Page 21 of Royals
It’s alsocoldin the room, and while there’s a radiator under the window, no matter how I twist and pull at the knobs, nothing seems to happen.
Defeated, I flop down on the bed, pull the musty-smelling bedspread up around me, and am asleep in minutes.
•••
When I wake, it’s dark outside, which means it’s late. Really late. Past ten, at least, and I sit up, groggy. I’d fallen asleep in my dress and cardigan, both of which are now hopelessly wrinkled,andhopelessly ineffective against the chill in the room.
I’ve probably missed dinner, but even the rumbling in mystomach doesn’t make me want to face what’s downstairs, so instead, I open my bag and start pulling out clothes. I settle on a pair of pajama pants (plaid, very fitting), a tank top, an old long-sleeved T-shirt on top of that, a sweater, and, for extra measure, a scarf wrapped around my head. Even in all those layers, though, I’m still not warm.
Shivering, I rub my upper arms. How the heck is this place so cold inJune? Back home, we were running the air conditioner nonstop by this point. It’s not like I’d expected Scotland to be balmy or anything, but when we’d been here before, it was in the fall and winter. I expected cold then, but this was ridiculous.
I go back to the radiator lurking under the nearest window, but twisting the knob on the bottom only results in a bunch of loud thumps and a rushing-water sound that is, to be honest, pretty freaking alarming.
I twist the knob again and the noises stop, but the room is still freezing, and with a sigh, I get back in the bed, being sure to pull out the folder Glynnis put together for me as I do.
Settling against the lumpy mattress, I decide that if I’m not going to go downstairs tonight, at least I can get prepared for tomorrow.
I page through the folder, and despite the fact that I’m about to die from frostbite, I can’t help but grin and shake my head. No wonder El likes this Glynnis lady so much. This packet of material with its fancy font and little clip art of crowns is definitely Ellie’s style. No one has ever excelled at organization quite like my sister.
Glynnis has broken her guide down into sections, and whileI’m tempted to skip to the part marked “Royal Residences,” I figure the bit I need most is “Aristocracy: Titles and Honorifics.”
Sherbet—sorry, Sherbourne—is the son of a duke, the first son, which means that if I’m talking to him, I need to say, “Lord Sherbourne” or “my lord,” but if I was writing to him, I’d say, “My Lord Marquess.” Also, I learn that a marquess is pretty high up on the list of fancy people, and that dukes are the fanciest people besides actual royalty, although some dukes arealsoroyalty, like how Alexander is Prince of the Scots while also being the Duke of Rothesay, which, if you ask me, is a little greedy. No need to go snatching up all the—
There’s a knock on my door, and I look up, startled. Then I remember about the heating and wonder if someone heard me banging on the radiator. Or even better, maybe someone is bringing me food.
Scrambling off the bed, I don’t even bother throwing anything on over my pajamas since I’m wearing two layers and have a scarf wrapped around my head.
I fling open the door, hoping it’ll be Ellie with a tray, being all sisterly and good-hearted.
It is very much not Ellie.
Standing in my doorway, dressed in dark pants and a white button-down, jacket thrown over his shoulder like he’s about to walk down a runway, is Prince Sebastian.
Seb.
And he’s smiling at me.
Chapter 10
“Knock, knock,” he says with a smile, rapping his knuckles on my door, and I stand there, frozen.
I thought I’d gotten used to how good-looking he was early this afternoon, but apparently this kind of handsome just smacks you in the face every time you see it.
And then I remember I am currently standing in my doorway staring at him wearing pretty much everything in my suitcase.
“Hi,” I say too loudly, stepping back and trying to gesture for him to come in while also yanking at the scarf around my head, hopefully not looking like I’m strangling myself. I kind ofwantto strangle myself, but that’s not the point.
“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk. Thought I’d come say hello, apologize for that mess earlier, see how your first night here in the madhouse was going,” Seb says lightly, his hands in his pockets as he ambles into my room. The way he walks... look, I know this sounds stupid, but I have never in my life seen a boy move like that. Most of the guys at my school slouch forward like they’re carrying invisible turtle shells on their backs.But here’s Seb, with his shoulders back, all this easy grace, smooth motions, and when he leans against the high footboard of my bed to grin at me, I think I might actually swoon.
“This place doesn’t seem that bad,” I say. “It’s a little cold,” I acknowledge, gesturing at my layers, and Seb chuckles.
“Let’s see what I can do,” he murmurs, walking over to the radiator.
“I tried that,” I tell him as he crouches down and my face flames red even though I’m still freezing. I have never ogled a guy, but Seb is oddly ogle-able, and in that position, his pants are really tight across—
Okay, no, no, this is not happening, and I am getting ahold of myself startingnow.
I half expect Seb to do some macho dude thing like slam a fist on the radiator, after which it will magically work, having been subdued by the force of his overwhelming masculinity.
