle. It’s a wall—a massive one, slick with moisture that seeps from the old stones. I size it up in a heartbeat, noting the old rope that offers a treacherous grip and the uneven bricks that beg to be foot and handholds. My musclescoil like springs, and I leap, catching the edge of a protruding stone with the tips of my fingers.
“Come on, Eliza,” I hiss through clenched teeth, hoisting myself up. The slimy rope slips in my grasp, but I don’t fall. I never fall. Dad would have my hide to wear as a cloak if I did. Up, up, my muscles straining as I haul ass over the top. I land on the other side with cat-like grace, barely a sound as my boots hit the ground, and I land in a crouch as something goes flying over my head where my face would’ve been had I not ducked.
“Too easy,” I pant with a grin.
“Nice jump,” someone sneers from behind me. I glance back to see a lanky bloke with eyes that gleam too much like a snake’s for my liking. “Watch and learn, sweetheart,” he says, but I’m already gone, leaving him to eat my dust.
The next test is cunning—a warren of mirrors designed to confuse and disorient. But I know a thing or two about deception. Dad taught me well: never trust your eyes alone. I move instinctively, marking each false turn with the faintest scratch from my diamond stud earring. Hard and unforgiving.
“Lost, princess?” A woman’s voice drips with disdain. I recognise it from the quad.
“Nope,” I murmur, finding the exit before she can blink.
The corridor opens up to an atrium filled with shifting shadows and the hushed whispers of those who think they’re unseen. But I feel their eyes on me, tracing the skull and rose tattoo that peeks out from my top as I twist and weave through the close-knit tripwires.
Reaching the end of the gauntlet, my chest heaves with exertion, sweat trailing down my spine, as I lunge forward through a black-painted door at the end of a narrow corridor.
