Kings of Mercia Academy 1-4: The Complete Bully Romance Read online

  Kings of Mercia Academy

  Books 1-4

  Sofia Daniel

  Contents

  Outcast

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Revenge

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Deposed

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Payback

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  21. Epilogue

  From Sofia Daniel

  Copyright © 2019 by Sofia Daniel.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.SofiaDaniel.com

  Outcast

  Kings of Mercia Academy Book 1

  Chapter 1

  Banished. That’s what I was. Mom’s new husband had banished me all the way to England. The worst part? She hadn’t done a thing to stop him.

  I sat back in the limousine’s plush, leather seat, staring out at miles and miles of rolling green countryside. When Rudolph had proposed that I go to school in England, I’d immediately pictured London. But we’d left Heathrow airport three hours ago and I still couldn’t find any signs of Mercia Academy.

  I pulled at the starchy, burgundy blazer and sighed. Things could have been worse. At least I spoke the language.

  Marissa, the personal assistant of my new stepfather’s personal assistant, flipped through the academy brochure. “Remember, Rudolph said you have to complete a semester here to intern at any of the media companies of your choice within the Trommel Group. If you can complete the full two years, he’ll pay for college.” She beamed, revealing whitened teeth. “You won’t even need to apply for a scholarship.”

  “Sure.” I’d only known Marissa for the duration of our journey from Manhattan, so I couldn’t share my true feelings with her.

  The limo slowed through the narrow road of a village consisting of stone buildings and thatched roofs. All the stores stood along one stretch of road, with workers making morning preparations. My gaze caught an old woman placing a stacked plate of cupcakes in a window display. This had to be one of the Great British teashops Marissa had raved about on the journey.

  “Oh,” Marissa pressed her face against the window. “How quaint!”

  “If this is the shopping district, what will the school be like?” I muttered.

  She didn’t reply, and I pressed the heel of my hand into my belly, which now ached with dread. It had been a mistake to tell Rudolph I wanted to be a journalist. The old man had taken advantage of my ambition and made me an offer so generous, it was impossible to refuse. I’d left my friends in New York for the opportunity of a millennium, but I’d never guessed the school would be so remote. Rudolph had probably had me sent away so Mom could focus all her attention on him. With thousands of miles of distance between us and a five-hour time difference, she’d likely forget about me… again.

  “Emilia?” asked Marissa.

  I pulled my gaze away from a butcher clad in a straw hat and a white shirt and tie under his blue-striped apron. “Yes?”

  “You understand why you’re being sent here and not to one of the prep schools back home?” She placed a hand on my knee.

  “Not really.” I couldn’t help staring at her long, red nails.

  “Mr. Trommel thinks the only way you’ll get the mental toughness for a career in journalism is with a trial of fire.”

  My mind blanked. Where were they taking me? Fight Club School? “Trial of…”

  Marissa gave me one of those slow blinks, as if she was trying to remember a rehearsed speech. One of her false eyelashes had come loose at the corner of her eyes. “Rudolph says if you can survive a British boarding school, you can survive anything.”

  Folding my arms across my chest, I asked, “Is this where he studied?”

  She rubbed at her eye. “Of course not. Rudolph went to a run-down public school in Poughkeepsie, where he gained a sports scholarship to Harvard…”

  I tuned her out and stared through the window. The Trommel history must be something all employees learned by rote. I’d read it on the company website, heard it from the man himself, and sat through it at his best man’s speech two days ago at the wedding. Rudolph’s trial of fire was B.S. He just wanted me out of the way because he needed Mom all to himself.

  This backwater was so different from Park Prep, pangs of homesickness for Manhattan struck at my heart already. My best friend and former roommate, Noelle, would probably be sleeping now, so I couldn’t even have someone to help me commiserate.

  The limo turned left out of the village and into a two-lane road bordered by green wilderness. On the left, a black-and-white sheepdog ran around its flock, guiding them toward an open gate further into the field. I sat back into the leather seats and took in the sights. I could admit that Mercia county was a place of outstanding natural beauty. Nothing like noisy, built-up Manhattan, with its few pockets of peace, like Central Park. Mercia seemed the kind of place where people strolled around, doffing their caps at each other and saying ‘good day, sir’ in posh accents. It offered politeness and boredom, not trials of fire.

