Page 58 of The Queen
ELIZA
As night falls,I pause at the entrance of the Great Hall of Castle University, my heart thumping like a bass line at an underground club. I take a second to steady myself, running my hands down the fabric of my dress. It’s black, sleek and flowing like ink over the edges of a page, hugging my curves before spilling onto the floor in a soft cascade. The thin straps are looser than I’d like, and the neckline skims the top of my breasts, not quite as form-fitting as it once was. I’ve lost a few pounds since coming here, but that’s not surprising with irregular food, little sleep, lots of sex and a fight for my life every other day.
Fun times.
Taking a deep breath, I step into the hall.
It’s packed, bodies pressed together, the buzz of their conversations filling the air. Staff and students alike turn to look at me, eyes wide, whispers flying fast and silent as shadows. I can feel their gazes, heavy with expectation, weighing on my shoulders lighter than the crown that’s waiting for me on that stage.
I scan the crowd, sharp green eyes catching the subtle shifts in posture, the barely-there nods and hand signals that speakvolumes more than words ever could. Alliances glint like knives in the dark; rivalries simmer, ready to boil over. I note who stands with whom, who avoids eye contact, who wears false smiles. It’s all a game, and I know the moves by heart.
Catching my dad’s gaze, I smile, thrilled more than words can say that he is here. Not that I ever doubted it. I know he wouldn’t miss it for anything. This is what he wants for me. This is why I’m here.
I move forward in my high heels, each step measured, confidence radiating from every inch of me. The sea of people parts, and I head straight for the centre stage. This is my moment, and I’m ready to claim it.
My black dress flows behind me like a shadow I command. The soft rustle of fabric is nearly drowned out by the hum of the crowd, their energy electric and expectant. I lift my chin high, eyes searching until they find the four pillars of my empire.
James, with his lean build and eyes sharp as cut glass, stands a hairbreadth away from Oliver, whose broad shoulders are a silent promise of shelter. There’s Raphael, that wild glint in his gaze speaks of rebellion, and Tarquin, calm and composed, his aristocratic features set in a mask of serene authority. Together, they’re a force, my chosen Kings in this game of power.
I lock eyes with each of them, letting a brief smile play across my lips. It’s our silent conversation, where whole novels are written in single looks. Their nods back at me are subtle, but I read volumes in them—loyalty that could outshine any crown, fierce protectiveness woven through their stances. They’re ready to defend, to fight, to love. And so am I.
Before I can move towards them, Vice Chancellor Peters steps up, commanding the room with ease born from years at the helm. His voice cuts through the murmur, strong and clear.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we bear witness to history,” he begins, his tone imbued with the gravity of the moment. “Thecrown that awaits Eliza Hughes is not merely a symbol, it is the legacy of a dynasty that shapes the fabric of our society.”
Eyes flicker to me then back to him, hanging on every word that paints a picture of my future reign. I stand tall, feeling the weight of centuries bear down upon me, not in shackles but as armour forged by time and tempered in blood.
“Through strength, cunning, and unyielding resolve, the Hughes family has carved their name into the annals of our world. Today, that legacy is entrusted to a new generation, to a leader who will not only uphold it but redefine it,” Vice Chancellor Peters continues, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
I feel the pull of history, the call to rise and meet it head-on. This is more than a ceremony; it’s the anointing of my destiny, and with my four Kings at my back, I’m ready to step into the light and claim the throne that awaits.
Every eye in the hall is on me, but it’s the sight of the crown that demands my attention.
Vice Chancellor Peters, an imposing figure even among the underworld’s elite, stands before me. His eyes are sharp, his face lined with the years he’s spent serving Castle. I join him on the stage, lifting my dress up as I walk slowly towards him. The glint in his eyes is fierce, reminding me that he is not on my side. He rigged that combat contest to take me out, but so far, I haven’t had time to think about it again until now. He lifts the crown, and as it hovers above my head, time slows. I’m not just Eliza Hughes anymore; I’m about to become the emblem of an empire built on shadows and strength.
“Eliza Hughes,” Peters’ voice booms, “with this crown, you will lead, protect, and reign over this ancient, elite university with the authority vested in you by the history and might of the founding families.”
The metal rests on my head, cool and heavy, and I resist the urge to look at my four Kings.
As the crown settles into place, a transformation ignites within me. It’s more than just a simple gold circlet; it’s a promise, a burden, a declaration that I am now, irrevocably, Queen of this intricate, perilous world we inhabit.
The hall erupts, applause thundering like a storm, some more enthusiastic than others as they cheer for the new Queen of Castle. This is my coronation, my moment, and I will seize it with both hands because in this world, this bloody mafia world, where looking over your shoulder never lets up, this means something. To outsiders, it will be a silly moment of nothingness, but everyone here knows I’m a force to be reckoned with. All the training, all the sleepless nights, all the meetings, killings, beatings—both given and received—have been worth it to stand here and have all of these fuckers know that if they mess with me, they’re going down.
“Queen of Castle!” the Vice Chancellor shouts over applause.
We exchange a stiff, almost cold smile. I know he is one of those who is against me but won’t openly admit it—not now. But he needs to be watched. He is a viper in this den, and he can slither between the cracks unseen and unnoticed because of who he is.
The silence slinks in after the applause, thick and expectant. I scan the hall, my gaze cutting through the crowd like a blade. They’re all here—thieves, enforcers, leaders, followers—dressed to the nines, whispering secrets into shadowed corners. This is my court now, a serpent’s nest of power plays and sin.
I feel their eyes on me, weighing, judging. But I’m no stranger to scrutiny or the silent dance of dominance. My eyes are sharp and miss nothing—not the slight nod between rival families nor the barely concealed sneer of an ambitious underling. The air is a tangle of alliances and enmities.
Dad stands apart from the rest, his presence a quiet storm. Our eyes lock across the room, and for a moment, there’s no one else here but us.
In his gaze, there’s pride—that much is clear. His daughter, standing tall where he once reigned. But I also see the steel of a warning shimmering through. It’s a look that says, ‘be ready.’ Because he knows better than anyone what it takes to hold on to a crown in our world, and he knows the cost. The sadness that washes over him is only noticeable by me, but even then, it’s gone before I can be sure. As much as I loved my mother, secrets and all, and how much I miss her, I hope that my father can one day move past her death and find someone to be with. Maybe now that Lila has been brought to mafia justice, he can find that peace.
Dad tilts his head, and I follow the line with a raised eyebrow. He knows what I have to do.
I beckon Robert Gannon, by holding out my hand. Beneath the grand chandeliers, he looks over his shoulder and then back at me, a first-year force of nature. Our eyes lock, and there’s an unspoken understanding between us.
