Page 14 of Crown of Steel

“What happened?” I ask. Maxime sends me another bright smile while his fork dangles in the air. He’s the only one still eating, of course. “The guy got too touchy, so Gaël had him removed.”

“He didn’t—he wasn’t,” Dominique stammers.

“Yes he was, sunshine,” Maxime deadpans, his eyes still on mine. “Anyway, just join the club. We’re cool dudes, and you and Dominique could teach me and Jo how to improve our skills.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jo snorts.

“We play every Wednesday evening. But we’re flexible,” Maxime continues, ignoring his friend.

“Yeah. And if you don’t feel like playing chess, but rather play cards, or just want to hang out, that’s cool too,” Dominique says. The others nod.

My hands tremble in my lap and my knee shakes frantically. I shouldn’t—“I’ll do it. Yeah.” My mask cracks and crumbles. “I’ll be really busy though with school, but I’ll play. I’ll do it.”

“Yay!” Maxime fistbumps the air. “So cool. Now we can finally double again.”

“Learn from the best.”

“We should totally try that pool bar in town one day.”

“Pool bar?” Dominique quirks a brow.

“That’s a whole different ball game, bro.” Jo laughs.

“I know,” Maxime huffs. “But I don’t care.”

Dominique grasps my forearm and squeezes it gently. “We’ll see about that, my friend. But hey, I’m really happy that you’re joining. I’d like to be friends.”

Friends? The word echoes in my mind, heavy and deceitful. I don’t do friends. And I don’t hang out with people. Everyone I love goes away.

“T’es une merde, Régis.”

Dad’s words rattle through my core, blanketing my heart with the familiar sting of pain. Pain is easier, easier than this feeling of hope. Because that’s what this is. Pathetic, loathing hope. Still I can’t help but croak, “Yeah. Me too.” And I mean it.

I clear my throat. Suddenly I’m feeling warm. Opening my collar with trembling fingers, I try my best to keep my face in check, holding on to the dull stare I have permanently engraved into my blue eyes. “Well, thanks for the invitation, guys, but I have to get going.”

Across from me, Jo stands up as well. “Yeah, I’ve got to head out as well,” Jo says. “First football practice, so I’d better not be late.”

Dominique and Maxime wave us goodbye, and at the exit of the canteen, Jo leaves me with a salute, then jogs away. I barely have time to contemplate what to do next when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Checking the caller ID, I practically jog through the corridor with my finger hovering over the keyboard, searching for a quiet corner. My heart suddenly thumps wildly in my chest. Is something wrong?

“You have received a phone call from an inmate of the Toulouse prison. Press 1 if you want to…” The familiar female robot voice rattles, and I wonder why on earth Dad would call this early.

The surprisingly quiet corridor is adorned with plants, with benches being placed against the walls. While I wait for the connection to establish, I head over to the one by the window, eyes admiring the collection of exotic green. Of courseMonterrey Castle doesn’t have normal houseplants, but needs to have something exclusive.

My fingers reach out and gingerly play with one of the leaves of a giant white bird of paradise. This rare version sure is a beautiful sight, with its towering height, broad leaves, and striking bird-like flowers. “Aren’t you a beauty,” I murmur. They remind me of the ones I used to keep in my bedroom, although they were by far not as pretty as this one. Still, they did a great job in brightening up my tiny desk and looking pretty wrapped around iron. Their presence always managed to grow and bend itself around me, protecting me and my restless mind. Like a silent friend.

“Régis.” Dad’s low, distasteful voice suddenly booms through my ear. My fingers instantly let go of the elegant leaf as if just the sound of it through the phone feels like it can contaminate the plant with all the acid that’s leaking from his heart. It bounces gently through the air, before it quietly stills back in place.

“Oui, papa?Comment vas-tu?”Shifting my body, my eyes roam the large window with the outside forest, blanketed in clouds. It’s not even late afternoon, but already the sky radiates darkness. Probably the lack of rainfall, with humidity forming heavy, murky clouds that intermingle with low mist. Dad lets out a grunt while my eyes adjust to the reflection through the glass. Instead of seeing the darkening forest, my gaze catches the lights behind me. Tomorrow, I tell myself, tomorrow I’ll head out and discover the woods.

Dad talks about his daily routine—the depressing cool shower, horrible breakfast, and uninspiring tasks they equip him with. I should head back to my dorm and take this conversation somewhere private, but I don’t want to, now I have discovered these green beauties. My temporary safe haven.

Dad talks and I watch. When I catch my own reflection, I stick out my tongue playfully, then pull it in immediately, gutfilling with guilt as I zoom back to Dad’s monologue. But then, when my eyes flick up again, it’s not my own reflection I collide with. No, it’s another pair of eyes. I blink, then blink again, but those eyes still watch me intently, its gaze unyielding and arrogant. My heart stutters in my chest and my lashes flutter, but my eyes can’t look away.

I squeeze the phone against my ear shell, making my dad grunt inside my head. “Ah, oui?” I comment sheepishly, unnecessarily. Dad’s talk falters for a moment, and I pray that he won’t ask me anything. He doesn’t, grunts instead, picking up where he left off. Dad’s presence always makes me feel inferior, incompetent, but now, with another predator standing less than three meters away from me, I feel cornered.

My heart thumps wildly in my chest. And still my eyes can’t look away.

Through the window, Arthur thumbs his bottom lip.

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