  About ten minutes later, the road formed a boulevard of tall, leafy trees that stood like sentinels holding up their swords and forming an arch. Their branches stretched across the road, providing a canopy of dappled light. Up ahead loomed a stone archway emblazoned with a coat of arms and the words, MERCIA ACADEMY. The opening was so grand it had a windowed r
oom attached to each side and a wall that stretched for an eternity.

  Through the arch were fields bisected by even more stretches of road, but no signs of a school. I ran damp palms down my pleated, gray skirt. “How big is Mercia Academy?”

  Marissa flipped the brochure. “According to this, the entire site is seventeen-hundred acres. Twice the size of Central Park and bigger than Sherwood Forest!”

  Dense forest bordered the fields, reminding me of a Robin Hood movie that had been fun to watch, but I’d never imagined living in a place like this. The thought of shivering in a drafty old castle with windowless rooms made my throat go dry. Would we need thick cloaks to stay warm? Candles to light our way? Chamberpots? I was going to miss the modern amenities of Park Prep.

  I swallowed hard. “How old is this place?”

  “Ummm….” Marissa furrowed her brow. “There were so many dates in its history, it’s difficult to tell. I remember something in the fifteen-hundreds.”

  “That figures.” I clutched my belly to hold in the riot of butterflies trying to escape.

  Wasn’t there an academy in London? One close to the subway and busses and other escape routes? We passed through the gates, and gravel rumbled under the limo’s wheels, making the lining of my belly rumble like the thunderclaps in old horror movies. This was a trap. I pulled out my smartphone and checked its signal. One bar. I’d bet a fine old English institution like Mercia Academy didn’t have cable or WiFi. I’d be isolated, which was exactly Rudolph’s plan.

  After a few minutes, Marissa gasped. “Oh… This is just like Downton Abbey!”

  Ahead stood a three-story, stone-fronted building whose huge windows reflected the sunlight, making it all the more majestic. At each corner was a six-story tower, and at the roof a glass dome that was probably an atrium. My breath caught. This was nothing like I’d feared.

  The limo stopped outside the building’s mahogany double doors, and the driver stepped out and opened the limo’s back door. “Mercia Academy,” he said in the kind of smooth accent I’d only heard from TV butlers. “I will await your return outside, Miss Marissa.”

  Marissa stretched out her hand, indicating for him to help her step out. Clearly, the personal assistant of a personal assistant didn’t get to ride in vehicles like this, and she wanted to milk the Cinderella experience. She placed her fingertips on the driver’s palm, pointed the toe of her red stiletto and stepped out. I didn’t blame her for acting like she’d won a fancy vacation to England. If I were returning to New York in a few days, I’d be delighted with the experience, too.

  I stepped out and walked up the stone stairs and through ten-foot-tall double doors into a vast hallway that smelled of furniture polish. Kids of different ages, ranging from little eleven-year olds to those around seventeen, like me, rushed out of classrooms, each wearing burgundy blazers with the school crest, gray slacks for the boys and pleated skirts for the girls.

  “Good morning?” Marissa waved her hand, jangling two rows of over-crowded charm bracelets. “Excuse me!”

  None of the kids took any notice. Instead, they disappeared through doors, down hallways, and into stairwells. It was like a colony of oversized, burgundy ants. What was the rush?

  “Excuse me!” Marissa strode toward a wide part of the hallway, where two corridors intersected. “Which way to the headmaster’s office?”

  A squat boy with pale, red hair bumped her to one side with his shoulder. “Bloody Yank. Too fucking loud.”

  My insides ached with dread. Is that what people would call me? Some of the kids gave Marissa filthy looks and eyed me up and down with curled lips, as though I was guilty of being a loud Yank by association. Which I was. Dread wrapped itself around my chest and squeezed like a vice. Was this the kind of treatment in store for me?

  The last of the students disappeared into the classrooms, leaving the hallway a deserted oasis of marble and gilded, centuries-old portraits on white walls. I caught up with Marissa and placed an arm on her shoulder. “Let’s walk around a little. I’m sure there’ll be signs to the headmaster’s office.”

  “I can’t believe the rudeness of that kid!” Her voice echoed in the hallway along with the click-clack of her heels.

