Chapter 2: Vicious Prince: Chapter 2

Beauty is subjective.

I read that once, and since then, I’ve had this weird feeling that it spoke to me.

Beauty is a strange concept for me. Black is beautiful, and dark chocolate with nuts can also be considered beautiful.

But other than that, what’s human beauty? Gigolos — sorry, I mean guys with model-like looks such as Knox’s — are considered beautiful. Aiden, Elsa’s boyfriend, is handsome, too.

There’s a different type of beauty that’s darker, a bit sinister, hiding under the surface rather than pushing to the top.

I guess that’s beauty for me. It’s not about the physical aspect but rather about what the exterior hides. You can feel it when someone possesses no beauty by societal standards but their charisma speaks to you in one way or another. You can’t see it, but it’s there.

Ronan, however, has no beauty at all.

His is the shallow type like gigolos. If he were a woman, he would be labelled a slut, but in his case, he’s called a playboy.

From the outside, he has a well-proportioned face, and it’s symmetrical, actually. It’s the same on either side of his proud straight nose, from the eyes to the cheeks to the sharp jaw and even to the ears.

It’s a symmetry like I’ve never seen in my entire life. Some people, like actors, have what resembles symmetry, but never actually a perfect one.

He does.

His face is too symmetrical, as if it were sculpted by a Greek god. People’s eyes usually have a slight asymmetry — not his. Even as the outside sun shines on them, they both glow in a rich identical brown colour.

I guess it’s part of his filthy aristocratic blood, a heritage he claims by being the whatever generation of the world’s nobility.

His beauty makes no sense at all for two reasons. A, he’s too aware of it; it’s cringy. B, and most importantly, there’s no depth behind it.

At least in Knox’s case, he uses the plastic easy-going personality as a defence mechanism to get what he wants. I know all too well what he’s hiding beneath all the laughs and grins.

In the few weeks I’ve watched Ronan, he’s never shown another facet of the sickly, cheerful personality. He’s always smiling, laughing, grinning, throwing parties, fucking, and fucking, and more fucking.

It’s…boring.

And yes, I have watched him. After all, he’s part of my plan.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

Soon, though. So very soon.

“Drop your arm, Van Doren.” Aiden stops in front of us. He’s smiling, but there’s no warmth behind it.

That.

The depth.

The human desolation.

It’s what makes him beautiful, not as a man, but as someone who stands out from the crowd of normal.

Aiden is anything but. He’s all darkness with little light that he only shows to Elsa.

“Come on, King.” My brother grins. “She’s my sis.”

“You share no blood. Actually…” He pauses. “Even if you did, I’d tell you to drop your arm.”

Elsa suppresses laughter by biting her lower lip as Aiden tugs her to his side by her other wrist. I tilt my head as she snuggles to him, wrapping her arm around his waist while he holds her with a hand at the small of her back.

It’s like they can’t get close enough or touch each other long enough.

Why would they do that?

Human touch is overrated. I’ve tried it, and it didn’t really matter. At least not in the way I wanted.

Knox and Aiden go into some sort of argument that doesn’t really register. It’s like they’re speaking in outer space — no idea if I’m the one blocking it out or if it just doesn’t exist for me anymore.

As I slide my attention back to my phone, a harsh glare registers in my peripheral vision. When I lift my head and my eyes collide with that infuriatingly symmetrical gaze, a grin greets me, all perfect and put together and worthy of an earl’s son.

I could swear someone was glaring at me just now, but he’s the only one in sight. Someone with his reputation and shallowness doesn’t even know how to glare. Ronan is all about laughs and having a good time to the point that negativity is considered below him. I’ve never seen him angry or displeased. Even when Elsa was taken to the emergency room, he came by filled with laughs and jokes, trying to cheer her up.

“Bonjour, ma belle,” he tells me, his tone light, welcoming, and I think there’s some flirting in there, too, but I’m not sure.

Ma belle.

My beautiful.

I don’t know why he calls me that when he’s never once thought I’m pretty. I heard him talking to Kimberly — Elsa’s best friend — the other day, and when she told him I’m pretty, he said, “There’s pretty and there’s creepy, and she falls in the latter category. Mmmkay?”

It was the first time someone said those words. Creepy? Sure. I’ve felt it during my limited interactions with humans, but no one has said it out loud, or maybe no one has said it out loud for me to hear it. They usually think I’m crazy, abnormal…mad.

I’m curious to see how he feels now that he’s forced to marry a creep, but I have neither the mind nor the patience to pursue it.

Curiosity can be beneficial, but its outcome is usually disastrous, and I have no time for that in my life.

Focusing back on my phone, I turn around.

