Page 25 of Crown of Steel

He lets out another one of his typical innocent chuckles that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle a little. It’s so gullible and so misplaced in a world like Saint-Laurent, that it makes me nearly wonder if it’s genuine after all. He nods, then grins some more. “That’s what they say. That he’s never here during the school year.”

“...You’re such bright students, the country’s most privileged young men. And I’m honored to welcome you home…” The director continues, but I check out. I know that Saint-Laurent doesn’t have more than 150 students, but still… With all of us crowded in the reception hall, the lounge no longer feels spacious, cramped instead, making me feel light-headed as if I can’t breathe. My chest constricts when that thought lingers, as if giving me exactly what my mind believes it needs.

Swaying a little on my feet, I feel sweat dripping from my forehead. And that makes me think of earlier. Christ, the day hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already filthy with fluids. My knees buckle, and I open my mouth to inhale a sharp breath, no longer focusing on that voice that continues to resound through the open space. Here and there students cheer when being called out, but for the rest, it’s just oppressive.

Until finally,finally, it’s over. People start moving.

Maxime grabs me by my arm, and I bite the inside of mycheek to stop myself from leaning into him in an attempt to regain my balance and recharge my battery. I’m not sure if he’s aware of my inner turmoil, but he doesn’t call me out on it. Instead he gives me a beaming smile. “So, how does it feel now you’ve officially started? Want me to walk you to your first class? My god, I remember how nervous I was. So?” I look around me, forehead drenched in sweat, at all the people around me. Their sounds are muffled, as if I’m not really here.

I sense Arthur’s gaze on me before I see him. Tall, menacing, the way he watches me from where he’s standing next to Louis, who’s chatting to some random student.

“Régis?” Maxime asks again.

“No—” I turn my head to face him, making sure to keep my facade on. “I’m fine, thanks. See you.” And then I take off, having absolutely no clue where the hell I’m going. I accidentally end up in the wrong wing, then walk into the wrong class.

Their eyes are on me, I can feel it. On the messy strands that tumble around my ears, on those blue eyes that work so hard to glare indifferently, and on my filthy clothes.

I can’t believe I let him do that to me.

Other students are polite, but distant, and I can’t help but wonder.

They’ll all know, little Régis.

I can’t believe I wanted him to do that to me.Because I can ignore it as much as I want, but some dark, shameless part of me wanted what Arthur did. Wanted my stepbrother, the guy I’ve been crushing on ever since I met him in their mansion by the sea, to touch me. To blanket me in his wickedness and mark me as his. Even if it’s just for that moment…it felt so good to be captured by him, to be clutched between his claws and held against his firm, warm chest. It made me forget about everything else—about the man who once kept his son a prisoner, only to have become the prisoner himself. It’s striking how the tables have turned.

There was only Arthur and the undivided attention that he lavished on me. Those onyx eyes glued to my face, those full, curvy lips teased into a smirk, and those long, slender fingers wrapped around my cock.

Fuck…

I need to calm the hell down. This is college. And not just any college. It’s a place for rich, stuck up guys who all now stare at me with that knowing look. Because they know it, just like I fucking know it. I don’t belong.

This place shouldn’t make me want things I can’t have.

Apologizing thoroughly when I finally make it to my own classroom, I scurry into the furthest corner, relieved to find an empty seat. Thank god for that. Luckily I’ll be stuck in this room for the next three hours, so that’s sorted. I can finally breathe. And with a tentative smile on my face, I open my bag and grab my books, chest slowly deflating. I can do this.

As it turns out, I am right. Because despite my constant trepidation, classes are interesting. And despite my own hesitation, one day melts into another.

Apart from the chess board on my bed, where a new move is revealed every evening, nothing remarkable happens. I guess letting Arthur come into my room and play his game is my way of accepting his presence, even though we don’t cross paths anymore.

He’s a good player, but I knew that, challenging me to switch from an attack to defense, and back to attack. Our white and black army falters, sighs, then continues its tauntingly slow march toward the end of the game. And I find myself looking forward to that moment every night, when I come back into my bedroom to see what his next move has been.

Around me, everyone else seems to slowly fall into their rhythm as well, as the season picks up from before the summer break. Football practice has started, meaning I hardly bump into Louis. Projects are announced for this school year, and thatmeans that Arthur is practically never in the lounge room of our dorm.

It’s nice to settle down. To find a flow of my own standards, a cadence I choose because I can. I like to get up early, spend as many free hours as I can in the library or outside between the quiet and peaceful green.

It’s nice. Perhaps it would be even better if people would actually come and talk to me, aside from staring. Because I can feel them watching, ever since that first day when I joined Maxime with my cum stained clothes. But they won’t talk to me.

That evening, and despite my premonition that he’ll be in a foul mood, Dad’s actually talkative on the phone. He asks me how school has been and even seems to care about my answers. Sitting crossed-legged on my bed, I’m listening to Dad moaning about the poor quality of his food and the lack of hygiene. About the horrible showers and the constant, constant fear for safety. Our phone calls are not allowed to take more than five minutes, and the judge decided that Dad can only contact me every other day. That includes me contacting him.

He tells me about a visit he had from our lawyer, who really is stil a graduate student, because he’s the only one we can afford. After he met up with Dad for the first time, he decided to take on our case, despite having an enormous law firm breathing down our neck. Such an ambitious fool.

By the time our conversation is automatically disconnected, I feel completely empty inside. Guilt and remorse flood through the void of my core. Because no matter the outcome, I’ll probably always wonder if this whole mess Dad’s in is my fault.

Perhaps I wished too hard for her.

Perhaps I wasn’t the perfect son he wanted.

Gazing out through the window from my bed, all these scenarios flood through my mind, trying to suffocate me.

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