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Without waiting for an answer, he takes the seat beside me, scooting his chair far too close. His leg presses against mine under the table, but he maintains a calm, composed demeanor.
“How are you doing today, my friend?”
His final words are dripping with contempt, but his cocky smirk tells a different story. He leans back in his chair, draping his arm casually on the empty seat next to him, and begins to dig into his lunch.
“Uh, fine?” I answer.
My gaze does a quick scan of the room. All eyes are on Alek, though I can’t tell if they’re waiting for him to harass me or kiss me.
To be honest, I’m not sure which way this is going to go, either.
“Prisha,” Alek says, inclining his head in her direction. “Good to see you. Give your father my regards.”
Her mouth snaps shut, and she gives a quick, wordless nod.
Alek returns his focus to his food, and Prisha throws me a questioning look. I shrug my shoulders and start eating my lunch as well.
After a minute of excruciating silence, I’ve had about as much as I can stand.
“So,” I start, “I haven’t seen Johanna today. Did she get a longer suspension?”
Alek swallows a dumpling from his soup. “I don’t know. Let’s find out, shall we?”
Before I can stop him, he turns toward the Aristocrats’ table, where only Irina and Konstantin are sitting. They’re watching us like hawks, but they’re clearly as confused as I am.
“Come here,” Alek says. He waves them over with a single flick of his finger, and the minions obey, albeit reluctantly. They pick up their trays and cross the room toward us, taking their seats on the opposite side of the table.
Irina gives Prisha and me a haughty look, making her displeasure about being in our presence known.
“You wouldn’t know what happened to Johanna, would you?” Alek asks, directing his question to Irina.
“She texted me this morning. She’s been suspended for the rest of the week.” Irina throws a nasty look in my direction. Johanna must have filled her in on yesterday’s meeting with Headmaster Popov, and her blame rests entirely on me.
“That’s it?” Alek asks. “Seems a bit light given the circumstances.”
Irina’s eyes bug out. “Light? How can you say that?”
“Because what she did was inexcusable.” Alek states it as a simple fact, but she looks ready to lunge at him from across the table.
“So, are we supposed to be friends with these two, now?” Irina waves her hand at Prisha and me with indignation.
“Irina…” Konstantin warns.
She rounds on him while pointing an accusatory finger at me. “Everything was fine until she showed up.”
Alek’s fist comes down on the table, startling all of us. The entire dining hall falls quiet, and every eye in the room turns to us.
“If you have a problem with the way I handle things,” Alek says, “you’re welcome to go sit by yourself.”
His voice is low and dangerous, and I shrink away from him on instinct.
Irina scoffs and turns to Konstantin. A silent conversation passes between them, with Konstantin shaking his head and turning back to his lunch. She stares at him for a long moment, and her face betrays a range of emotions—irritation, disappointment, betrayal.
But she takes a deep breath and averts her gaze to the floor. “I’m fine right here.”
Her voice is meek, cowed by Alek’s domineering presence.
I never thought I’d say this about Irina of all people, but I sympathize with her. I know all too well what it’s like to be forced into submission by Alek Kurochkin.
