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Chapter 39
Bishop Blackwood
Zachary
Theatmosphereisstrangelytense amongst the Young Kings when we all gather in the common room the day before classes resume. Luca Fletcher-Lowe, clearly recovered from his poisoning and with all the grace of a crashing meteor, passes around a bottle of ludicrously old whisky and brings up his favourite subject.
The bet.
“Fuck the bet,” Evan says. His normally sunny countenance is all but gone. There are shadows under his eyes, and his face is one big frown. “It was stupid to begin with.”
“Nobody’s put your Sophie on the list yet if that’s what’s getting your knickers in a twist,” Luca sneers.
“Sophie’s too good for your shit list.”
“You mean she’s too good to sleep with you.”
“Fuck off, Luca.”
Luca laughs; Evan’s misery clearly brings him nothing but joy. The bastard is practically glowing when he turns to Sev. “And you, Sev? Any holiday conquests while you’ve been living it up in the south of France?”
“I’m engaged,” Sev says with great dignity.
Unlike Evan, he seems in a great mood, but that doesn’t seem to be making him any more responsive to Luca’s blatant attempts at creating chaos and drama.
“Anyway, get off my fucking case,” he adds after taking a sip of whisky. “I’ve put the work in over the years. Half the names on this list are there because of me. I’m allowed to take a break.”
“Why would you need a break, though?” Luca asks, tilting a pale eyebrow. “Your fiancée got you by the leash?”
“I fucking wish,” Sev says.
I laugh out loud in pure admiration of his no-fucks-given honesty.
“Pathetic,” Luca scoffs, shaking his head.
“And what contributions have you made to the bet lately, Luca?” I ask with a smirk. “What about your conquests?”
It’s a well-known fact that he gets girls into bed because he’s a Young King, but he’s incapable of keeping them there more than a night. Whatever he’s doing to them has them running for the hills.
He doesn’t seem bothered by this. He turns to me, settling himself back into his armchair, the dark leather behind him contrasting with the dull pallor of his white-blond hair.
“At least Ihavecontributed to the bet, Bishop Blackwood.” He answers my smirk with one of his—and Luca’s smirks are like the cold glint of steel. “You still a virgin?”
“You still a cold-blooded snake?”
He gives a laugh that’s more of a harsh cackle. “Last time I checked.”
I roll my eyes and sip my whisky. My leg bounces up and down impatiently, and I realise how much I’m missing Theodora.
Living with her is something I could easily have gotten used to. Feeding her banana pancakes for breakfast, kissing her neck while she bent over to write into her notebooks, even just reclining near her in the Blue Parlour, listening to her read that stupid pirate book while Zahara threaded the gold of her hair into plaits.
I grew used to that life much too fast—and now that it’s over, I miss it like one might miss a limb, its absence a constant reminder of what I no longer have.
My eyes meet Iakov’s. He’s sitting in an armchair with his legs draped over the armrest, looking at his phone. He looks up when my eyes fall on him, and our gazes meet briefly.
He sits up, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Going for a cig,” he grunts as he sits up. He twists his big body, cracking the bones in his spine. “Sev, wanna come with?”
Sev shakes his head and bats a hand, his rings catching the light. “No, man, I’m trying to quit. It’s a filthy habit.”
