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I clear my throat. “What’s the big deal?”
Bash shoves the papers toward me, and I take them purposefully brushing my hand against his. It’s so soft. Must be the water.
He tilts his head. “The suite?”
“Yeah.” I straighten my back and determine to prove to him that I’m not the princess he thinks I am.
“It’s usually reserved for fourth-year students who’ve racked up a boatload of achievements over the years. Not for a first-year who spent her whole life on land.”
So, he knows about me.
“Everyone knows about you, princess.”
Did I say that out loud? My face flushes. I need to change the subject. Fast. “So, what kind of a name is Bash, anyway?”
He holds my gaze with those icy blue eyes. “Short for Sebastian.”
“Sebastian what?”
“Marlowe.”
Bash Marlowe. It has a nice ring to it. And he’s looking at me like he expects a response. “That’s nice. Why go by Bash?”
“Because Seb sounds like a loser. Bash sounds like someone to be respected.”
“Makes sense.”
“Whatever. Let’s go. I have more work to do after I show you around. Do you have any questions about the academy?”
Yeah. Are all the guys as attractive as him? I’m I going to be stumbling over my words and thoughts every time I run across a male student?
“No? Perfect.” He leads me up a staircase, which I find ironic since none of us have feet.
We pass another level and keep going up. Bash enters a foyer, and I follow. “This is where the uppities hang out. Usually the upper-year students, but since you live on this floor, it might include you.”
“Do the first-years usually live somewhere else?”
He points to the ceiling. “Top level. This level is for fourth-years, the next is for third-years, and so on.”
“Oh.” I start to ask why I’m here, but stop before the words reach my mouth. It’s because of my dad. He either pulled strings or simply that they—whoever they are—put me here because he’s king.
Everyone’s going to resent me for getting special treatment. This is going to suck royally. Yeah, I get the irony of that thought.
“Come on, princess. Let me show you to the suite.”
“Seriously, you don’t have to call me that. My name’s Marra.”
He doesn’t respond. Just leads me down a hallway to the door at the end. “Your suite.”
I stare at the door. Is it locked? Do I just go in? Who’s my roommate? Someone else who hates me?
“You gonna go in or what?”
“Don’t I need a key?”
“It’s not in your paperwork?” He arches a brow.
I’m not a puddle. I’m not a puddle. “How would I know?”
