Page 8 of The Kings
“Queen of Castle,” I whisper. I will reign supreme, by cunning or by force. Whatever it takes, I’ll be the last one standing, because in this game, you win, or you die.
And Eliza Hughes doesn’t plan on dying.
5
ELIZA
The dawn lightcreeps through the open window of my room as I flop back to the soft carpet, panting and sweating like I’ve just had the fucking of a lifetime.
No such luck.
My abs ache from the sit-ups, but this is necessary to keep my mind focused and my body toned. I will not throw myself into dangerous situations and rely on weapons to get me out of them. Sure, they’re handy and have their uses, but so does my fist, and I won’t allow anyone to catch me off guard.
Groaning from the workout, determined to find the campus gym as soon as possible, I stroll out of my room, still dressed in my yoga pants and sports bra.
The scent of coffee lures me downstairs, and I follow the scent to the kitchen. Tarquin is at the espresso machine, a smirk on his chiselled face as he rakes his gaze over my body. “Morning,” he says, handing me a steaming cup, which I think he made for himself but is offering me in some sort of old-timey, chivalrous way. I can make my own coffee, but I’ll take it this time.
“Thanks,” I murmur, feeling the warmth seep into my hands. The guys are scattered around the kitchen—Raphael flipping through a newspaper with unreadable eyes, James tapping away at his phone, and Oliver eyes me up like I’m his next meal.
“Big day today, Eliza,” he teases, his voice smooth as silk. “Ready to knock ‘em dead?”
“Always,” I reply, sipping the bitter liquid. “I’ll see you around.”
Not wanting to linger and make small talk, I head back upstairs. The shower’s embrace is as scalding as the coffee, steam swirling around the bathroom as I scrub away the sweat from my workout.
Wrapping myself in a fluffy towel after I’m finished, I sort through the clothes I’d meticulously unpacked last night.
Black jeans, a tight black top with a low cut back to show off the skull and rose inked on my skin, and combat boots are my choice for day one of this shitshow.
Go in like you mean it. Hardcore, badass and whatever else they call me.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I head out and descend the stairs again, each step measured and deliberate. Slipping out the door before anyone notices me leave, I cross over the road and step onto the campus. The university looms before me, a fortress of knowledge and secrets. The old buildings stand proud, their spires piercing the sky—a playground for those who dare to rule. Whispers cling like ivy to the walls, and I can only wonder what they’re saying.
Moving across the quad to find my way to the Student Office for my timetable, students part like the Red Sea, eyes wide, mouths agape. They’ve heard the stories, the legends of my family, of my dad, and now they see the embodiment of their wildest speculations.
“Eliza Hughes,” someone breathes, sending a tingle down my spine.
My stride doesn’t falter; it’s as if I’m walking on air, claiming every inch of ground I step on.
The grandeur of the university can’t overshadow me—I’m the one they’ll remember. Not just another student, but a force unto myself, wrapped in allure and the unspoken promise of danger.
“Eliza Hughes,” a voice calls out, confident, almost challenging, making me take notice this time.
A sneer curls on my lips as I turn to face them, a group of third-years with postures that scream entitlement. There’s no fear in their eyes, just curiosity and a silent challenge.
A tall guy with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass steps forward. “We know your legacy,” he says, his tone even, “but Castle isn’t conquered by name alone. You’ve got to earn your place here.”
“Is that so?” I tilt my head, feigning thoughtfulness.
“We’ll see if you live up to the Hughes name.” A fierce glint in this woman’s eyes tells me all I need to know about her. Ruthless and bloodthirsty. My kind of girl.
I nod, accepting the unspoken challenge. Class timetables can wait. This is what I’m here for, not lectures on Shakespearean plays from yore. Besides, it’s not like I have a choice—the game is already in motion, and I either play or get played. But I didn’t come here to be a pawn; I came to rule.
You’re a Hughes, Eliza. Always be two steps ahead.
I close my eyes for a second, hearing my dad’s voice echo in my thoughts, letting the noise around me fade into the background. My breathing steadies, my heart rate slowing down to a predator’s calm rhythm. Each skill I’ve mastered, every scar I’ve earned, has led me to this moment. The fights, the strategy, the art of deception—I’ve learned from the best.
And they fucking know it.
