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Only none of those things happen.
Instead, the professor nods and the students—Evermore and human alike—look away.
On habit, I go to stand next to Rhaegar’s seat—
It’s empty. I let out a relieved breath, unaware until now how much I was not looking forward to seeing him. What if he hates me for giving him the book? Worse, what if he blames me for losing?
That’s when I feel it. The cold presence of the prince. He sits near the back, long arms slung behind his head, legs crossed at the knee. His midnight blue hair is tousled, the top of his tunic unbuttoned and a bit wrinkled.
As always, he wears a lazy, amused grin.
For the billionth time, that invisible string between us jerks taut. He has to feel it too, right?
Hard to tell when he hasn’t graced me with a single look. But I’m not buying his carefree, couldn’t give a flying frack attitude. Not anymore. Not after watching him play everyone like a fool, including me.
No. Everything he does is to distract. To hide. I know that now—although I have no idea yet what he’s hiding.
36
Clearing my throat, I flick my eyebrows up, impatient for a command. I’m used to Rhaegar being very clear about where I’m supposed to stand or what I need to hold. But the prince barely meets my eyes before gesturing with a jerk of his chin toward the closest chair.
The breath catches in my throat as I slide into the desk chair and set down my stuff. After that, it only gets weirder. I was expecting horribleness. Mistreatment. To have to stand by his side and fetch him meaningless stuff while everyone secretly laughs at me.
But none of that happens. Instead, I’m largely left . . . alone.
All the classes are like that. Not that I’m complaining. It’s just disconcerting. Like waiting for the punchline to an awful joke I know is coming. If he said cruel things, if he mocked me or abused me, that would almost have been better than this.
When I ask to run to the restroom—thanks, tiny bladder—he gives me a weird look and then explains I never have to ask permission for such things. He carries his own stuff, makes sure I have my own chair in every class, and never, not once, says anything unkind.
The jerk.
When he’s not going out of his way to prove he’s decent, he ignores my presence. As does everyone else. It’s not hard to determine he’s protecting me.
The moment the bell rings and school is over, I go to follow him, expecting to shadow his every move like I did Rhaegar’s. But he stops me, his eyes never truly meeting mine. “Go. You’re free.”
“Forever?” I joke.
“For the rest of the day,” he amends. Is that amusement I see in his eyes?
“Just checking,” I call as I dart down the stairs to the doors.
Two whole hours. That’s how long I have to myself before combat class. Mack and I celebrate by spending the entire one hundred and twenty minutes—not that I’m counting—cramming Cheetos and Sour Patch Kids into our mouths and talking.
Ruby, who’s just awakened from one of her twenty-seven naps she takes a day, grabs a green sour patch before Mack can swat her away.
The topic eventually veers to Rhaegar and the Nocturus. “They say Rhaegar is on probation with the Summer Court. That he might leave school.” Mack frowns. “The whole thing just feels . . . wrong.” “I’m glad he didn’t die, but someone as proud as Rhaegar shouldn’t have to ask the Winter Prince for mercy.” I shiver, remembering the awful events. “And then the thing with the basilisk.”
Evelyn pops into the room and says cheerfully, “I heard they took Sky Sutton in for questioning today.” She waggles her red eyebrows. “Apparently Sky and the dead girl had a fight right before they went to bed, and they think Sky released the basilisk. Professor Balefire is on suspension until they can figure out the whole mess.”
“Where do you get all this information?” Mack asks. “They don’t tell first years anything.”
She shrugs, a cryptic smile lighting up her face. “I have my sources.”
“Do you know how Rhaegar is doing?” I blurt, hope tinging my voice.
“What? Of course not.” She pops to her feet, brushing sour patch sugar from her dark pants. “Shouldn’t you guys be in combat uniform? Class starts soon.”
“What got up her butt?” Mack grumbles as we dress for combat class in silence. I roll my eyes. With Evelyn, there’s no telling. Before we leave, Mack shoves the remaining junk food in a safe and locks it.
