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“Noted.”
With narrowed eyes, I leave them to it, crossing through the marble-floored entrance hall and taking the stairs two at a time to push open the door to the last room on the first floor.
“True North,” I murmur, taking in the light pastels and flowery prints. “Soon, angel. Soon.”
2
EVER
Gothic spires claw at a sky so fiercely blue it looks like a promise. This is the moment I step onto the cobblestones of KnightsGate University, and my breath catches. It always does. This place is spectacularly beautiful. Beneath them, ivy creeps over ancient stones, whispering secrets of the past to anyone who dares listen. I adjust the strap of my backpack, feeling the weight of books against my back—my chosen armour in a world that demands more than I sometimes feel capable of giving.
Knight. Ever Knight.
My name is supposed to mean something around here, but I’m just another face in the crowd—a fact I savour more than my morning cup of coffee. My feet carry me forward, past students lounging on the grass on this lovely autumn afternoon with their laptops and textbooks, their laughter slicing through the warm air.
The library’s towering doors beckon me from across the quad, the dark wood stark against the limestone buildings that house centuries of tradition. As I push open the doors, the scent of old paper and ink fills my nostrils, a perfume more intoxicating to me than any floral bouquet.
The hush of the sacred space envelopes me as I step inside. I find solace among the rows of leather-bound books and the quiet click of keyboards. The world outside, with its expectations and whispers, fades away. It’s just me and the stories that have stood the test of time.
This is where I belong—in the company of words and wisdom, where the only legacy that matters is the one written on these pages.
Slipping between the stacks, I let my fingers graze the spines of countless books, feeling the weight of history in their pages. Each one is a silent witness to the Knight legacy—a name etched into every corner of KnightsGate University. It’s an honour and a burden, a double-edged sword that cuts deep whenever whispers follow me down these hallowed halls.
The anticipation sits heavy on my shoulders, a cloak woven from generations of scholarly excellence and philanthropy, expectations as towering as the university’s spires.
But unlike the grand statues commemorating my ancestors, there’s no marble pedestal elevating me above the masses. My world has always been one of modest means—a home where love was plentiful but luxury scarce. Our family’s dwindled fortune isrenowned in elite circles. Our downfall, a scandal and a disgrace.
Sometimes, it was easier to get lost in the pages of my books and my studies because there was no doubt in my mind that this was where I wanted to go. But I’d kind of hoped to fly beneath the radar.
No such luck.
KnightsGate might be my birthright, but it’s also my battlefield. Here, I fight for grades against the country’s elite and for a chance to redefine what it means to be a Knight. Not the gilded figurehead of a bygone era but a student earning her place through merit, sweat, tears and the occasional caffeine-fuelled all-nighter.
They call me a Legacy. I’m pretty sure it’s what got me in these hallowed halls, not my straight As and not a hefty donation. Just my ancestors building this place and educating the offspring of Kings and Queens.
Pompous, old assholes.
Some days, I wish I could go back and kick some sense into them. Everyone deserves a top-rate education if they choose it. Not just those born with a silver spoon in their mouths.
Grabbing the book that I’d reserved weeks ago for English Lit, that some dick has hung onto for far longer than they should have, this now means I have to work well into the night to refine the essay that I’ve struggled on for days without the right materials. Clutching it as I check out, I stride back out into theafternoon and across the quad to head home so I can get started.
“Hey, Ever! Wait up!” The familiar voice pierces through my thoughts, and I slow my pace just enough to let Lila catch up. She falls into step beside me, her rainbow hair streaks of colour against the fading greenery of autumn around us.
“Thought you could escape without me?” Lila teases,
“I was... waiting. You know, meandering slowly,” I joke as we pick our pace over the grass verge and scramble down the shortcut to our student house on the corner. Across the square, there are mansions that rise from the ground, built on the fortunes of the old elite. But even my entire three-year University housing allowance wouldn’t cover one month in one of those.
The chatter of students fades behind us as we approach our four-bedroom house, standing unpretentious and a bit scruffy at the edges. Its former semi-grandeur has now faded.
“Looks like we’ve beaten the others home,” Lila observes, unlocking the front door with a key that’s seen better days and is slightly bent.
“Or they’re holed up in their rooms already,” I say, almost hinting thatIneed to hole up. And fucking quickly. This essay won’t fix itself.
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Lila agrees, tossing her bag onto the sofa that’s as much a patchwork of fabrics as we are personalities. “Everyone here needs those results.”
“Oh, the joys of being the working class amongst the uber-rich.”
“Sure. I wish my dad could buy me a degree, but it looks like this ho has to work for a living.”
