Cruel Prince: Royal Hearts Academy - Book One

by A. Jade

  The ass is more superficial than I thought.

  Then again, his mother was a former Bollywood actress. I’d seen a few pictures of her…even before her death, she looked just like an angel.

  Heck, Jace’s entire family—with the exception of poor Liam who had a few scars from the car accident that killed their mother— is flawless.

  No wonder he doesn’t want someone like me. We’re not in the same league.

  “That’s not it.” His voice is so low I can barely hear him.

  I inch closer. “Then what’s wrong with me?”

  I hate sounding so desperate, but I need my best friend to make me understand how it’s possible for me to feel so much for him…while he feels nothing for me.

  The small space between us tightens as I place my hand on his chest. His heart is beating even faster than mine.

  “Nothing.” A heavy breath lodges in my throat when his hand grazes my hip. “You’re perfect.”

  Tension hangs in the heavy silence between us. It’s obvious Jace is fighting this, I just don’t know why.

  Heat rises to my cheeks and my palms grow sweaty. It’s now or never at this point, and if I’m going down, I might as well go down swinging.

  “I never gave you your dare.”

  Jace and I have a stupid game we play. Every Friday before school ended, we exchange notes with dares on them that have to be completed by the end of the upcoming week.

  Usually, they’re harmless and gross challenges. Things like eating an insect, or finishing an entire pizza pie and two glasses of milk in ninety minutes.

  If you refuse, you have to clean the other’s room and answer a personal—usually embarrassing—question of the other’s choosing.

  Lucky for us, we’re both competitive, so we rarely ever lose.

  For the last three months, I’ve had a certain dare burning a proverbial hole in my pocket…but I always chicken out.

  Not today.

  With shaky fingers, I reach inside my pocket for the folded note.

  The hand on my hip tightens. “Don’t do this, D.”

  Too late. I unfold the paper and hold it up to him.

  I dare you to kiss me.

  His features twist in pain, despite his grip on me tightening. “No.”

  “If you’re so adamant that all we’ll ever be is friends, a stupid kiss shouldn’t be such a big deal.”

  Silence.

  It’s hard to argue with logic.

  It’s even harder to argue with jealousy.

  “If the thought of kissing me disgusts you so much, I’ll just ask Tom—”

  I stop breathing when his hands frame my face. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you don’t belong to Tommy.” His nostrils flare. “He can’t have you.”

  “So, you don’t want me, but no one else is allowed to have me? Is that it?”

  Long fingers wrap around the back of my neck, pulling me closer. “I never said I didn’t want you.” His face grows taut as he dips his forehead to mine. “I said we could never be more than friends.”

  He’s talking in circles. Putting us through turmoil for no reason. The solution is simple. Literally right in front of us.

  “Kiss me, Jace.”

  “No.”

  Irritation ripples through me. I’m growing tired of these stupid mixed signals that are impossible to decode.

  “Then let me go.”

  His gaze falls to my lips and he leans in. “I can’t.”

  Before I can blink, his lips feather over mine in a whisper of a kiss.

  They’re gone just as quickly.

  “Got it,” Jace declares, taking several steps back.

  “Got what?” Cole questions, taking the words from my mouth.

  Jace holds up his finger briefly then wipes it on his pants. “Dylan had an eyelash in her eye. You know what a baby she is when it comes to eyeballs.”

  Cole nods. “She’s the worst. Couldn’t even sit through Saw IV without getting squeamish.”

  Jace laughs while I shoot them both dirty looks.

  Liam gives me a sympathetic smile. “I d-don’t lik-k-ke eyeballs-s-s either, D-D-Dylan.”

  “Yeah, they’re gross.” I turn my attention back to Jace. “Um. Can we—”

  “I thought you were leaving?” He averts his gaze. “I have shit to do anyway, so you probably should.”

  We both know Jace doesn’t have shit to do. I read the asshole loud and clear.

  “Right.” I grab my hoodie. “See you around.”

