Page 2 of Heartless Prince

1

Tatum

Three months earlier

The blazingfall leaves swirled around my feet, a heavy wind firing them into the air seconds later. The morning light gave them a gorgeous orange glow, and I smiled and let out a long, satisfied breath as I stepped into Bamford College.

Home.

Bamford was one of ten residential colleges here at Roden University. Set up like something out of the pages of Harry Potter, all students were assigned to a ‘house’ known as a college when they were granted acceptance. Every student was convinced that their college was the best and this promoted some rivalry between them, but it was all in good fun, never taken too seriously.

Like many other buildings on the prestigious Ivy League campus, Bamford was a great hulking place that swept upwards with awe-inspiring architecture. A grand Collegiate Gothic design made of light gray stone with intricate carvings, it was covered with creeping ivy and ornate gargoyles which watched stonily over the outside world.

As was the case with every other residential college, Bamford had its own spacious private courtyard outside with an enormous marble fountain, stunning gardens and thick green hedges. On the inside, it had enormous private suites for every student, an expansive dining hall, a late night buttery, gym with heated indoor pool, movie theater, library and activity areas. Every little luxury you could possibly imagine.

As a friend of mine once commented, eighty grand a year in tuition had to pay for something, and that was why Roden’s housing was so extravagant. I was fortunate enough to be on a full-ride scholarship, though, never paying a dime for any of it, so being surrounded by all this lavishness still made my head spin on occasion even after all this time. I’d never experienced anything like it in my life, and when I first arrived on campus three months ago, the giddiness hadn’t subsided for weeks.

“Hey! We’re over here!” Mellie Davenport waved at me from the middle of the dining hall.

I smiled and hurried over to my friends, weaving my way through the tables and chairs. The hall was enormous with towering vaulted ceilings, decorated leaded windows and carved pointed arches over the doors. It was only seven in the morning, but the place was already bustling with activity.

That was one of the things I loved about Roden. No matter how early it was, nearly everyone here was eager to get started on their days so they could learn as much as possible. I knew I wasn’t some sort of genius by any stretch of the imagination, but I’d always loved studying and learning, so it was nice to be surrounded by so many like-minded people. The intense class schedules and heavy focus on academics over sports was very likely the reason Roden topped every other college in the country on the academic rankings most years. Even the other Ivies and super-competitive places like MIT struggled to keep up.

“I got you some scrambled eggs and a giant latte,” Mellie said when I reached the table and sat down, whipping off my jacket and wiping the sweat from my forehead with a napkin.

“Ooh, thanks!” I smiled and took a grateful gulp of coffee. Then I groaned with satisfaction. “God, I needed that.”

“You know, you could just get up an hour later and come here first thing like the rest of us,” Mellie said with a snicker. She was the Dean’s daughter. We met when I came to New Marwick for a tour after getting early acceptance to Roden last year. Seeing as we lived on the same floor of Bamford, we’d become fast friends once we started classes.

We’d both started in the summer, preferring to forego our summer breaks and dive into things head-on. That was possible because rather than the usual fall and spring semesters that other colleges offered, Roden had three study periods—a summer, fall, and spring trimester schedule. Because of that, we’d already completed a few courses even though it was only the beginning of fall.

“I’d still need coffee to function this early anyway, whether I go jogging or not,” I said with a grin, digging into my eggs.

“True.”

“How was your run, anyway?” another friend inquired—Willa. I’d met her a couple of years ago through my best friend Katie (who was now on a gap year trip in France). I always got along with her well enough, but now that we were at the same college together, we’d become closer by sheer proximity. Like Mellie, she came from a filthy rich family, but the two of them were sweet as pie, unlike a lot of other students here who couldn’t get their heads out of their over-privileged asses.

“Good. It’s so beautiful out there. I love fall mornings,” I said dreamily.

“Wish I had your dedication. I’m way too fucking tired to exercise most of the time,” chimed in another friend, Greer, who’d only just managed to lift her head off the table. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bleary with heavy bags under them.

“Sleep badly again?” I said, my brows knitting with concern.

She shook her head. “I barely even slept. I was up all night writing my article.”

“Did you finish it?” Willa asked. Her hands were wrapped around a large mug of green tea.

Greer nodded. “Yeah. Thank god.” She groaned. “Why do I always do this to myself?” she added miserably. Then she shook her head and laughed self-deprecatingly.

The rest of us joined in with mischievous giggles. Greer was a creative writing major, and she and I worked together at one of Roden’s student-run newspapers—the Roden Daily News. While Greer was talented at writing and creative as hell, she also had a habit of flaking out and leaving her newspaper assignments to the last minute, preferring to spend her time reading about fantasy worlds and wild conspiracy theories. Out of our little group, she was the most flighty and irresponsible. A true artistic type.

More perked-up now, Greer started telling us about her article. I listened intently for the first few minutes but began to tune out when a familiar man stepped into my line of vision, several yards away but in line with Greer’s left shoulder.

Oh, hell no.

What was he doing here?

Even with the bright light bursting through the windows, Elias King still managed to fill my morning with gloom. He was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt with a jacket slung over one arm, but nothing about him was casual. He held himself with an intensely regal air, knowing full well what everyone thought of him and the power he held over them. That is, if he chose to acknowledge their existence at all. Arrogant son of a bitch.

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