Page 61 of The Queen
A group of guys from our class huddle by the bar, pouring shots. Girls dance, their laughter mixing with the beat of the music.
Eliza’s fingertips graze my arm, light as a feather but enough to drag my attention away from the crowd. I swivel towards her, and she gives methatlook. It’s love, fierce and soft at once, with a shadow that tells me she knows exactly what kind of worldwe’re up against. She’s mesmerising, this girl who dominates the room just by standing still.
Eliza glides beside us as we move out of the way of the raucous crowd, Queen of the damned and the darlings. She doesn’t falter, doesn’t flinch. If anything, she stands taller and more powerful than ever. I’m caught up in her orbit again, willingly trapped.
The beat of the music swells, thumping through the Great Hall, matching the beat of my own pulse. We might be celebrating now, but trouble always has a way of finding us, especially when we least expect it. I glance at Eliza, surrounded by admirers, holding court like the true powerhouse she is.
Imogen grabs her hand and drags her off with Raph and Tarq following closely. I sit back, surveying the bigger picture as Oliver moves out wide to do the same.
Eliza’s laughter cuts through the noise, sharp and bright, but she is still on guard. We’re a tight unit, the four of us, bound to each other and to her. I’m always watching, always ready. It’s what I do—what I have to do because out there, beyond the gilded walls of this hall, enemies lurk, waiting for a chance to strike. The guardian among Kings, silent in my vigilance. It’s definitely where I prefer to be. I let my gaze linger on each of them, reassured by their presence, and their unwavering strength.
Catching Eliza’s eye across the room, and everything else falls away. There’s just her, the embodiment of everything we stand for, everything we’ll fight for. In her laughter, in her dominating presence, I see the future of our empire—a flame burning bright against the darkness we’re all too familiar with, and I’ll be damned if I let anything snuff that out.
28
ELIZA
Too hot andtoo overstimulated by the loud music and yells of the partying, I slip out of the Great Hall, letting the door click softly behind me. The noise from the coronation celebrations fades into a distant hum, replaced by the cool night air brushing against my skin. For a moment, I just breathe, letting the quiet settle around me like a cloak.
I told the guys I was heading to the ladies’ room, and I was to escape the celebrations for a few minutes, but then caught sight of the side door and decided this was better. They will be out shortly, I’ve no doubt to find me, but for now, I lean back against the cold wall and relax.
Frowning, I catch sight of Vice Chancellor Peters a few feet away. He’s alone, hands clasped behind his back as he stares up at the moon, looking every bit the image of a man lost in strategic thought. But I know better.
His head turns, and our eyes meet. A vicious smirk creeps across his face, slow and knowing. It’s like he’s got a secret, something wicked and unforgiving, and it’s all about me. My skin crawls.
“Eliza,” he says too smoothly.
“Vice Chancellor.” I keep my voice neutral. Respectful, but not warm. Can’t show weakness, not even a hint.
Peters takes a step closer; it’s deliberate, an invasion. His eyes hold a touch of malice that doesn’t go unnoticed. “Enjoying the festivities?”
“Needed some air.” Brief and to the point, I won’t give him anything he can twist.
“Of course, fresh air is invigorating.” The way he looks at me, it’s like he’s measuring me up for a coffin.
“Hmm.”
He steps even closer, close enough that I can smell the faint scent of his cologne, something expensive and sharp. His gaze lingers on my face, then drops lower, a silent challenge. I don’t move, don’t flinch. If he wants intimidation, he’s picked the wrong girl.
“Simply observing,” he says finally, voice light, but there’s nothing simple about Vice Chancellor Peters. Everything has a purpose. His smirk widens ever so slightly.
I square my shoulders as Peters looms over me, trying to intimidate me, but I don’t shrink back. I hold his gaze, steady, unblinking. He wants fear, but I’m not a scared little girl—I’m a Hughes, for fuck’s sake. Does he not know anything about me?
“Eliza,” he starts, voice thick with that sneer I’ve come to expect. “You have your mother’s wild streak—reckless and dangerous. She brought nothing but chaos to Castle University.” He leans in slowly, too close. “You think you can fill her shoes? Run the empire she tainted? I will never support you.”
“Well, that much was clear at the combat contest when you tried to have me killed.”
He rears back, eyes narrowed. “Killed? Oh no, I would never make such a threat. Beaten, maybe. Brought down a notch or two.”
“Well, guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do, so if that’s all?” I keep it cool, casual, like he’s some annoying guy at a bar, not a man with enough pull to make my life difficult.
His smug look, plastered across his face, is like he’s already won. But as the cogs in my mind turn, pieces of a puzzle I hadn’t even entertained start to click into place. My eyes narrow, not out of anger, but because I see it now—the personal vendetta hiding behind each of his calculated moves. Vice Chancellor Roger Peters never saw me as Eliza Hughes; I was just the daughter of the woman who must have tormented him, twisted him up inside. I can almost taste the bitterness laced in his every intention towards me now.
The thought snakes its way through my head, and I wonder if there’s more to this hate, something deeper, something lost. Was he in love with her? The idea is almost laughable—him, lovestruck, and my mum choosing my dad over his sour ass. That would explain the resentment festering in his eyes, the kind that doesn’t die but grows and warps into something ugly.
I want to ask him, but that would remove some of my power and let him know I know why he is out to get me. Nah, I’d rather keep that a tight little secret. Peters wants me to fail, not because of what I might do, but because of a shadow from the past, a ghost that looks like me, talks like me, but will never be me.
The menace rolling off him in waves is making my hand itch for Flick, strapped to my outer right thigh under this flowing dress. But a flicker of movement catches my eye, and I know without looking that my guys are here.