  “W-w-wait,” Liam calls out. “Y-y-you could h-h-hang out w-w-with me.”

  Normally I’d take Liam up on the offer, but I don’t want to be anywhere near Jace.

  “Thanks, Liam. Maybe next time.”

  Chapter 9

  DYLAN

  Turns out there are worse things at RHA than the girls’ bathroom.

  Arriving late to class.

  Ignoring the beads of sweat trickling down my back, I quickly scan the room as who I’m assuming must be the teacher—given she’s standing at the front of the room with a scowl on her face and all—sighs in exasperation.

  “Class started three minutes ago,” she informs me curtly as I make a beeline for the nearest open seat in the back of the room.

  Everyone studies me like I’m some new microbe in a petri dish and I walk even faster. “Sorr—”

  “Move,” a gruff voice bites out the second my ass hits the seat.

  When I turn my head to the right, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Jace is slumped over his desk…glaring daggers at me. “Get a new seat. Now.”

  Breathe, Dylan.

  I look him right in the eyes. “Nah. I’m good right here.”

  Those gorgeous eyes of his darken as he sits up. “Trust me, you’re not. Do us both a favor and sit somewhere else.”

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Covington?” the teacher calls out.

  He turns his attention to her. “Yeah. This bi—”

  “Make me.”

  If I wasn’t already aware everyone was watching our exchange, I would be now.

  Jace’s voice drops suggestively and my heart speeds up for a different reason. “That would involve touching you.” His mouth curves into a disgusted sneer when our eyes connect. “Hard pass.”

  I force myself to pretend his dig doesn’t hurt like hell. “Good.” I straighten my spine and face forward. “Then sitting next to me shouldn’t be such a big deal.”

  I’m poking the bear, but I no longer care. It’s clear he isn’t the same Jace. And the asshole who took his place can go fuck himself.

  I’m whipping out my tablet so I can take notes when he speaks again.

  “You’re right. I just figured you might want to sit next to Oakley.”

  Soft snickers fill the classroom. The organ in my chest twists at his betrayal.

  Jace kicks the desk on the other side of him, and a groggy Oakley bolts up from his slumber. “Is it over yet? Can we go get pancakes?”

  The snickers turn to laughs…until aggravation clouds Jace’s features. “I think Dylan wants to sit next to you, bro.”

  A deaf person could hear the implication loud and clear.

  My stomach rolls. I think Dylan would rather eat dirt. “No—”

  “I’ve got a seat she can sit on,” Oakley says, cutting me off. “Again.”

  A few guys reach over to give him a pound, while a group of girls shake their heads in dismay before giving me a look of repulsion.

  Oakley gets laughs and high-fives, I get abhorrence.

  Even though the rumor he started impacts us both. Double standard much?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jace glance in my direction. Waiting.

  Waiting for me to crumble…or better yet—go off the deep end and scream obscenities at Oakley in the name of defending myself.

  Put on a show and feed the drama.

  Because that’s what these people love most.
/>   My throat grows tight as I look down at my tablet.

  I’m not giving these people shit.

  And Jace won’t get a reaction out of me until he uses that asshole mouth of his to tell me why he hates me so much.

  Chapter 10

  JACE

  “How do they expect us to be healthy when they serve crap like gourmet pizza and pasta?” Britney whines before pointing a finger at her friend stationed across the table. “Don’t eat that, Hayley. You were sloppy at cheer practice yesterday. Lay off the carbs.”

  If I was Hayley, I’d tell Britney to shut the fuck up and eat my snatch. But like the loyal, pathetic Britney follower she is, Hayley puts her forkful of linguine down. “Yeah, you’re right.” She gives Oakley, who’s sitting beside her, the stink eye as she pushes her tray forward. “I’ve just been really stressed lately.”

  High as hell and perceptive as fuck, Oak lunges for her plate. “More for me.”

