Fate of a Royal （Lords of Rathe, #1）
Meagan Brandy & Amo Jones
Dedication
To the girls who fuck the villains.
Open your mouth wide and take it like a good girl.
Dear Reader,
This book may contain scenes that can be considered triggering for some readers. Please be mindful of your own as you dive in…
And holy shit … time to buckle up, turn the page, and enjoy the fucking ride!
XoXo,
Amo and Meagan.
One
London
Can this shit go any fucking slower?
My eyes dart to the game clock for what feels like the hundredth time, Trevor’s never-ending mouth still running as it’s been since the drop of the puck that started today’s exhibition game.
Why I agreed to sit with my arrogant ex tonight, I have no idea. We’ll just add it to the list of shit decisions I’m known to make.
If Ben didn’t spend his entire paycheck on a season ticket so his “best friend can park her ass front and center and watch him whoop ass,” I would have left in the first period because goddamn. Trevor spent the whole intermission whining. How many times can a girl listen to her bitch-boy-ex moan all the reasons I should “reconsider breaking up with him because girls want to date him, and he won’t wait around forever.”
Like, hel-fuucking-lo? Was my bitch, you can have his deficient dick ass and the rock through his passenger window—purely for good measure—too subtle?
Apparently, the answer to that is a big fat yes.
The man, if you can call him one, has been begging me to come to my senses for two weeks now.
I didn’t exactly want him before a girl in my dorm said she saw him in the parking lot with some other chick, so I sure as shit don’t want him now. I was just waiting for someone to come take him off my hands and I knew his wandering eye would bring that to fruition.
Huh, maybe that’s why the dorm girl, whose name I can’t remember, looked at me like I was crazy when she rushed over to rat him out.
Pretty sure my response was a smile.
I might have even skipped out of the common room.
It’s like I said, I didn’t much care for him. He was fun to pass the time with at first, and that’s about it. Maybe it’s shitty I didn’t break it off with him sooner, but I knew he was going to cheat, just like I knew he was going to come crawling back afterward.
My life may be chaotic, but my senses are on point and have never led me astray.
The question was never will he. It was when will he.
So, yeah, I like making other people the bad guy. Fucking sue me.
Better yet, shoot me. Right now. This guy is still talking.
“I’m serious, London. You have no idea how many girls have hit on me on campus. I’m trying to give you a chance here.”
I look at the clock. Three minutes until Ben’s dream of an undefeated season is smashed to shit. They’re about to be served a hard loss from Rathe U, the other college we share this town with, officially making it painfully obvious that when they face them in the regular season…they have zero chance of winning.
But why does this feel like the longest game in the history of hockey?
The moment I ask myself that question, the universe has a laugh at my expense when the reason himself bitches a little more.
“Are you going to talk to me at all?” Trevor snaps angrily, crossing his arms like the man-child he is. Ick.
“What do you want me to say?” That you smell like you bathed in your grandpa’s cologne, and you’re as basic and boring as pretty boys come? “That it’s all good you fucked some chick in the back seat of your car in the parking lot outside my dorm?”
He sits forward swiftly, and in my peripheral, I catch his creamy-colored skin growing crimson when a few students around us don’t even attempt to hide their reactions. They’ve been sighing and shaking their heads the entire time, forced to listen to him cry right along with me. They’re laughing at his ass now.
I think I might owe the strangers a beer after this.
Three seconds left.
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?” he hisses in my ear.
I don’t care enough to roll my eyes.
Finally, the clock hits zero, and the opposite side of the arena shouts and cheers as ours rush to clear their seats, hoping to avoid getting stuck in shoulder-to-shoulder crowds on the walk back to campus.
Trevor hops up, offering me his hand, and I scoff, lifting my legs and stretching them over the now-empty seat in front of me.
His lip curls. “You can’t possibly plan to sit here and wait until Ben’s ready to leave? He’s not even off the ice yet!”
I ignore him, lifting my lemonade to my lips as I wrap my jacket tighter around me. How Ben gets so sweaty in a room filled with ice is beyond me.
The cheap vodka I poured in makes a poor excuse for a lemon drop, but it’s also the only thing that stopped me from tearing off Trevor’s head during the game. He waits until the aisles around us are empty, then huffs, throwing himself into the seat as if he can’t believe he has to stay here longer. It’s as if he’s convinced himself I invited him tonight or that I actually want him to stick around. Neither is true.
Little by little, the arena begins to clear, the teams making their way back into the locker room, one to be praised while the other gets their asses reamed, and poor Ben is on the shit end of the stick. He did score a goal tonight though, even if he’ll swear it doesn’t count when I do my best friend duty and focus on this fact in my attempt at a post-drunken pep talk. He’ll remind me nothing but the scoreboard matters, and no line I throw at him will make a difference.
Oh, but there’s a positive that comes from this. Losing means we’re getting fucked up tonight.
Being the rational, responsible one of the two of us, angry and “fuck it” Ben is few and far between, but also my favorite version. I live for the nights my number one is down to get good and trashed, and they’ve become more rare these days. His studies and position on the ice create an even more dedicated version of the best guy I know.
Dozens of ideas of the shenanigans we might get into tonight dance in my mind and a happy little sigh escapes as I drain the contents of my cup, the first initial buzz finally kicking in.
Of course, Trevor ruins it by opening his mouth, effectively ending the blissful silence.
“You know Ben’s in love with you, right?” he huffs as he looks around, shaking his head as if the arena itself is offensive to him.
It probably is. Poor little rich boy. I don’t even know why he’s at this second-rate school.
The way he tells it, Mommy and Daddy could have gotten him into any school of his choice. He loves to share how rich they are, almost as if he uses it as a tactic to try to get laid, but he should put more thought into his storytelling because, again, why would he be a student at Daragan State when the nicer school in this town is the one that just whooped our asses for the last sixty minutes?
“London! Are you even listening to me?”
If it were possible to mute his voice, the answer would be a hard no. Alas, I cannot, so this time I do roll my eyes, purely so he can see how much he’s annoying me while internally hoping he takes the hint and goes the fuck away.
“Yes, I’m listening, and no, he isn’t.”