They’re all so busy talking and throwing shade, so I doubt anyone will notice I’m gone.

Knox nudges me, a sly grin on his lips.

Okay, anyone but my brother.

I ignore him and walk down the hall. I’ll have to take the longer route to get to the classroom.

I don’t mind as long as it gets me away from that circle.

Lacking a talkative nature can be a disadvantage when surrounded by people who won’t shut up. Sometimes, Elsa and Aiden’s group of friends throw remarks my way, and I usually figure it out too late. I hate that.

It’s not my fault I’m not so witty like all of them seem to be.

I pass by the faceless students and try focusing on one of them, squinting to form an image. How hard could it be? Two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. It’s that easy.

Only it’s not.

I need a lot of focus to form faces, a familiarity of sorts, but I still don’t have that with RES’s students. The one I concentrate on barely has eyes; they’re washed out, and the person quickly strides past me, shattering any focus I had.

I shake my head and rekindle the connection with my phone.

Maybe one day after the war finishes, I’ll stand in a public place and recognise every face and every person. I’ll be normal.

Though, what’s normal? I never lived it, never experienced it, so how come I want it so much?

I’m a human, after all, like my therapist says. I can deny it all I want, but I keep snapping back to what’s considered normal even without my permission.

Stupid anatomy.

“A word, ma belle,” a low voice whispers in my ear from behind.

I startle and my hands shake, nearly dropping the phone on the ground.

Something jerks in my chest, as if invisible hands are rummaging through my organs.

It takes me a second too long to regain control over my breathing.

Refusing to show Ronan a reaction, I continue walking as if he didn’t just set off my second trigger for the day. First Knox, and now him.

I’m usually more aware of my surroundings for this exact reason, but I spent all night searching for and watching videos of my opponent, making sure I know him better than he knows himself.

I guess a lack of sleep can cause a deficiency in attention.

“Did you hear me?” He speaks with that smile plastered on his face as he falls in step beside me.

“Yes, and my silence was the answer, just like how I left to stop being in your immediate vicinity.”

“You’re getting it all wrong, but I’m generous so I’ll fix your misconception. Silence is a sign of affirmation.”

“For me, it’s a sign of denial.” I stride faster than I usually walk, but it’s useless. He’s way taller than me and his legs eat up the distance, keeping pace with me without any extra effort.

“That’s lovely.” He smiles, but I don’t think he believes what he said — the part where he thinks this is lovely, I mean.

No, it can’t be.

He’s as readable as it gets. Even with my weird relationship with feelings, I can figure him out. I watched him for weeks on end before I took this step. He can’t possibly be hiding anything up his sleeve.

“Do you mind?” I stop, motioning at him to go ahead. Ronan and I often throw jabs at each other. What? I’m allergic to his over-positivity, and I can’t stay quiet about it. He always retaliates and we soon drop it.

But that’s only when someone else is around.

I never spend alone time with Ronan, and it’s for a reason. He’s always surrounded by people; it feels suffocating just watching from afar.

“I do, actually.” He smiles again, adding a wink, but it’s not at me — it’s at a girl passing us by. “Party at my place, Nicky!”

She nods several times like an overeager kid on Christmas morning then blushes when he winks at her again.

I sidestep him and continue on my way. After all, I don’t want to hinder his man-whorish ways.

I make a beeline to the library to return the book A Military History and Atlas of the Napoleonic Wars. I read the whole thing last night, so I might as well take another one.

I’m in front of a shelf when a strong hand grabs me by the arm from behind.

Third and final trigger.

My heart nearly stops beating as I shriek. The sound is so loud my ears pop.

Only no sound comes out.

A hand wraps tightly around my mouth, killing any protest I could form.

I stare up at Ronan’s symmetrical eyes. There is no laughter in there, no winks or anything familiar. It’s a bit blank, a bit too…empty.

It’s almost as if I’m staring at a different person.

The change disappears in a second as a grin breaks out on his face, and just like that, the shallow version returns.

Was it even there? Maybe the change was a play of my imagination because of the trigger I just experienced.

My ears still ring from the effect of it, so it can’t be far off.

Still, my chest rises and falls so heavily it’s like a war has already started in my heart and is now about to take me over.

Ronan lowers his hand as if he didn’t just muffle my scream and trigger my damn episode.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snap.

“Shh.” He places his forefinger in front of his mouth, motioning at Mrs Abbot, the librarian. “We’re at the library.”

“And what are you doing here?” I whisper.

“Told you.” He gives me back my personal space as if he didn’t confiscate it a second ago. “I want a word with you.”

