Page 92 of Crown of Steel

Comprehension.

Attraction.

“The brothers will hold a celebration tonight after the presentations have taken place.” He brushes a lock behind my ear. “I will take you. We go in initiation style, with cloaks and masks. They are restless, looking for a good fuck. Our escorts will be there as well.” His fingertips brush under my chin, caressing the tender skin. “You will stay by my side the entire night. I don’t want to share you.” He waits a beat, as if waiting for my approval on that blunt declaration.

“I don’t want to share you either,” I whisper.

Arthur tilts his head to the side. “You won’t,” he finally murmurs. His fingers trace my bottom lip, before he finally letsgo and walks away. “Mom and Dad are on their way here. We’re meeting them for dinner at the canteen downstairs.”

“Is it that late already?”

“No, but the canteen is open earlier today for those who present.” He uses my bathroom and after he has flushed the toilet, he washes his hands by the sink, dries them, puts on his shirt, then uses my hairbrush to comb his wild, raven hair. When our eyes meet through the mirror, something has shifted yet again. I can feel it in the air, and it causes a shiver.

“That prize is mine, Régis. And mine only.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got to earn it first.”

His eyes lock on mine and a small smile spreads on his lush, curvy lips. “Oh, I will,chaton.” He straightens his clothes, runs another hand through his hair, then walks back inside my room and grabs his backpack.

“Shall we?”

22

ARTHUR

Dinner with Mom and Dad passes by in a blink of an eye, with Louis, Gaël and Dominique joining us. Instead of eating in the canteen, we spend most of our time in Dad’s office, where we combine talk of studies and business as usual.

The atmosphere is pretty laid-back, despite tonight’s presentations. I’m not particularly nervous—not to sound too much like the cocky asshole my little stepbrother makes me turn out to be, but I enjoy speaking in public. Plus, I know each member of the board. Not to forget that Dad’s here with us, and even though I can understand his reasoning for not making me skip this part of the qualifications, there’s no way on earth he’d let me fail this. Regardless of the quality of my presentation, which, conveniently, discusses the future of traditions.

I can’t say that the same goes for Régis. Despite our earlier relaxation exercises on his bed, my kitten looks tense, his handsome features schooled into his well-practised aloofness. Louis tries to make him laugh a few times, but he’s not rewarded with anything other than a few forced grimaces that have nothing to do with the quality of my brother’s jokes.

Finally Louis gives up. He just gives Régis a hug and afriendly pat on his shoulder, then announces that he will meet us in the presentation room. Gaël lets out a dramatic sigh, then points at the armchair that stands by the crackling fire.

“Alright, take a seat. Your shoulders come up to your nose, dude. That’s no way to do a presentation.” Régis stares at the chair, then at my cousin, who slaps on the armrest, holding a small bottle of oil in his hands. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

But Régis isn’t shy, or perhaps that too. He’s afraid. “I don’t think—” I start, but Régis takes a slow step forward, in its wake brushing a hand over mine. Comforting.

“Perhaps it will do me good,” he mumbles to himself. I don’t miss the way Gaël’s brows pinch, nor do I miss the way my own chest clenches with something dangerously close to pride. It’s his way of coming out of his shell, step by step. And what’s more precious, is the way he is including me. That little touch of reassurance, that tells me that is doing this for me. For us.

While Gaël babbles happily about the type of oils he’s using, I take a final look at my presentation.

“Are you ready, son?” Dad asks, eying my notes as I flick them through. He’s wearing his usual navy-blue suit with the crisp white shirt, the colors matching my own school uniform. His thick, graying hair is slicked back, revealing an angular face that matches mine and Louis’. So do his eyes, dark and intense, as he gazes at me. When I nod, he pats me on my shoulder, leaning in ever so slightly. “You know that this is purely a formality, right?”

I nod again.

“There aren’t that many contestants, and I know that the board will let on a few more other students, since we did agree to modernize our traditions.” Our gazes both linger at my notes, which cover exactly that theme.

“Do you also know who will win today?”

“No,” he shakes his head slowly. “I don’t have access to that information, nor can I direct it.” I don’t know why those wordsbother me, but something about them brings a tingle of worry in the pit of my stomach. My eyes flick back up from notes, and into Dad’s. He’s already gazing at me, searching.

“If you can secure my spot, surely you can secure one of my brothers as well?” I ask.

“Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that, Arthur. It would be suspicious. But I’m sure that Régis will be doing just fine. Mister Montague has been sharing his debriefs, and they are full of praise.” We both turn our gazes toward Régis, who gets out of his chair and pulls his clothing back in shape. The smile he shares with Gaël is more relaxed. The smile my cousin gives in return is definitely frank. Yeah, I believe that both Louis and Gaël have softened up for my kitten.

“If everyone’s ready, then let’s go,” Nathalie says, phone in hand. She’s been on the phone for the past thirty minutes, a glass of wine in hand, a small handbag tucked over the shoulder of her blush-colored dress. It’s long, falling right above a pair of white pumps. She looks her usual classy self, but today there’s also something stormy in those green eyes. Something tells me it had to do with her phone call. But I won’t ask, because she’s right. It’s time to go and get ready for our qualification presentations.

In casual silence, we stride through the South Wing, following the trail of narrow corridors until we join the large reception hall. Around us, other groups of people are dotted around. It’s a regular school evening, so some students are heading toward or leaving the canteen, whereas others make their way toward their evening activities. I greet a few of them with a clipped nod of my head, never really caring to engage in conversation. Especially not tonight, since my earlier anticipation is rapidly turning into something stronger, something hotter that’s flooding through my veins as it does that usual trick it always does—preparing me for my win.

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