Page 28 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

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“Point,” Luke declares loudly, the instant his buzzer goes off.

From the little I’ve seen of their fencing, I get the impression that Luke is a more natural competitor than either Finlay or Rory. It may be Rory’s piste but Luke actually owns it, storming down the white runway and charging with cat-like, supple grace. A storm of swords battle in frenzied tumult but Luke elevates it, using his sword hand to work smartly, ducking and diving and tying Finlay into knots to score a hit.

Finlay sighs. “Go on,” he announces pompously, his hair fanning around his face as he lifts his mask. Luke follows suit, a light sheen of sweat covering his face. “I have nothin’ tae hide.”

“Could someone please explain to me what on earth is going on? Why warning sirens are sounding in the newspapers over my family? I am fed-up with being locked away and told precisely nothing while supposed adults scurry around me like frightened shrews. I amsupposedto be the future king, and this is no way for me to be trea—”

“We know,” Finlay says in a tight voice, his sword dipping to kiss the piste. “We know who ye really are.”

There is a long, long silence after this statement. It makes me wonder if I should leave, if Luke is trying to censor himself in my presence. As achingly curious as I am, this isn’t my space and I have no desire to see Luke’s world shatter all around him.

Luke raises his head. “You ‘know who I am’?” he repeats slowly. “Well, I should rather hope so. You are my fellow chief, after all.” He cocks his head in my direction, his sharp eyes turning to me. “Inform him, please.”

“I—” Helpless, I shut my mouth.

Luke raises an unimpressed eyebrow and turns back to Finlay. “If you must remain confused, I am His Royal Highness, Prince Lucas of the House of Milton.”

“But ye’re no’,” Finlay says, blowing out a soft, humorless laugh. “That’s the problem. Thereisno House o’ Milton. Yer family has been lyin’ tae the public for decades.”

Luke says nothing. He does nothing. He remains fixed in time, as still as a statue, the planes of his tensed jaw sculpted as though from gleaming marble.

And then, after a while, he says softly, “Ah.”

He blinks, his feet turning in small circles. He walks to the edge of the piste with locked-in trepidation, and then, as though walking the plank, dives in feet first.

He drops his sword onto the piste with a clatter and proceeds to walk out of the room.

Nervous, I meet Finlay’s gaze. Luke… Luke isn’t one for big emotions. He keeps things buttoned-up and proper at all times. So to see him swaying as he paces, his body slanted as though he’s battling a sudden whirlwind, making headway for the door… It’s a peculiar sight.

“Come back,” Finlay insists, yanking off his mask and tossing it onto the floor, where it bounces and then limps for several seconds. “We need tae talk.”

“And you thought this was, what, appropriate?” Luke snaps, gesturing back at the piste with spread hands. “You believed you would happily destroy my life with conspiracies in a fencing match?”

“No, that wasnae the point — I wanted ye taetalk—”

It’s fruitless. Luke shakes his head and stalks over to the door.

But Finlay is faster. He rushes over to Luke, pinning his hands on Luke’s shoulders and physically acts as a barrier. “Talk tae me,” he whispers, curling his fingers into the padded shoulders of Luke’s fencing jacket. “Please justtalktae me. We can fix this.”

“You cannot solve this,” Luke says. “And nor am I your political pawn, Fin.”

“So you dinnae deny it.”

“You are a dog with a bone, the most wild-eyed zealot in this wretched manor. The odds are stacked against me in that regard.” Again, he pushes toward the exit, but Finlay stops him, bracing his arms against Luke’s chest.

“And you,” Luke says, slanting a bitter glance at me. My stomach tightens at the sudden force of his attention, at the flash of pain in his eyes. “I know you have been dragged into this charade by the demon beside me. Your lack of shock is quite apparent.” He turns back to Finlay. “Does everyone, apart from me, know of your version of events?”

“If my version is wrang, then tell me otherwise.Pleasetell me. Because I want tae believe in it. If it’s truly a conspiracy, I’d love tae know. I want tae believe in somethin’ other than establishment cover-ups. But with you right in front o’ me, wi’ you saying nothing to the contrary…”

Luke gives him a furious scowl but remains silent. Maybe there is nothing to say.

Finlay is right.

“Damn it, Luke,” Finlay mutters, peeling away from him with a miserable expression. As much as Luke’s anger confirms Finlay’s research, it doesn’t seem to be a point of relish for him. “How long have ye known the truth?”

Luke’s mouth tightens. “The truth is a lie.”

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