Page 8 of Black Castle

Rising to his feet, he slings his jacket over his shoulder and walks out, the smell of blood lingering in the air. But the people in the shop don’t realize it.

They don’t know that they are sitting in the same building with a dead man.

Chapter Three

Vivienne

Vivienne’s locker door swings open, its hinges groaning loudly down the hallway.

With her headphones latched into her ears—no music, no distraction—she feels only the hollow buzz of her own thoughts as her fingers move mechanically over the spine of books.

She’s searching for her mathematics notebook. Maybe there’s a chance she may see it tucked between her chemistry and biology textbooks, if her mind is clear and present.

Though still searching, words from nearby invade her thoughts. The three girls, five lockers away, caught her attention earlier. Their judging glares like they were piercing her. Yet, she reduced them to mere shadows. But now, their voices are growing louder, as if they purposely want her to hear their opinions about her.

“I can’t believe she actually came back here.”

“I know, right? So shameless.”

“She had sex with Mr. Griswyk and then betrayed him without hesitation.”

“How incredibly awful does one need to be to ruin someone’s livelihood?”

A wave of nausea washes over her. Her stomach clenches, and bile creeps up her throat. A heaviness presses down on her chest, knuckles white from clutching hard on the textbook she has finally found.

Close your eyes.

Breathe.

Release.

A long breath whooshes from her, its sound bouncing off the hall’s walls. She hopes their words will dissolve into nothingness, but that’s an expensive wish because the words are nothing but the truth and this truth will haunt her for as long as Ian Griswyk’s name remains soiled.

The girls’ footsteps finally disappear down the hall and she slams her locker shut.

Then there he is, leaning against the locker next door, arms folded, a casual, youthful grin on his face.

Just like the previous occasion she was near him, his dark skin stays smooth like onyx, dimples deep enough to create shadows on his face, and teeth white enough to resemble pearls.

Even though she’s already drowning in a suffocating mess, blush still creeps up her cheeks.

Banks Awolowo.

Banks comes from a long line of royals in his homeland. The red beaded bracelet constantly present on his left wrist is apparently a significance of his kingship. And he always wears it, as far as Vivienne knows.

“Hi there,” he says slowly, his deep voice hinting at a playful, lighthearted tone.

A fleeting memory surfaces; a time before Ian Griswyk, when only Banks caused Vivienne’s anxiety, unlike other boys who were insignificant. She liked him, although she tried hard to not make it obvious, and he liked her too. But the emergence of Ian relegated Banks to the background, regardless of his efforts to stay in her sight.

Now he is here again. Like he always is.

Adjusting the books in her arms, Vivienne tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey, Banks.”

“So…is it finally my turn to have some of your time, or am I out of luck?” He asks, his dark brown eyes almost hopeful.

Perhaps a relationship with Banks can last until college—or even beyond. Maybe he will marry her. From a homebound slave to achieving royal status. What could possibly be better? Well, Banks does say he won’t end up as the king, though. There are a string of others before him. But she would be a princess, at minimum, right?

“Not today, Banks.” She shakes her head, exhaling a soft laugh.

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