  “It’s totally understandable,” Britney coos sympathetically. “But just because your life is a train wreck, doesn’t mean you have to look like one.” Her gaze catches on something and she laughs. “Exhibit A.”

  Old habits die hard because my initial reaction is to put Britney in her place. Fortunately, I come to my senses.

  I’ll give my old pal credit. She’s lasted longer than most.

  I tamp down the urge to laugh as I watch her look around the cafeteria for a place to sit. She’s not at her breaking point yet, but she looks out of her element.

  And nervous.

  The earbuds in her ears and the fact she’s absently mouthing the lyrics to one of her favorite songs are dead giveaways.

  “The Middle” by Jimmy Eat World. The song was released the same day she was born. And eight years before her mom died.

  But no one else would know those things about Dylan.

  Not unless they know her like I do. Like I thought I did.

  Britney grimaces. “Her bag is ancient, her Doc Martens are an emo fashion disaster, and that mop on top of her head looks like a blue snow cone…after someone pukes it up.”

  All that shit might be true, but I guarantee Dylan doesn’t give a single fuck what anyone thinks about her appearance.

  “I know,” Hayley chirps. “Seriously, who the hell wears combat boots? Is she like…joining the army?”

  “One can only hope,” Britney mutters with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

  Her friend Morgan laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “The girl is such a loser. Such a tragedy that her uniform is the most stylish thing she owns.”

  Britney picks up her phone and snaps a photo of Dylan. “I have to post this on Instagram.” She smiles down at the screen. “RHA’s favorite cousin-fucker—Dylan Taylor.” Her nose crinkles as her friends reach for their own phones. “I didn’t want to be rude, so I tagged her. Think she’ll mind?”

  I barely manage to halt the groan lodged in my throat. Usually I’m able to tune out all their dumb bullshit, but their topic of discussion happens to be the girl I hate.

  It’s taking nearly every ounce of my willpower not to put my fist through the table and then beat the nearest person over the head with it.

  Instead, I do the next best thing. I watch as Dylan loads up her tray, looking at the cashier with wide eyes as she pays—because the gourmet shit they serve here is expensive as fuck, even by our standards—then wait for her to pass me.

  A second before she does, I punt Britney’s messenger bag from underneath the table.

  Dylan goes down like a stack of dominos.

  Chapter 11

  DYLAN

  It was a bad idea to order spaghetti and meatballs for lunch.

  I’m sure the red-orange hue of the tomato sauce I’m currently floundering in will pair well with my white button-down shirt.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  At least I can take solace in the fact that a portion of my meal spattered on Britney’s thousand-dollar Burberry messenger bag. Bitch.

  But as much as I want to beat her ass for intentionally tripping me, I won’t give her the satisfaction of letting her know she’s ruffling my feathers.

  Instead, I calmly peel myself off the cafeteria floor, silently praying I don’t slip. Again.

  As suspected, everyone’s eyes are trained on me.

  Well, everyone except for Jace, who appears to be enjoying his food without a care in the world. And Oakley, who’s laughing so hard he’s shaking.

  Assholes.

  A faint flicker of pity passes in a few people’s gazes as I straighten myself out, but not enough for anyone to hand the new reject a paper towel.

  Whatever. Screw the sheep.

  With a smirk, I pluck a strand of spaghetti off my shirt and plop it in my mouth. “It’s good. But it could use a little salt.”

  “Gross. You’re so wei—” Britney starts to say before her face turns ashen. “Oh my God, you dumb slut. You ruined my bag.”

  I lick a drop of sauce off the tip of my thumb and shrug. “Consider it karma for ruining my lunch.”

  With that, I walk away.

  But not before grabbing the remaining spaghetti strands off my shirt and tossing them in her direction.

  “You’re gonna pay for that, bitch,” she calls out as I head toward the exit.

  My response is a middle finger in the air.

  I’m barely in the bathroom thirty seconds when the door opens, and I feel someone gawking at me.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I snap as I vigorously scrub my stained shirt with a paper towel.