“And I told you no.” I turn on my heels, breathing heavily and trying to subdue the shadow on my shoulder, trying to keep it from pouncing at me.

I need to get the fuck out of here and take a pill to calm down. Otherwise, I’ll be jittery all damn day.

My episodes have that effect on me.

An arm shoots out in front of my face, and I push back, jolting as it clutches a shelf, blocking my exit.

Damn him.

I can already feel the usual shortness of breath and trembling of my toes. If he keeps doing this, I’ll really have no way to stop whatever’s brewing in the distance.

Might as well get this over with.

“Fine.” I breathe out, meeting his gaze. “What do you want?”

“I’m happy you changed your mind.” He tilts his head with a smile.

Changed my mind? More like was coerced into it.

The fucker.

I still can’t pinpoint if he did it on purpose or if it was a lucky hit. Please let it be the latter, because if it’s the former, I’m in trouble.

The best thing about laying plans is to follow through with them. Everything is a domino; once one falls, the others soon follow.

I’m the only one who can push that first domino. No one will do it for me.

I tap my foot on the ground and whisper due to the library’s strict policies. “I’m waiting, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I did notice. Doesn’t mean I care. This is about me, not you, ma belle, remember?”

Arrogant prick.

“If there’s a point, you should have reached it by now.” I pretend to stare at my watch. The numbers are there, but for some reason, I can’t seem to read the time. Shit. This one is worse than any of my recent episodes.

“Here’s the thing, ma belle. My father told me I’m getting a fiancée. At first, I was fine since it was Elsa, but apparently, there’s been an internal sister swap as if we’re in medieval times. I know I’m part of old-school aristocracy, but this behaviour is insolent — imagine that in the queen’s tone. Anyway, point is, I don’t want a fiancée. I just turned eighteen and I have this brilliant plan that starts with me staying single for the next fifteen years and shagging exotic girls all around the world. It’s not me, it’s you. Now, do me a favour and fucking disappear, mmkay?” He grins.

“Why would I do that?” I don’t even pause.

“What?”

“Why would I do you any favours? Last time I checked, I owe you nothing.”

He chuckles, the sound low and discreet in the silence of the library. “Is that what you want? To owe me something?”

“That’s beside the point. What I meant is that I have no obligation to do something for you. Not now, not ever.”

“Ma belle, ma belle…” He’s still smiling as he muses. “I call you ma belle, but you keep missing the point entirely.”

His words give me pause. What is that supposed to mean? I resist the urge to ask him just that, and I have a problem with not being direct. It’s as if the words will suffocate me if I don’t speak them. If he meant to rattle me, he’s going to be disappointed, because he won’t be getting a reaction.

He reaches a hand to my lips, the touch soft, almost like a feather. Just when I’m about to push free, he presses on the tender skin and smears my purple lipstick onto my cheek, making my jaw move with the motion. “I think you missed the memo about makeup. It’s supposed to make you prettier, not uglier.”

I’m caught off guard by his brutal touch, and I barely register the softly spoken words. There are so many contradictions in his touch, how he started gently then ended it brutally, how he spoke softly yet lined it with a mean edge.

I snap my head away from his immediate vicinity. His lips curve in a smirk before he quickly masks it with his usual easy-going smile.

What. The. Fuck.

“So, here’s the thing. During tomorrow’s dinner, I want you to sit down like a good little girl and tell everyone you don’t accept this engagement, and then I’ll gift you a new set of purple makeup shit. Deal? Glad to do business with you.”

“If you’re so against marrying me, why don’t you speak up yourself?” I know why, but me getting on his nerves is only fair after the way he not only triggered my anxiety attack, but also gave me the foreboding sensation he’s able to ruin my domino castle.

Ronan Astor is the sole heir of an earl, and he has no way to refuse his father’s wishes. He’s the perfect puppet, someone used for his symmetrical face and playful nature.

He was always meant to have an arranged marriage, and he has no way to refuse it. That would mean disgracing the great Edric Astor’s name, which is something that man will never allow.

Instead of the anger, or at least annoyance, I expected, his grin widens further. “Why would I speak up when I have you to do the dirty work, ma belle?”

I’ll be doing more than your dirty work.

Instead of saying so, I give him a smile that mimics his, but I’m bad at faking this, so I doubt it comes out as anything but a grimace. “And if I say no, your lordship?”

“I’ll give you one piece of advice, just because you’re Elsa and Knox’s sister.”

I don’t get a warning before he grabs me by my nape. His hand covers the tiny space, shocking my skin as it wraps around my neck from behind.

The scent of something spicy fills my nostrils as he leans in to whisper against the lobe of my ear. “Run, ma belle.”