Page 1 of The Prince of Broken Crowns

The Royal Academy

Maddison

Walking this late at night might not have been one of my brightest ideas, but I don’t have a choice, either. A lot of my ideas aren’t great, but this one is definitely turning out to be an epic mistake.

The moon is nonexistent tonight, thanks to the heavy overcast of pollution. Between that, the fact that over half the lampposts that line the littered street are burned out, and even more of the nearby houses and shops are boarded up, the area is smothered in darkness.

Plenty of people are roaming around, but that makes me even more uneasy, since most of them are dealers or gang members.

“Hey, baby, what’re you doing out so late by yourself?” A guy about ten years older than me creeps out from the shadows of a nearby alley. He’s wearing holey jeans, a stained white shirt, and he’s carrying a brown paper bag that’s for sure hiding a bottle of alcohol.

I bite back the snarky comment burning at the tip of my tongue. Do not get into a fight this late, Maddy. It’s not worth it.

I keep repeating the mantra as I quicken my pace while wrapping my arms around myself. I’m wearing shorts and a gray T-shirt, my wavy long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and the thick soles of my boots scuff against the sidewalk that’s covered in trash. That’s typical for the northside of Royal City. But the southside of the city matches the name—the towering buildings and homes that are all splashed with wealth, glitter, and glam. Not the northside, though. No, the northside is polluted, grimy, and constantly smells like fish due to the canal that runs parallel to the area. When I was younger, I used to go down there and walk along it, pretending that it was a river in the mountains. I had a wicked imagination back then, but life has worn me down big time.

“Aw, come on.” The man stumbles after me, either intoxicated and/or high “Don’t be shy. I was just asking you a question.”

Irritation bursts inside, and I snap, “Go to hell,” from over my shoulder. Then I wince.

Shit. I probably made things worse.

Why do I have to open my mouth? Because I’m stupid? Repressed? Have spent years bottling up my rage?

Maybe a little bit of all three.

I pat my pocket for my pepper spray then realize I forgot it back at work. It’s sitting in my cubby with my apron. Dammit!

“Is that an invitation?” the man slurs.

I pick up my pace to a jog, and he laughs.

“Hey, come back! I’m not done playin’ with you!”

I run. Normally, I can run much faster than I can now. In fact, I’ve won a lot of medals for the track and cross country team. However, I wasn’t wearing thick, heavy boots when I did that. That leaves my speed limited, although I can still move pretty fast.

It’s a bold move to run in this particular part of the town where blending in and not drawing attention is a necessity for survival. But I’m not about to let Dumbass Drunk Man catch up with me. Sure, he’s wasted, and I might be able to hold my own if I have to fight him off. I’d rather avoid the violence, though, for a lot of reasons, one being that I’m already on probation due to an incident where I hit a man after he smacked my ass when I walked by. I got the blame, of course, which is totally unfair and probably seems crazy. But the man who smacked my ass was also the vice principal of my high school that I graduated from three months ago. No one believed my side of the story. Why would they when the vice principal is friends with the governor of the city and other powerful politicians? And me? I’m just trailer trash from the northside of the city. And my mom’s a drunk, and my father’s in prison.

I was lucky just to get put on probation. And so far, it hasn’t been too big of a deal, but if the police have to show up now because I’m in a fight, I could get blamed for it. Then I might get jail time since I’m eighteen now.

Freakin’ adult responsibilities suck big time, but I’ll handle them as maturely as possible?—

I slam into something rock solid and stumble back, crossing my fingers it’s a wall. When I glance up, however, the worst-case scenario is standing before me.

His name Drew, but everyone calls him Scar Man—and yeah, the guy is as dumb as his name. He declared the title himself, too, after he got a scar on his lip. A scar that he got when he tripped over his own shoelaces and ended up falling and smacking his face on the curb. But when people ask him, he tells them he got hit in the face by a mob boss.

I know the truth because I grew up with him and can remember when he fell. We used to be friends, too—sort of—but that ended when he started dealing and I wanted no part of it. My father’s a dealer, and now he’s behind bars. I have no dreams of following in his footsteps. I’m going to college in just a couple of days. I wish I could’ve gone to a university somewhere far away from here, but I can’t afford it. Thankfully, due to my academic and athletic success, I was able to get a scholarship at Royal City Community College. Once I graduate from there, I’m moving so far away from here and never looking back

“Maddy,” Drew—yeah, I refuse to call him Scar Man—greets me with a smirk.

“Drew,” I reply like I’m bored when, in all actuality, I’m on edge.

Drew runs with a group of people who despise my father because he narced on them when he got arrested in exchange for a lighter sentence. Since the people that he got arrested can’t get to him, they use their lackeys out here to try to use me as their punching bag. This is part of the reason why I shouldn’t have been roaming around town this late at night. But I had to work the night shift at the diner I’ve been employed at for two years. Usually, I request not to work late, but it pays time and a half, and the boss needed me to fill in for someone. Plus, tips are better during the later hours, since most of the patrons are drunk. I need the money because the scholarship doesn’t cover books and other expenses. Just tuition.

Drew’s lips twitch. “I told you not to call me that anymore. It’s Scar Man.”

I roll my eyes. “Dude, I hate to break it to you, but Scar Man is a stupid name.”

His fingers curl into fists. He’s a massive guy that rolls in at about six-four and weighs about two hundred and forty pounds. While I highly doubt he’ll hit me, a tiny bit of doubt causes me to spin around and run.

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