Page 3 of The Prince of Broken Crowns

An instant later, a younger officer with short brown hair approaches the area. “Maddison Averly?”

I perk up at that. “Yeah, that’s me.”

He reaches for the keys that are clipped to the waistband of his belt. “You get one phone call.”

“It’s about damn time,” I grumble, eliciting a scowl from him. “Sorry.” I offer him a smile, to which seems to relax him a smidgeon.

“I’m Officer James,” he tells me as he opens the door, the hinges creaking. “I’m going to take you to the phone so you can go call your mom or dad or whoever. While talking to them, make sure to have them come bail you out. It should only take a couple of hours to get everything done.”

“Thanks.” I pretend it’ll be that easy, when it won’t. At all. Not only because my mother will likely be drunk, so she’ll have to sober up first, but she’s probably broke. I have some money, but that means letting her know where I keep my stash of cash, and that could lead to a whole other set of problems.

After the officer shuts the door, he steers me past other barred cells, heading toward the front of the prison.

As I’m going over what I should say to my mother in my head, something in one of the cells captures my attention. Or, well, not something, but two guys to be exact.

They look close to my age and are absolutely gorgeous, but that’s not what has me staring at them. No, it’s the fact that every single detail about them screams that they’re royals, which is what everyone in the city calls people from the southside.

I’ve lived on the poor side of the city for so many years that I rarely catch a glimpse of any royals. It’s not even that that has me gawking at them. It’s seeing two guys dressed in designer clothes, sitting next to men who are covered in grime and dirt, and one even has blood all over his shirt.

The two of them are night and day; one with hair paler than sunlight and the other has hair like the midnight sky. Where one is dressed in a button-down shirt, dress pants, and stylish sneakers, the other is sporting a black shirt, dark jeans, boots to die for, and a leather jacket that probably costs more than my mother’s, father’s, and everyone else’s cars whom I know. They’re also both wearing watches that sparkle even against the shitty lighting of the cell, and while the blond guy is smiling, the other has a grimace set so deeply into his expression I doubt it ever leaves his face.

However, despite their difference, their facial features bear resemblance, particularly the full lips and thick, dark eyelashes, so they are probably related. Not that I care. I’m merely fascinated, like when looking at panda bears in a zoo. Well, if panda bears could make intense eye contact, which the one with the dark hair suddenly does while the blond one keeps yammering away at him.

“I still can’t believe we’re in jail.” Blondie laughs while shaking his head. “This is so wild. I mean, no one at school will believe us when we tell them. It’ll make a hell of a story.”

The dark-haired guy looks bored as hell—or annoyed. It’s hard to tell. “We don’t need to tell anyone.” He keeps staring at me with his smoky-gray eyes. “And the only reason we’re in here is because, like usual, you couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

I feel like he’s daring me to look away, which is why I don’t.

“Wait right here, and when he’s done, make your call. You’ll have five minutes, and then it’ll cut you off,” Officer James suddenly says as he comes to a stop.

I blink my eyes away from the gray ones and realize we’ve reached the payphone that’s against the concrete wall, across from the cell the rich guys are in. A middle-aged, bald man, who looks like an accountant, is currently using it.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he’s saying, “but I can’t call Nadine, because she told me if I did it again, she’d file for a divorce.” He starts to cry as he turns his back to me. “I don’t ever mean to do it. I just can’t help it … I’m so messed up. She was just so beautiful, and I …” He starts crying even louder. “I don’t know why I keep doing this.”

Great, he’s a cheater, and he’s on something.

God, this is so awkward, but the officer appears content about leaving me standing here as he wanders over to another officer, who I think was here the last time I got arrested, and starts chatting about the upcoming football season.

I slant against the wall and pretend like I can’t feel gray eyes staring at me, watching me for whatever reason.

“I know, but I …” The middle-aged man starts sobbing with his head lowered. “Please, Mommy Bear.”

I side-eye him and pull a face. Mommy Bear? What the hell is this guy’s damage?

As he keeps babbling and crying, I sneak a glance in gray eyes’ direction and, yep, sure enough, he’s still looking at me. And his brother is still talking.

Dude’s a total Chatty Kathy.

“Come on, River; you have got to quit sulking about this shit, or this year will suck.” He slumps back against the wall and loosens the red tie around his neck. “I know you’re still upset about everything that went down, but this emo shit-funk you’ve been in is starting to be a real downer.” Something Blondie says triggers gray eyes—who Blondie called River—and his nostrils flare. He starts to look away from me when his brother asks, “And what the hell are you even looking at back there?” He twists around and glances over. His eyes are bright blue, and he has a small scar underneath his eye that seems oddly out of place with the flawless appearance of the rest of him. When he spots me, a smile touches his lips. “Aw, the staring makes sense now.”

Great, I’ve drawn way more attention than I prefer.

I could look away, but that’s not how I roll. No, if I look away, this guy will think I’m intimidated by him. So, I carry his gaze and cross my arms.

He smirks, and then the dickhead winks at me.

I roll my eyes then pull a face, which causes his forehead to crease and a shocked sort of laugh to escape his lips. Then he gets up, makes his way over to me, and wraps his fingers around the bars as he smiles at me.

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