  “Yeah,” I whispered, hoping she would take the hint and also lower her voice. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “I thought British people were polite!”

  A door opened, and an old man with the kind of black, academic robes people wore during graduation, or at Hogwarts, stuck out his head and scowled. “Will you keep the noise down? Some of us are trying to teach.”

  Marissa’s nostrils flared. “If someone would tell me where to find the headmaster, maybe I wouldn’t need to talk so loud!”

  “First floor.” His head disappeared back into the room, and he shut the door with a click.

  She shook her head. “What a snob!”

  Wrapping my arms around my middle, I let out a shuddering breath. The people did have a point about her volume, but they didn’t have to be so mean and condescending about it. I nodded at a stairwell and whispered, “Let’s try over here.”

  Marissa stomped up the stone stairs, ranting about how the English were just rude, condescending snobs, and nothing like the genteel folk on TV. With each screeching word, her voice echoed in the stairwell. I trailed behind her and cringed. All the people in the classrooms could probably hear her, too.

  “Marissa,” I whispered.

  She was too lost in her tirade to hear my whisper. I followed her onto the landing, where the staircase twisted forty-five degrees. At the top stood three of the most handsome boys I’d ever seen, making my heart splutter.

  Each stood over six-feet tall with athletic builds and wore their school uniforms like tuxedos. I had to blink in case it was a hallucination. The trio had the grace and elegance of young kings.

  When I opened my eyes, they were still there, still real, still handsome. My heart stopped, and my jaw unhinged.

  The boy on the left bored into me with mischievous, chocolate-brown eyes that turned my insides to jelly. Glossy black hair curled around his ears. He looked like someone who’d stepped off a runway with his high cheekbones, strong jaw, and broad shoulders that tapered into a narrow waist and lean, muscular thighs. My gaze locked onto his full, kissable lips. I licked my own, imagining their touch against my skin.

  He glanced at Marissa then gave me a sympathetic half-smile, which made my insides relax. Boys this good-looking were usually arrogant, but this one seemed a little friendly.

  The second guy was a few inches taller, with a broad, football player’s body I wanted to scale like King Kong on the Empire State building. His biceps and prominent pectoral muscles bulged tantalizingly under his uniform. He kept his blond, wavy hair slicked back off a face that could have been chiseled by a master sculptor. His cool, green eyes roved up and down my body as though assessing whether I was worth his time. My breath hitched, but the lack of reaction on his stony face told me I probably wasn’t.

  Ignoring my sinking heart, I turned my gaze to the third, a brunet built like he ran track and field. He didn’t have the bulk of the blond or the willowy grace of the black-haired boy, but the way his blazer hung and curved and hugged his body promised lean, hard muscles that would melt a girl’s panties. My gaze flickered to his face. He might have been the most handsome of the trio, with his startling sapphire eyes, straight nose, and strong jawline, if it wasn’t for the scowl distorting his features.

  Hatred burned in his eyes, and his lips curled into a snarl. It was enough to make my stomach twist into knots, and I glanced away, unable to withstand the weight of his stare.

  “I must have a word with the headmaster about security,” he said. They’re letting in any old obnoxious tourist.”

  “Tourist?” Marissa screeched. She straightened herself to her full height of five feet five inches. “I’m the PA of Rudolph Trommel.”

  He stared down his nose at her and drawled, “Then I pity the
man for not getting more decorous help.”

  “Wha—”

  I rushed forward, stumbled over my feet, and grabbed the banister for balance. “Could you give us directions to the headmaster’s office, please?”

  “Mr. Chaloner can be found at the end of the first-floor hallway.” He fixed me with a withering look. “And do keep your maid under control. This is an institution for education, not a baseball match.”

  The trio descended the stairs, and I pulled Marissa to one side. As they passed, I inhaled their mingled scents of sandalwood, citrus, and cedar, which filled me with a giddiness so heady, I had to brace myself against the wall of the stairwell. The black-haired one gave me a smile and a wink that promised a later, more intimate encounter.

  I drew in a sharp breath through my nostrils, and the pulse between my legs pounded its approval. How could a tiny gesture like that have such a profound effect? I’d only just met these guys, and their intoxicating presence had mesmerized me into not getting offended that one of them had implied Marissa was my servant.