These fucking royals have the best genes.
“Morning,” he says, smirking as he sets the Times down.
“Morning,” I answer, filling my glass back up.
“Have a nice run?” he asks.
“I did, thank you.”
“Kill anyone before breakfast?”
I choke on my water and he comes around to my back, patting it gently as I cough.
“I was only joking. No need to be so dramatic,” he adds, giving me an easy smile.
“Very funny. I’m afraid murder isn’t on the agenda today.”
Alexander laughs. “Never say never.”
“How are you feeling about it all?” I ask, leaning against the opposite counter and holding my water as I cool down.
He shrugs. “I’ve decided to stay, if only so I don’t die.”
I smile. He’s funny—something I didn’t expect. Despite having a crush on him as a teenager, I assumed he would bebuttoned up and formal like the rest of the royal family. But he’s carefree and fun. In a way, I think he’ll make a nice addition to our order—even if he was never meant to be here.
“Well that’s good. I’m glad you’re staying,” I tell him honestly.
His brows furrow and he looks like he wants to ask me a question. It takes him a few seconds to form the words.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Okay,” I tell him, setting my empty glass down.
“Why did you want to join the Lords of Darkness?”
I think of how I can tell him the truth without outing myself. Because for some reason, I want to tell him the truth. So I decide on a half-truth. Or, I suppose it’s the full-truth—just with some of the facts omitted.
“Ten years ago, my parents were killed,” I start, careful about how I word things. “And I suppose I’ve been trying to figure out a way to run away from that grief ever since. To ensure something like that never happens again.”
All of what I’m saying is the truth.
My parents were killed.
I’ve been running away from grief and into the arms of vengeance.
And it would never happen again—I’d never let the Lords forget what they did.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says earnestly. His voice is smooth and his concern is genuine.
It causes my throat to constrict because I suppose I’m not used to people being kind.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
“I assume this…” he trails off. “The five of us will become very close. So I hope you know that you can always talk to me.”
My eyes water when I look up at him, and just as I’m about to respond, Lachlan walks into the kitchen.
He stops when he sees us, and I swipe at my eyes quickly. “Morning,” he grumbles, walking to the refrigerator and pulling it open. When he closes it, he sips on a green juice beverage as his eyes flick between us. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?” His voice is hard, and when we make eye contact, it feels like everything inside of me burns up.