  “Don’t have to. Britney already posted one on Instagram.”

  Of course, she did.

  “Before you bathed in tomato sauce,” the girl adds.

  Lifting my gaze from the mess, I glare at the short, curvy brunette donning a pair of black-rimmed glasses. She’s cute, but she definitely doesn’t look like a typical member of Britney’s crew.

  Probably a wannabe.

  “Thanks for the play-by-play.” I crinkle my nose. “Now buzz back to your queen bee.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “That’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

  Irritated, I stop scrubbing. “How so?”

  “By assuming I was part of Britney’s posse.” With a huff, she unzips her bag and takes out a white button-down shirt. “You’re wasting your time. Those stains will never come out.”

  I blink, feeling like an idiot. She wanted to help me, and I was an asshole.

  “You’re right. I was being a hypocrite.” I eye the shirt warily. “I wouldn’t feel right taking that from you now.”

  “Don’t worry. I have another one in my locker, two more in my car, and like twenty more at home.” She sweeps a hand up and down, gesturing to herself. “It’s gonna be huge on you...obviously. So, if you don’t wa—”

  I take the shirt. “No, I do. Thanks.”

  She gives me a curt nod before I duck into a nearby stall to change.

  As expected, it’s big, but I manage to make it work with a few adjustments.

  The girl is still standing by the sinks when I walk back out.

  This is awkward.

  It occurs to me she might be expecting something in return. “I don’t have a lot of money, but—”

  She holds up a hand, cutting me off. “It’s on the house.”

  I fidget with the hem of my skirt. I’ve never been good at small talk and it’s clear she isn’t either.

  Since our weird exchange can’t get any worse, I ask her something that’s been on the tip of my tongue for the last five minutes. “Why do you keep so many spare shirts around?”

  She looks embarrassed. For a moment I think she’s going to tell me she has some kind of perspiration issue, but then she says, “I transferred to RHA last year when I was a sophomore. I was barely here a week when Britney and her cronies stole my uniform out of my gym locker. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, but when I went to the shower, they took my gym clot
hes.”

  My heart sinks as she continues.

  “I forgot my cell phone at home so I couldn’t call my mom. Everyone was out of the locker room by then, so I had no choice but to walk back to the gym in a towel and get the teacher.” She points to herself. “And because I look like this, everyone who saw me laughed and mooed. The next day Britney posted a picture of me roaming the halls in a towel on Instagram. Needless to say, life really sucked for a while.”

  Jesus. That’s terrible. “She’s such a cunt.”

  She nods. “I can’t wait until she graduates. I might actually be able to enjoy my senior year.” She shrugs. “Truth be told, I was happy she found a new target, but when I saw you covered in sauce, I knew I had to help.” She smirks. “Not that you needed it. You were pretty badass back there.”

  That gets a laugh out of me. “I’ve been dealing with Britney since elementary school, so I’m used to her bullshit. There just happens to be way more of it now.”

  No doubt due to her and Jace dating.

  Her brows crinkle in confusion. “You used to go to school here? I thought you were new?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. I mean, I might as well be because it’s been so long and I only know a few people, but I moved out of Royal Manor when I was in eighth grade.” I blow out a heavy breath. “Now I’m back.”

  And nothing has changed…except Jace.

  “Which royally sucks,” she says, taking the words out of my mouth.

  “Big time.”

  She holds out her hand. “My name is Sawyer Church. I’m a junior and I drive an old ass mini-van. I’m not rich like everyone else here, but I enjoy studying so I managed to get a scholarship to RHA—really, it’s only because Principal Ryan is close with my family. Oh, and I dislike ninety-nine percent of the general population, but that doesn’t stop me from helping all the dipshits in the world because WWJD.”

  I shake her hand. “WWJD? Is that like a band or something?”

  “I wish. That would be awesome.” She motions to the bracelet on her wrist that has the same initials inscribed on it. “What would Jesus do.”