Page 2 of Vengeful Princess

I steeled myself for the inevitable meltdown. But to my surprise, it never came. Instead, Dad sighed and poured himself another drink.

"I'm not happy but I don't have time to punish you. We have something more important to discuss."

We did?

"I’ve enrolled you in Abernethy College in Scotland. You start there in three days."

My eyes snapped up in surprise.College? Scotland??

"You'll be joining as a sophomore business student, transferring in." He shuffled some papers on his desk while I had a mental meltdown at the thought of leaving my sister behind. "But the main reason I'm sending you there is to get close to Cassian Forsyth. His father, Lucian, is…causing meissues." From the way his lip curled, there was more to this than a business dispute. “He’s too heavily protected for me to put a hit on him, which is why I’ve decided to change tack.”

"Who is Lucian Forsyth?" The inner voice in my head reminded me that asking questions without being prompted usually led to an unpleasant punishment, but I ignored it.

"Lucian Forsyth is one of the British Prime Minister's closest advisers. Cassian is his son."

I had no clue why some British guy would cross my father’s path. It made no sense.

“Why is—” I started to ask.

“The details are not important, Thea,” Dad snapped. “For now, all you need to do is get Cassian to trust you. Infiltrating Lucian’s social circle will make it easier to get close to the man.” He said nothing more, but the sub-text was clear: when an opportunity arises, take him out.

Well… that was going to be easy. Not.

2

Thea

This was my first time in Scotland, and I was not impressed so far. I knew Scotland was famous for being wet, but it hadn’t stopped raining since the plane landed.

Torrance ignored my chattering teeth and turned the radio up louder. He seemed immune to the miserable weather. Most likely because he was the spawn of Satan and hellfire ran in his veins.

But I decided not to share that.

Pissing Torrance off never ended well.

My father’s enforcer had kept his distance since we left home, barely saying a word to me. It wasn’t like him. He usually took great delight in tormenting me. Psychological torture was his forte: a few carefully chosen words could inflict more damage than a knife, or so it felt sometimes.

As the miles ticked by and the mountains grew taller, my thoughts wandered.

Dad had insisted I learn all there was to know about my target: Cassian Forsyth. Unsurprisingly, given who Cassian’s father was, there was a lot of information online.

Cassian Forsyth was a bad boy, apparently. Caught in a sex club snorting coke when he was just shy of 18, while still a student at some exclusive prep school in Mayfair. The debacle had been an enormous scandal. It made headlines around the world, with the tabloids frothing at the mouth about the debauched lifestyle of a government advisor’s son. Not long after the story leaked, Cassian disappeared. Probably sent to some expensive rehab.

From what I’d read, Cassian was supposed to attend Cambridge University, like his father and grandfather before him. Instead, he came here, to Abernethy College, far away from all the temptations a large university like Cambridge offered.

By the time we arrived at the college, there was a long line of luxurious cars snaking out of the circular drop-off zone. Porters hustled around, carrying luggage into the various buildings.

Abernethy College looked more like a fortress than any college I’d ever seen. A large central grey building with four identical towers on each corner, each one topped with a pale spire, sat nestled in the shadow of the surrounding mountains. To the left, a glass walkway linked the main building to a more modern structure, and beyond that, I could see further buildings.

It was all very overwhelming. And quite unlike anywhere I was used to.

I had no idea where I was supposed to go, but hopefully, someone would tell me when we reached the end of the line.

The rain had finally turned from a seamless downpour into a fine drizzle. Or mizzle, as it was called. Still depressing as hell, but less likely to soak me in 2.5 seconds.

A uniformed man tapped on Torrance’s window and he pressed a button to open it.

“Name?” the man asked.

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