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“Ican’t believe it.” Becca is surrounded by books and loose bits of paper, a pen tucked behind her ear. “It’s the first day and already we’re being worked to death.”
After English, there’s a free period. As seniors, our schedule is full of them — they’re supposed to be used for independent research — but we also get lengthy double periods to make up for this “free” time. Arabella and I meet the others in the library, all of us already loaded down with homework.
“Well, no. We’re seniors now. It’s alotmore responsibility.” Arabella wears a determined expression as she flicks through the top book on a tower of political tomes. She seems more up for the challenge than the rest of us. I’m still trying to recover from my first politics class, my mind exhausted by all the new terms I’ve learned.
Li carefully applies a coat of shiny lip gloss to her parted lips and checks herself out in a small flip-mirror. She appears to like what she sees, cocking her head to the side at various angles and pursing her lips. The smell of strawberry permeates the heavy, paper-scented air.
So far, the library is one of the few places I’ve felt comfortable inside. It’s a huge, cavernous room filled with stacks of mahogany shelves and ancient leather-bound hardbacks. Sturdy gold ladders lead to books high up on the walls, and there are even narrow staircases leading to and from separate sections of the library.
I’m so happy here, breathing in the delicious scent of ink and paper. I’ve already sneaked a peek at the fiction section, which is depressingly sparse and predominately full of literary classics, but their politics section ismassive. Shelves upon shelves of old books — political records, reference texts, encyclopedias and political biographies. From the number of books sitting beside her, Arabella seems to have gathered at least half the library.
I know I should be studying but I can’t help it — the lives of my new friends interest me. I mean, Becca is —was— a royal.
“Where did you study before Lochkelvin?”
Becca shoots me a grin. “I’ve always been kept down in London, but Luke’s been up here since high school. It was only when Lochkelvin finally allowed girls that the Palace thought it’d be wise to keep us together out of harm’s way.” She ties her dreads together into a loose ponytail and murmurs, “London’s a tad unstable right now.”
It’s a gentle euphemism. The last I heard, there were daily riots. A tourist ban. Attractions closed for safekeeping. Even Buckingham Palace had been shut down and boarded up.
“That referendum really fucked with you, huh?” Li asks, now darkening her eyelashes with mascara. She doesn’t sound too displeased.
Becca just shrugs. “It’s the only way I’ve known. At one time, we were popular and liked. Now we’ve been turned into villains and symbols for people to hate. It all happened when I was too young to understand.”
“I would have voted for you if I’d been old enough,” Freya says softly. “‘Should the UK have a Royal family, yes or no?’ It’s a really harsh question to wipe out centuries of tradition.”
Arabella almost looks distraught by Freya’s words. “Maybe tradition isn’t something we should aspire to.”
“Well, it’s been chaos ever since the vote. No one could have predicted this. London’s been a no-go zone for almost a decade.”
Arabella shrugs like this is no matter to her. I get the feeling she would have a long political rant up her sleeve if Becca weren’t with us.
“Oh, God,” she whispers instead, looking at the entrance to the library in dismay. “The chiefs.”
Rory, Finlay and Luke stride in, and my body is no longer mine. My heart flies into my throat and my pulse pounds through my veins to the beat of a music that seems innate. Together, the three of them look obscene. In a school for the wealthy elite, they sure do stand out as the wealthiest. It’s as though money drips from them — from the careful styling of Rory’s flicked hair to Luke’s imperious gaze as he struts past their younger fanboys, to Finlay’s carefree grin in a world so tough to live in that only a small minority of people are still able to smile.
“The chiefs?” I turn this word over in my head.
“It’s what they call themselves,” Li answers, sounding exasperated. “Finlay’s idea. Old Highland clans used to be led by chiefs but they’re just three spoilt idiots pretending to be hard warriors.”
“When I met Luke,” I begin in a quiet voice, almost wanting to laugh at how inaccurate the wordmetis for our first encounter, “he introduced himself as first in line to the throne.”
Becca laughs, hearty and loud but with a sadness behind it. “Yeah, well, that’s what he wants, isn’t it? Hewantsto be worshiped. He’s the one who’s been groomed for the throne all this time.” She gazes at her brother with a solemn look. “To some, he’s really worth that. He’s worth fighting for. To others, he’s really, really not. To the point of, you know…” She glances around and nods at a thick-set guy sitting at a table a few yards away from Luke, his expression grim and vigilant. “Bodyguards.”
A chill goes through me. I hadn’t realized, but of course Lochkelvin would be a prime target for some kind of attack. It houses the offspring of the wealthiest people, including two members of a contentious Royal family, in a country that’s apparently been starved of money and made almost bankrupt.
“Greetings, sis,” Luke says, stopping by our table. Finlay slings an arm around him, which Luke secures in place with a sly grin. “Look at you girls. Little study buddies. Cute.”
I stare up at them, wondering if it’s good genetics or if wealth just naturally makes someone a lot more attractive. Because the two of them together is overwhelming. And then I shake my head, because damn it, Jessa, it’s day one and I already feel like I’m swimming behind, both wavinganddrowning.
“How’s oor wee Yank?”
A blush blooms across my face but I manage to speak. “I don’t answer to that name.”
“Ye’re answerin’ noo, aren’t ye?” There’s a gleam in Finlay’s eyes, and I swear it’s been there ever since our gazes first locked in politics class.
I can barely look at him, he’s so achingly gorgeous. It’s as though someone raided my heart, inspected my brain, and concocted a guy who’d be sure to get inside my head. From his messy black hair to his mouthy comments, and the bad boy look he’s trying to pull off in the Lochkelvin uniform, he’s absolutely my type and I hate it. Everything about him is so obviously designed to break a girl’s heart, and underneath his shirt is probably a giant tattoo of, like, a screeching eagle or something.
“Finlay, just go away,” Arabella snipes.
