Page 27 of The Kings
We need a meeting. They have to know what’s at stake.
But then, doubt creeps in like a shadow at dusk, catching me off guard as it whispers sweet insecurities. Am I overstepping?What if this is not what they want or had in mind when I started here?
I clench my jaw tight enough to ache, pushing the doubt aside. This has to happen. Alone, I’m formidable; with them, I’m untouchable. Dad knew what he was doing when he placed me here, among these Kings.
My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, but my gaze is steel as I halt my pacing.
Sitting on the stone bench in the corner of the courtyard, the sun-warmed stone pleasant under my ass as my back presses against the wall. It’s a tactical position that allows no surprises.
“Kings,” I murmur, the word tasting of destiny and power. They own it, command it, and yet here I am, poised to claim my crown beside theirs. This isn’t about ego; it’s survival, it’s ascendancy—it’s the game my bloodline has played for generations. Dad didn’t raise a pawn; he raised a queen, one who knows when to yield and when to conquer.
This is the move that can either forge us into legends or fracture everything in its wake. But hesitation is a luxury I can’t afford.
Not now. Not with the likes of David Grenville on my ass.
The breeze picks up, leaves swirling in eddies around my feet.
Feeling eyes on me, I scan my surroundings but come up empty. I frown, keeping my gaze fixed straight ahead now. I’ve lived my life in a world where every glance holds a threat, every whisper is a possible betrayal. If someone’s got the balls to spy on me, they better be ready for the hell that’s about to rain down.
“Your move,” I whisper, my words a taunt thrown into the open. I’m ready for whatever comes next because I don’t break—I forge.
16
OLIVER
Casting a glance at Tarquin,who has been on Eliza watching duty for the last hour, I give him a quick nod. He responds by sticking his middle finger up at me with that irritating smirk that sometimes amuses me, but mostly it pisses me off. Arrogant fuck.
Taking his place by the tree, I adjust my angle but can’t see her. So, the only thing left for me to do is move.
And while I’m at it, I might as well just go to her.
Approaching the courtyard, I spot her sitting on a stone bench, her back glued to the wall like she expects all hell to break loose any second.
Smart. Tactical advantage.
Her eyes, those sharp emerald daggers, slice through the quiet of the courtyard. She’s a vision, but every inch the predator—poised, ready to spring.
Fuck. She’s beautiful.
I slip into the open, silent as death. I’ve mastered this dance, moving unseen, unheard. It’s part of the game, part of the life.
Her shoulders hitch, tense as a drawn bowstring, then ease down as I step into her line of sight.
“Oliver.” Her voice steady but her eyes betraying the spike of adrenaline that just shot through her. “You should know better than to sneak up on a tigress.”
“Tigress,” I snort. “Is that how you see yourself?”
She laughs, not easily offended. “Why the fuck not?”
“Mind if I sit?”
She shrugs and slides over. “I don’t own it. Yet.”
“Yet,” I affirm, and she gives me a dazzling smile as I drop onto the bench beside her, our thighs almost touching.
Her gaze lingers on mine, a sharpness that cuts through the shadows of the courtyard.
“You look like trouble’s brewing. Either that or you’re looking for it.”
