Being an island situated between Scotland and Norway means inheriting English weather, though in truth ours is often worse.
The road below is empty. Beyond it, the woods are quiet except for birds in the distance and the wind moving through the branches.
I open the window and take a deep breath.
It’s my final year at St. Monarché Academy. I was supposed to begin a master’s degree afterwards, but after yesterday, my entire life changed.
I suppose I should be grateful I was at least allowed to finish this year and earn my degree.
Not that I will ever use it. If I have any say in the matter.
My love is ice skating. But even that, I don’t know if I will ever pursue professionally.
I glance towards the dormitory beside ours, identical in every way, which should house another five students this year.
St. Monarché Academy accepts only the heirs of powerful people, sons and daughters of mafia dynasties, old money families, and those raised to inherit influence.
At the centre of it all is the Thirteen Circle, a ruling group created by the academy’s four founding families. They keep order among students raised with too much privilege, money, and far too much power.
Truthfully, it is also another way for our parents to show their influence and start steering us towards the futures they already picked for us.
My father belongs to one of those founding families, which means I represent our name while attending the academy.
Because of that, I live in one of the two private dormitories. Only me and my closest friends live here—Octavia, Ophelia, Eleanor, and Adelaide—the daughters of the other founding houses.
It is probably one of the reasons we are so close. We were pushed together from the start, part of the truce our families have always kept.
The rest of the students live in the larger dormitory beside the main building.
Our dorm is separate, which is a blessing. At least we don’t have people watching us every second.
Then there is the other private dorm. It is usually given to those ranked directly beneath us.
The hierarchy changes, though. Power is handed out easily, and taken back just as quickly.
I only hope whoever moves in this year is decent.
Last year, one of the residents was an insufferable gossip. Every trivial detail of our lives somehow became common knowledge, picked apart by the entire academy.
The girl even took a photo through her window and mine after I forgot to close the curtains. It was posted all over the internet the next day.
I was changing.
My bruises were visible.
A splendid tabloid topic, if you were wondering.
I look away from the window, dragging myself out of my thoughts as I head for the bathroom.
Once I am ready for the day, I put on some make-up and pull my wild, curly ginger hair into a messy ponytail.
I dress in a satin corset dress that hugs my body perfectly. I slip on my platform heeled boots, gather my bag, and tuck a few essentials inside.
Then I leave my room and make my way towards the kitchen.
Our dorm is more like a private apartment than student housing, and I adore it. Over the past few years, it has become a home.
And now this is my final year here.
