Page 21 of Prince of the Sun

Now, I read it all the way through.

UNKNOWN: Hi, QUINN! Congratulations! You won our GRAND PRIZE for the month of September: one night withthe most devilishly handsome male to ever set foot on this boring, abysmal excuse for a planet. Good time guaranteed.

Then, just now:

UNKNOWN: So, do you have a dress?

My eyes narrow even further. I type a quick response.

Quinn: who is this?

The bot starts typing right away. In seconds, a new message appears.

UNKNOWN: You know exactly who this is.

My stomach lurches.

Oh, yes. I know who this is. I wish I couldun-know it, but that ship has officially sailed.

Quinn: how did you get my number?

Quinn: and why the hell did you pretend to be a bot last time you texted?

UNKNOWN: I thought it would be a good conversation starter.

UNKNOWN: What prize is better than a night out with me?

I blow air through my lips like a nickering horse.

UNKNOWN: As for how I got your number…

UNKNOWN: I’m a Prince of the Sun, Kallister. I get whatever I want.

I roll my eyes and start to pocket my phone, but a quick buzzhas me pulling it out again.

UNKNOWN:

UNKNOWN:

I snort. I won’t deign that with a response. Nor will I be saving his number.

Then I cover my mouth, because I realized I just laughed at something an elf said.

That cannot happen again.

I’ve done many foolish things in the year since I’ve come to Harvard. But no situation—not the late-night spying sessions, nor the frantic searches through every illicit book in Widener—is as dangerous as the one I’m putting myself into tonight.

I stand in the corner of my bedroom and gnaw on my bottom lip as I peer into the open bottom drawer of my wooden dresser. I have exactly one dress. Mom tried to send me to school with more, but I shook her off.

“I’m not going to Harvard to attend parties, Mom,” I’d said. “I’m going to study.”

“But it’scollege,” she’d argued. “You’resupposedto party.”

“And you’re mymother. Shouldn’t you be happy my goal isn’t to spend every weekend getting roofied at some frat?”

She’d sighed, rubbing both eyebrows in that way she always did when I was being purposely infuriating. “I’m not trying to get you roofied, Quinn. I just worry about you. You’ve spent all of high school curled up with your books. Don’t you think you deserve a break?”

I laid a hand on my heart, gasping in feigned offense. “Areyou… are you calling me aloser?”