Page 7 of Cruel Saints (Lochkelvin Academy)

But it’s not Arabella who answers. Becca calmly twists the end of one of her dreadlocks and says in a dry voice, “You may have already heard of my brother.”

“Your brother?” I’d never have guessed Becca was related to anyone important. She’s the most casually dressed person here in a pair of ripped jeans and a thick baggy sweater, though she manages to make it work as effortlessly as any supermodel.

“Oh wow,” Becca says, taken aback by my blank expression. “It’s not often Americans don’t know who I am.” There’s the hint of a smile on her face as she declares, “RebeccaMilton.” Even with an emphasis on her surname, I’m still clueless. “My mum married into the Royal family? Sophia Milton? The one who married the king?”

It’s as though the room is suddenly spinning, the wind twirling the tower around. I… I can’t. I feel like I’m gawking at Becca — H.R.H. Becca — the more words she speaks. The only thing I manage to respond with is, “Nooo…”

Do I have to bow and call herYour Royal Highnessor something?

But Becca just laughs at me. “It’s a good thing you rehearsed this on me first. If it’d been my brother, his fat head would have grown atleastthree times the size.”

“When will we get to see Luke?” Freya asks in a casual voice, brushing the end of her braid slowly against her cheek.

“Are you all—” I don’t know what word to use here.Special?Important?Rich? Each one feels like a slight against me. I thought all the girls would have been scholarship kids, chosen on merit alone. But with a goddamnroyalin our midst…

“They’re all connected,” Arabella says dismissively.

Connected. There’s a word.

“Freya’s dad is the head of the Scottish Whisky Board, and Li’s father is a shipping magnate. They’re all products of famousmen.”

I’m starting to feel like my initial dislike of Arabella may be misplaced. As the niece of the headmistress, she’s small fish. And it seems she’s not unaware of this.

The others look at her in an exasperated sort of way.

“And the son ofthemost famous man right now is Head Boy. Head Boy! Who even becomes Head Boy in fifth year? That’s how twisted it all is—”

Rory.

“Wait, the Head Boy? I met him. Who is he?”

Arabella gives me a humorless smile. “RoryMunro. What do you think, Jessa? Did you do any kind of rudimentary research before landing here? You think he’s just called Munro for the good of his health?”

“Elly,” Freya scorns, and it’s for the second time, I realize. They must know each other to be on such familiar terms.

“Rory Munro.” I can’t think. I don’t know, and yet it rings a bell.Munro, Munro…

“Who’s the Prime Minister of the UK right now?” Li asks, her mouth twisting like she finds this utterly hilarious.

I stare at her. There have been so many in such a short space of time, yet the most recent… He’s the one who’s stuck it out the longest, to a lot of hate and anger.

I can’t recall much about him, because he became PM the same time I slipped into a deep coma-like depression.

“Oscar Munro,” I manage to dredge up from the depths of my tired mind. “Rory’s dad is Oscar Munro.”

“Correct,” Arabella says primly, though she doesn’t look pleased about it. “The Head Boy’s dad is the current Prime Minister.”

After, the girls discuss the classes they’ll be taking and who’s doing what subject. I zone out, thinking about everything I’ve learned. When I first stepped foot in Lochkelvin, it had felt wrong. It was somewhere I knew instinctively that I didn’t belong. It was too grand — an ancientcastle— with walls stained with secrets.

And yet here I am, on the cusp of a new school year, surrounded by the daughters of rich men, and one ardent revolutionary.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

Becca, Freya, Li, Rory. Their dads — always theirdads— were the ones who made them who they are.

Royals. Businessmen. Politicians.

My dad died.

What does that make me?

---