Page 22 of Crown of Steel

Sicilian Defense.

The quick shower in my small, though luxurious, walk-in bathroom helps me to feel fresh and chipper enough to face the new day, despite the early hour. I’ve always been one to rise early, but where discomfort used to be the reason for that, it sure as hell will be the comfort in this place. The bed’s too big, too plush. Too…much of everything I’m not used to.

The only thing that the past and the presenthavein commonis what I do right after I get up—I study. Best moment of the day. And with the glorious library this school has, I have high hopes for being left alone a decent number of hours before I have to present myself in the canteen.

I get dressed in the navy-blue colors of Saint-Laurent, making sure to put on the golden brooch that carries the emblem of Monterrey Castle. After a quick glance in the mirror, I head back to my bedroom, make my bed, then grab my backpack. Outside it’s still dark with the hint of morning rise that showcases dark red and golden glimmers through the trees. It’s beautiful.

Swinging the bag over my shoulder, I purposefully ignore the chess board, make sure that all windows are closed, then leave my room with a turn of the key. There, locked. As in, stay the fuck away from my personal space.

I wonder if that will truly keep him away.

Outside, the communal space is bathed in darkness, and it takes me a moment to find the lightswitch. It flicks, putting the lounge into faint light.

“Already heading out, little Régis?” A hoarse rumble makes me jolt.

“Jesus,” I mutter, trying my best to keep my cool, then throw my gaze around the communal space as I keep on walking. Where the hell is he? There. Arthur is sprawled out onto an armchair, his eyes raking over my presence, a small smile curled onto his lips. Clutching my hand tight around the door knob, I snarl, “That’s not your business, is it?”

“Ouch.” He slowly unfurls his larger body as he gets up. It’s not even six yet, still he looks immaculate—his school uniform melting around sculpted muscles and a well-developed chest, thick hair slick and brushed back, the top mussed. He pulls a hand through those raven strands before he grabs the school bag at his feet. “You see, this is where you’re wrong.” His voicedrips with sweet sinfulness, and he shoots me an amused wink when I scowl at him.

“It’s a little early for your presence, Arthur.” I open the door before he can say anything else and step outside, into the narrow corridor.

Unsurprisingly, Arthur catches up with me in less than three steps. His schoolbag slumps off his shoulder, and it bumps against my forearm. When I pull away, he simply chuckles. “You’re not a morning person, I presume?”

“Fuck off,” I grumble. “Not when the first thing I see is you.”

We round the corner together, Arthur’s mocking wolf-whistle lingering in the quiet air as we make our way toward the double spiral staircase. Balling my fists, I inwardly prepare for the next thing to say. Part of me wants to run and hide, but I’ll be damned if I let him scare me away. Besides, he’s got some explaining to do.

“I locked the door to my room yesterday, so I’d appreciate you giving me back my key.”

He turns to face me, creasing his brow. “And why’s that?”

“Stop playing games, you know what I’m talking about.” We halt at the edge of the impressive stairs where the rising sun with its glorious reddish and golden colors reflect through the immense arched windows.

“On the contrary. We’ve only just begun playing games.” He drums his finger against his temple. “I can’t wait to see what your opening defense is,future co-worker.”

“Stop it,” I snarl, somehow feeling caught. I shouldn’t have moved that pawn in the first place, shouldn’t have accepted the challenge. “We don’t work together and you aren’t the boss of me. I don’t want you coming into my room snooping around, leaving games on my bed.” My voice shakes a little. “I don’t want you around.”

With one surprisingly fast movement, Arthur pushes me against the railing between the stairs. “Don’t you now?” Hesmiles a little, but every spark of humor has left his gaze. Instead, his eyes glower like fireballs that make me flinch. As if in slow motion, his long, wispy fingers tilt my chin to face him fully. The touch is light as a feather, but every single inch of my nerve system is lit. “You do remember who I am, right?” He drawls. I want to throw him off and tell him to get lost, but I’m finding myself speechless. My veins are pumping blood south, and my cock is filling rapidly, which is absolutely terrifying.

“I don’t need guidance,” I rasp, my throat thick with trepidation. I fucking hate myself for it.

Arthur’s fingertips trail a little further over my face, brushing over my lips while he curls his own into a lazy smile. “Let me clear up some things. If I want to get up early to accompany my baby brother to his first class, I will get up early and do so. And if I want to go inside your bedroom, I’ll go inside your fucking bedroom. Whenever I want to, little Régis.” He dips his head, his mouth teasing the shape of my lips, then he nips at my bottom lip. His gaze narrows when he watches my smaller hand grabbing hold of his, in a lame attempt to free myself. “And I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to do. Now, say sorry for not being in your room last night.”

Pursing my lips, I shake my head.

He grins at that, then slides a hand around my throat and lifts me up. Eyes bulging, I look down, to where my feet have left solid ground.

“What the hell? Put me down!” It comes out as a breathy plea that makes his lips tick up even more.

“Fuck, you sure are sweet, little Régis. And a little naughty. Now, say sorry to your big brother.”

“No.” Arthur places his legs around my dangling ones, caging me in, then slowly brushes a curl out of my face, not giving two fucks about the way I’m literally hanging here, back arched around the cool wood, clawing on to him for dear life. “You son of a bitch—” I sputter, the effort of those words causing mycheeks to flame. I tap on his knuckles, and he wiggles his brows.

“Oh, you want me to put you down? Or would you rather me toss you down the stairwell? I wonder which set of stairs your pretty head would hit.” My body shivers at the thought. We’re on the second floor, and those stairs are a complexity of wooden art. That means a lot of hard material that could bash my head in.

It’s a trick.

Though I can’t be sure.

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