Page 29 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

“That means nothin’.”

“I am not interested in global conspiracies,” Luke declares suddenly, which is rich coming from a royal who’s turned out to be as phony as Benji had warned. “Iaminterested in your role in this. Why do you know? Why do you care? What has any of this to do with you in the slightest?”

“Why dae I care?” Finlay asks, stunned. “Why dae Icarethat yer family demands a throne it isnae entitled tae? Why dae I care ye’ve been pullin’ the wool over everyone’s eyes for, whit, a generation? Mair? I’m pretty sure it’s illegal! In another time, ye would have been strung up in the Tower o’ London.”

“Maybe so,” Luke says mildly, not giving anything away. “But you are not a royalist. You have never been inclined to whose backside sits on the throne. So why now?”

Finlay stares at him as though not hearing him correctly. “I dinnae think I need tae be a royalist tae realize how deeply yer family has fucked up. And the crazy thing is, ye’ll probably still have yer supporters after this. They’ll still chant yer name and call you their rightful king. They’ll call ye Luke the Conqueror or some shite, and it’ll be the very definition o’ a hollow victory.”

“No,” says Luke, as though that’s all there is to say about the matter.

Finlay reaches out and grabs Luke’s nape, his fingers threading through Luke’s hair and bringing their foreheads together. “Royalty doesnae have tae be yer destiny,” he murmurs. “Yer folks got greedy, that’s all. Hoodwinked the world. But ye can dae the right thing and walk away before ye’re found out.”

“Walk away?”

“Leave the Royal family. Abdicate.”

Luke jerks away from him as though mortally wounded. “Are you out of yourmind? Deny the very thing my family has claimed, tooth and nail, for itself? Deny my birthright? The very thing I have been entitled to? The one thing that elevates me above all others? I’m the Prince of Wales and I will be king!”

“It’s a lie, it’s a’ a lie.”

“It is no more a lie than Oscar Munro moving from businessman to Prime Minister.”

“The monarchy isnae supposed tae deal in careerism!” Finlay says in outrage. He breathes in deeply. “Whit d’ye think royalty is? If ye’re no’ the God-given one, the one wi’ the royal blue blood in their veins, then what’s to stop any old Joe from challenging ye tae the throne? Youareany old Joe. Yer case is weak. It was weak durin’ the referendum, too. No one wants ye in charge, and they’ll want ye even less when they discover the truth.”

“I can still be God-given if I study God’s words. Right?” I picture the Bible in his hand. There’s a sense of desperation to Luke at that moment, like his footing is crumbling around him and he’s clinging to a scrap of a belief that he’d been keeping long-concealed for emergencies only. “So what if the line of succession has diverged somewhat—”

“So what? Sowhat? Ye’re on the wrong side o’ history. Ye shouldnae even beinhistory. We’re in a modern age noo and the old ways dinnae work anymore. Ye cannae just pillage yer way tae the top.”

“Unless you are a politician.”

Finlay’s shoulders sag. “But ye’reno’. Yer family was never supposed tae be a political entity, and yet ye kept speakin’ up and up. Why d’you think ye’re in this mess in the first place? Ye dinnae even have the right blood tae fall back on.” He stares at Luke and asks wonderingly, “Who even are ye? I dinnae have the faintest clue when ye’re no’ bragging about being next in line for the throne.”

Luke turns away from him for a moment, inhaling deeply. He points a stubborn finger in front of Finlay’s face and bites out tersely, “You had no right to do this. You had no right to make decisions on my behalf.”

After a moment, he adds, “You were in league, weren’t you? You and Rory and that Benji nutcase. All in a cozy little anti-monarchist bubble.”

Finlay eyes him carefully. “What dae ye know about Benji?”

“You hung around with him a lot. You got close to him — or is it the other way around?” When Finlay says nothing, he says, “Mary McIlvanney saw you leaving Lochkelvin together. Said you smashed up a car.” Luke glances over at me and adds, “She said you were there, too. Kissing.”

I had no idea the word “kissing” could be spoken with such contempt.

Shame rockets through my body.

“At least I know what Fin’s game is,” Luke murmurs, his dark eyes never leaving my face. “I do not have the faintest clue about you.”

“Leave Jessa oot o’ this,” Finlay snaps. “Besides, Mary McIlvanney was drunk aff her tits and spewin’ her guts oot. God knows whit she actually saw that night.”

There’s a moment’s silence. Luke stops struggling, no longer attempting to reach the door.

“You claim to be such a proponent of the truth and I am yet to hear much of it thus far. I think you owe it to me to tell me all that is happening. I recall you writing like a demon possessed all term. How does any of it relate to me and my family?”

Finlay raises his gaze, his mouth parted but nothing comes out. It’s as though he’s silently debating whether to speak or not. And then, the truth. An outpouring.

“There’ll be a letter campaign,” he says bluntly. “Letters through every door in the country, outlinin’ whit we know about yer family. It’s supported by research, historical data. The books yer mother didnae want anyone tae read. Yer family will be unable tae deny it and ye’ll be forced oot. The monarchy is done for.”

Luke stares at him, his eyes widening with every word. “What?”

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