Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5) - Rina Kent Page 0,64

hate; he does rivalry and he does spite, but hate always felt beneath his status, his name, and his entire aura. The fact that his fists are clenching and he’s stopping himself from punching his uncle means something.

“Watch it, Uncle.” Ronan snarls the last word, enunciating it, as if wanting Eduard to feel it.

“Run your mouth and I’ll run mine, my dear nephew. Remember Charlotte…” Eduard clutches Ronan’s shoulder and smooths invisible wrinkles off his shirt. “Poor, soft Charlotte. Breakable, depressed Charlotte.”

I lean over to get a better view of Ronan then a hand clasps my arm. I yelp, but the sound is muffled by a gloved hand wrapping around my mouth.

Lars.

He drags me away from Ronan’s doorway, opens another door down the hall, and ushers me inside the room. He does a sweep of his surroundings before following me and closing the door.

Lars is the head butler of the estate and a character straight out of a period drama. Though Ronan likes to say he’s his accomplice in murder plots, I don’t believe that’s the case. All the guy cares about is order, cleanliness, discipline, and tea.

Lots of tea.

He knows everyone’s taste in that.

Dad has only been here a few times, but Lars already knows he prefers black tea over anything else.

Oh, and he brings me dark chocolate whenever I visit Charlotte, so I am always thankful for that.

While his expression never betrays his feelings, I’ve somehow gotten the idea he doesn’t approve of me. He’s like Charlotte’s substitute in being my mother-in-law.

“What are you doing?” I fold my arms over my chest, going straight into a defensive mode, as if he didn’t just catch me eavesdropping on his master.

“That’s what I’m supposed to ask, Miss. What were you doing?”

“Passing by.”

His expression remains neutral. “Didn’t seem like passing by to me.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Lars. If you have something to say, say it.”

He remains silent for so long I start to notice the grandfather clock ticking behind me. If he’s doing this to unnerve me, it’s starting to work.

“Don’t tell the madam about whatever you heard.” He pauses. “However, if you feel inclined to tell his lordship, I’ll pretend I know nothing.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean by why?”

“Why tell Edric but not Charlotte?”

“It’s his lordship to you, young lady.”

“Stop with the title bollocks. What’s going on, Lars?”

He tips his nose up as if he’s the aristocrat in the house. “If you haven’t figured it out yourself, why should I tell you?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Perhaps I was right — perhaps you don’t deserve the young lord.”

“What?” I scoff. “I don’t deserve him?”

“You haven’t proven you do, now have you?”

I open my mouth, but I’m incredulous so nothing comes out.

“That’s what I thought.” He heads towards the door. “Your tea will be up in fifteen minutes. Actually, make that thirty – and no chocolate for you.”

I flip off the door as it closes behind him. The fucking snob.

Though he’s a snob who obviously knows about whatever is going on between Ronan and Eduard, and he wants me to tell Edric.

I lean against the smooth surface of the table. From what I gathered, Eduard seems to be holding something over Ronan’s head, and it has to do with Charlotte. He also mentioned something about Ronan’s origins.

It has to do with Charlotte.

I gasp. No. It can’t be.

I storm out of the room, not knowing where I want to go. No, actually, I do, and it’s not back to Charlotte’s room, that’s for certain.

I want to make sure Ronan is fine, make sure he’s not raging or bottling everything up inside. Even those who have a problem recognising emotions know when they hit.

At the top of the stairs, a presence halts my plan — a presence I wished to never see in this house.

I wish it were only occupied by Ronan and Charlotte. Even Lars snobbishness would’ve been fine.

Anyone but him.

A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, and it takes everything in me not to fidget or run or dig a hole and disappear in it.

It takes all my willpower to stand in place as he strides towards me.

Edric is a big man, even bigger than his son, and because of his title, his presence seems to suffocate everything in its vicinity.

He stops in front of me, and a small smile pulls at his thin lips. “Teal, it’s lovely seeing you.”

I can’t say the same.

The information I just learnt — the fact that he’s probably not Ronan’s biological father — should delight me, because