Page 111 of Kingmakers, Year Two

The Chancellor’s boat is infinitely faster than the barquentine, but it’s still going to take us an hour or two to get to shore. I can only spend so much time looking out over endless black waves before Ares seems relatively intriguing by comparison.

“I know I was giving you shit about Zoe,” I say, “But how come you never dated her, or Chay, or any of the other many, many girls who like the strong, silent type?”

Ares shrugs. “I’m not interested in dating.”

“Girls, specifically, or . . .”

“I like girls,” he says, flatly.

“Just not the ones at our school.”

He takes his eyes off the water for a moment to scowl at me. “Why are you so curious?”

“It’s my nature. I like to figure people out. I have a hard time with you—you don’t make sense to me.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“You like cultivating that air of mystique?”

Realizing that I’m not going to drop it, Ares lets out an irritated sigh and turns to face me.

“There’s no point, is there? Any girl like Chay who thinks she might like to date me for a minute . . . she’d change her mind quick enough if she ever came to Syros. I may be at Kingmakers, but I’m not like the rest of you.”

“Why come here, then?” I demand. “Why not go to a normal school?”

“I wish I had, sometimes,” Ares says, and now his face is dark, full of some anger he’s barely holding back. “You do whatever you want, Miles. You don’t understand what it’s like to owe something to your family. They demand it from you, and you try to give it, even when it’s impossible.”

I suppose the Cirillos want him to carry on their name and legacy at the school, even if they’re barely mafia at all in real life. They were a founding family, after all. One of only seven still surviving. They must look at the wealth and status of the Hugos and think that’s where they could have been . . . perhaps where they should be . ..

“I understand family demands,” I tell him. “I’m an Heir, remember? I’m supposed to take over for my father in Chicago. But I’m not doing it. Let my brother take his place, or my sister. I’m making my own way. You can do that, you know. You don’t have to do what they ask.”

“Maybe not in your case,” Ares replies. “My family isn’t yours.”

I try to draw him out again as the boat speeds on, but apparently Ares has decided that’s enough conversation.

We pullup to the marina in Dubrovnik. Ares throws the ropes down, planning to disembark with me, but I tell him, “Stay here with the boat.”

“Don’t you want me to come in with you?” he asks, glancing in the direction of the Oasis hotel.

“Nah,” I shake my head. “They’ll either take the deal or they won’t.”

“You should have someone there backing you up,” Ares says, gripping the rope tightly in his hands.

“I appreciate it man, but I’m outnumbered either way. Stay here, and if I’m not back in three hours, go back to Kingmakers on your own. Can’t have you getting expelled on my account.”

Ares frowns, but stays onboard.

I walk up the dimly-lit streets of Old Town on my own, laptop tucked under my arm. Golden lamps burn all along the sea wall. The red-roofed buildings glow as if each one is a burning furnace.

I booked the presidential suite in the Oasis, which encompasses the entire top floor and includes its own private concierge. That alone cost me $20,000 of my bankroll, but it’s a drop in the ocean compared to what I’ve spent. I’ve cleaned out the whole fund, and I don’t regret a penny of it, not for a minute. I only hope it works.

The concierge greets me, looking surprised when I give him my name. It’s the school uniform—I’m sure he expected someone older.

“Right this way, Sir,” he says. “I have your suit ready.”

He takes me up to the top floor, to the four-room suite. I survey the private boardroom, the full bar, and wide-open glass doors leading out to the rooftop deck. The sea breeze blows in. I could probably see Ares from here, if the boat wasn’t stealth-painted.

My clothes are indeed laid out on the bed as the concierge promised.

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